Expose Page 2

  Buck’s eyes were red when they came to Tank’s. “Fuck. I’m such a fucking pussy.”

  Tank shook his head and handed him his T-shirt to dry his hands on. “No, you’re not.”

  “The whole time I was thinking about what he did to her. That kept me in it. Then he was gone. And … I saw what I had done.”

  Tank nodded as Buck pulled his shirt on. “Now you know. You did good, Buck. I couldn’t do that. I’d let Knuckles and Tiny handle it.”

  “No you wouldn’t,” Buck assured him, pulling on his leather. “If it was someone that hurt someone you love … you could do it, too.”

  Tank wasn’t sure he agreed. But he wasn’t going to argue. He clapped a hand on Buck’s shoulder and steered him to the doorway. “You wanna take a minute? I’ll buy you a drink?”

  Buck shook his head. “No, I think … I think I want to be with Gertie right now. Something beautiful to look at, you know?”

  Tank smiled. “You’re okay to ride?”

  Buck held out one hand, and it was steady. It made him puff out a breath. “Jesus. I’m not even shaking. What the fuck, Tank? I feel like I should be.”

  “It’s okay,” Tank assured him, pushing his arm down. “Go home. Hold Gertie for a while, let her take care of you.”

  Buck nodded, still a bit dazed-looking as he made his way down the hallway connecting the warehouse to the clubhouse. Suddenly Jayce was at Tank’s shoulder, knocking into his arm a bit.

  Tank looked to his President in surprise. “Where’d you get to?” he asked.

  “I came in at the end. He gonna be alright?”

  Tank shrugged. “Yeah. I don’t know about me, though.”

  “Let’s head next door then. I’ll buy ‘ya a lap dance.”

  Chapter Two

  “Okay Rosie, good show. The boys are here,” Coco sang out as she left the main stage, teetering on her platform heels as she descended into the dressing room.

  Rose shook her head, tugging her platinum-blonde, jaw-length wig into place over a tightly packed skull cap. “I always give a good show,” she returned, keeping humor in her tone. “No matter who’s out there.”

  She knew who the boys were. She’d been here six months now, and Markham was agreeable enough that she was starting to look at houses. Or, she had been. Up until about four months ago.

  Jesus, had it already been that long?

  Rose only knew that the Red Rebels that owned the club weren’t casual riders, but they were hardly the rambunctious devils she’d been expecting. She knew they were criminals, but they’d treated all the girls well. They treated the whole town well. It was because of this Rose was starting to consider putting down roots here.

  She loved it. Everyone was friendly, caring, willing to help each other. This was not the way of the big city. This is where no one had to feel alone and anonymous. She felt comfortable and safe, which she hadn’t been expecting.

  And then Trinny.

  That woman had been the best boss Rose had ever had. Not only that, a mother hen the likes of which she’d never seen. Rose moved into an apartment on a Saturday, realized she didn’t have a shower curtain the next morning, and nothing was open in Markham on Sundays. So Trinny gave her the shower curtain from her guest bathroom.

  That was Trinny, to the core.

  The attack had rocked the town, and everyone at the club had felt it hard. Through Trinny’s absence, which of course they understood, and through the change in her husband.

  Jayce was the kind of guy that didn’t exactly telegraphic his opinions. A person met him and had no idea if he hated or tolerated them. But if he wasn’t yelling, you’d just assume you were doing okay. That kind of guy. Confident and sure, just like you’d expect from an MC president.

  That was all gone now. He was angry, cold, and completely lost from what Rose could tell. Actually, now he did scare her, just because he gave off an unpredictable vibe that made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. She’d never been uneasy around him after knowing him a while. Now she actually avoided him.

  Not only was Trinny hurt, she was gone. Packed up her kids and moved home to be with her family. Ghosted off, almost in the middle of the night without word.

  Coco was running things. She was a Vietnamese import, all of five-two, with long black hair and ridiculously huge tits. Fake. But she was known for them at the same time. She did a good job; she’d been watching Trinny run Rebel Circus for years. The MC tried to call her the manager, but she insisted she was just the assistant for now.

  The boys. Rose tried not to smile. She knew one of them would be out there for sure, and she couldn’t say she minded. She and Tank had … well, she didn’t know what they had. A flirtation, pretty much. He goaded her playfully, and she outright flirted back. But nothing had happened between them.

  She felt him watch her. No matter where in the club he was, Rose was always aware of his eyes on her. To this day he hadn’t bought a private dance, though. That was something that perplexed her.

  She had to remember that he was sort of one of the bosses. Maybe he didn’t want to cross some employee-management line. And with the mess of that kind of thing still very fresh in her mind even four years after the fact, she agreed that it was a good idea.

  Rose still enjoyed his teasing, though.

  She wasn’t sure what it was that inspired him to dress like John Wayne. He didn’t wear riding boots, he wore cowboy boots. And while most of the guys seemed to wear basic T-shirts or beaters, Tank wore a flannel shirt with his undershirts. Medium-dark jeans that seems to have trouble holding his thighs and ass, and belt with a huge buckle. She’d even seen him in the club with a cowboy hat on a few times.

  Not her type. So not her type at all. The outlaw edge, sure. That was something exciting, something she’d been drawn to before. But this good ol’ boy getting under her skin was a bit weird.

  “Sixty seconds, Rosie,” Coco called out. Fully prepared, Rose made her way to the stairs to wait behind the silver-tinsel curtains, listening to the DJ call the house to order for the spotlight dance of the night. There were many stages with poles throughout the club, but every evening all the smaller stages went dark for the main event that took place on the biggest stage, around eight o’clock. The girls rotated through the spotlight dances, with seniority being granted the weekends more often. Rose had this Friday night based on turnout for her performances, not earned stripes, but she always did her best to be humble about it. She didn’t want to stomp on toes, not when Trinny had worked so hard to make sure the cast at Rebel Circus was a mature, adjusted group.

  Rose pulled the age-old stage trick of keeping her eyes closed backstage, not stepping out until she knew all the lights were off. Her eyes were more keen to the light that way as she made her way to the main stage’s first pole, waiting for her music.

  When the DJ had first suggested Ram Jam as a spotlight dance possibility, Coco had slapped him and called him an asshole. Rose had to giggle. “Black Betty” was as good a stripper song as any, had a steady beat, wasn’t too long, and for a pole routine it was pretty ideal. Lots of fast-moving portions, with a single slow-down portion where Rose got to demonstrate her control of movement. Oh, and finish taking off her clothes, too. That was sorta the point. She appreciated Coco’s outrage, but she knew the DJ, Ron, was hardly making commentary on her heritage or skin color. It was a good song, and she’d agreed to work out a routine for it.

  Now here she was, and as the first beat hit, the spotlight found her and she drew applause and whistles. Immediately she took to the pole, using the strength in her arms to hoist herself up, then gripping with the back of a knee to lean backwards, then leave the pole entirely with a slow, prolonged back bend.

  The beat of the song was made for strutting, too, so she made a quick turn of the rest of the stage, smiling at the faces turned upward to her. Then the acrobatics resumed on the second pole, at the end of the stage’s catwalk, which was formed into a wider circle.

  It
was easy to lose herself in the music, what she was doing, her body just reacting to the song, but that never got anyone tips. She had to find eye contact, give a secret smile that suggested she was interested, then keep it up once the wallet was loosened. The silky black negligee she’d started out in was tauntingly dropped to a puddle at her feet, and the place got louder as she continued in a jet-black two piece. When the slower portion hit, she slid her back down the pole, knees open wide, hand going to the tie at the back of her neck, teasing. Clapping commenced around her, and shouting, and while she couldn’t hear the words, she knew it was male encouragement. Reserved somewhat, but it was there.

  That was when she felt him.

  Tank was there. It almost drew her out of the act, and she fought the urge to seek him out deliberately. She was working, and the guys at the front had fistfuls of cash. Cash that was already helping out her mom a whole lot.

  Rose yanked a loose end holding her top up, tearing the entire thing off her body and dropping it while she got to her feet again, wrapping herself around the pole as the song was starting to close. When the last beats hit and the spotlight went out, the houselights came up to their usual, red dimness. Rose quickly grabbed up the cash being held out for her, smiling and laughing with the patrons as they said off-color and flattering things to her.

  Since arriving in Markham she had not heard one derogatory mention of her color. She’d fully expected it, and she suspected Trinny had been waiting for it to happen as well. But if it was happening, it wasn’t in range of her hearing, so she could comfortably assume people didn’t find issue with it. Not enough to be assholes, anyway.

  As she straightened and headed offstage, she found Tank in the crowd, standing out now because of that cowboy hat, gripping a bottle of beer. And his eyes were on her, like always. She actually smiled his way, and in response he held up his bottle almost as a salute, before taking a drink. From across the room she could see the twinkle in his eye.

  Rose nearly tripped and took a header leaving the stage, she felt so … funny. But she pulled it together, tearing the wig off and setting her cash in the box on her own dressing table. Work wasn’t done yet. She was now assigned to one of the secondary poles for the next hour, then lap dances if anyone was left after that. She chose a long, brilliant-red wig from her collection, fitting it in place over her nearly-shaved head. She had a red dance outfit that matched, so she pulled on the boy-short style bottoms and hit the barroom again. It was a topless joint, so she was swinging free.

  She found her stage, a gentleman gallantly helping her up to the platform in her heels by offering a steady hand. She smiled her thanks, giving him a flirtatious arm squeeze, then set about entertaining the small cluster that had made her stage their base.

  From what Rose could tell, the locals knew very well the MC ran and organized this place. Rose had yet to have a hand placed on her against her will, and no one had asked how much a blowjob cost, either. That was another point that gave her pause when it came to how she felt about the guys that rode loud Harleys around town. People had to have had reasons to fear them somewhat, and even if the rumors weren’t entirely true, some of them had to be absolutely credible.

  The night was good, but Fridays usually were. Also, it must have been payday for a few locals because their cash was slippery and they stayed later than usual. A bachelor party booked her and another girl for a VIP dance with champagne, and that was a great way to cap off a night.

  Once the place was closed up and cleaning crews moved in, she scrubbed off her makeup, hung up her wigs on their Styrofoam heads, yanked off the skullcap that kept her hair under control, and pulled on jeans and a sloppy off-the-shoulder, light blue T-shirt. It was funny that she still dressed like she did when she’d been in dance school, but old habits die hard. Plus, it was comfortable.

  Bag over her shoulder, Rose headed out into the barroom, looking to see if a bouncer was around to walk her to her car. But the only big, scary body around was wearing a cowboy hat, and she wasn’t sure if that was good luck or bad.

  She decided it was good. She liked the cute little dance they had going, even if that was all it was ever going to be. To continue it, she approached him from behind, not hard to do since he was bellied up to the bar, talking to another one of his buddies, and it took him a second to look her way since they were deep in conversation.

  But when he did, that smile was warm and genuine, and she couldn’t help returning it with one of her own. “Buy you a drink, English?” he asked, hand up to the bartender.

  Oh yeah, he called her English too. “Nah, I’m looking for an escort out to my car, actually.”

  He raised an eyebrow, and just like she’d expected, got to his feet. “I’ll get you there safe and sound,” he drawled, immediately heading for the exit to the back alley where the staff parked.

  That surprised her a bit, but she gave a smile to the other guy—she was pretty sure he was called Tiny but she had no idea why, the guy was almost as wide in the shoulders as Tank—and scrambled after the large man now holding the door open for her.

  “Thanks,” she said lightly, wrapping her arms around her stomach. The air smelled like it could rain soon, and it was definitely a bit cooler than it had been when she arrived at work.

  “No problem. Which car is yours?”

  This was different. Something was off with him; he wasn’t teasing her or trying to embarrass her. She was disappointed, but she couldn’t demand that he amuse her, either. “The Camry,” she answered, pointing with her keys.

  “A Camry?” He drew the name out in distaste, and her heart lightened a bit.

  “It runs well,” she argued, heading in the direction of her beloved late-model import. “And it’s good on gas. Especially given its age.”

  “You suck at sales because I still ain’t buying it,” he mumbled, and she chuckled.

  “Well, I ain’t selling,” she returned with an affected American accent, stopping at the trunk to toss her bag inside. When she slammed the lid closed, he was beside her, and having him close made her heart trip a little. Then she realized he was surveying the parking lot, the cars driving past. A raised shout sounded at the mouth of the alley, likely part of their audience walking their drunk asses home. “Is … is everything all right?”

  Her question brought him back, startled. He blinked, then turned that huge smile on her full-force. “Everything’s good, English,” he assured her softly, hand falling onto her shoulder.

  Rose couldn’t help it. Her breath caught. His hands were huge, warm, and just as heavy as she’d expected. And dammit, he noticed her reaction.

  He tilted his head, his hand moving down to her shoulder blade, effectively turning her his way. She let herself be moved like a puppet.

  Not my type, she reminded herself, the mantra repeating itself with frantic rhythm as his free hand cupped her jaw. His smell. Jesus, his smell was something else, too. There was the leather he wore, the beer he’d just finished, but something else as well. It was thick and heady and manly, and even more intense with him this close.

  “What are you doing?” she finally whispered, brow furrowing as he stared at her face.

  Tank was a good height. He made her feel dainty, which not a lot of guys could do. She was six feet tall and liked wearing heels. But on this man she came up to his chin. In heels. It was overwhelming, but only in the good way.

  He didn’t answer her, not exactly. He lowered his face her way, and while she was reminding herself he wasn’t her type and also her boss, her eyes slid closed.

  The brush of his lips was impossibly soft. A nuzzling, really. The smell of him ran deep into her nose, into her head, and she returned the kiss with more pressure, running an arm around the back of his neck while her other hand clutched the open edge of his flannel shirt.

  It was either the right or the wrong thing to do, hard to say. Because the second her tongue slid into his mouth he groaned, his hand leaving her shoulder to grip low around her back, pu
lling her hips to his. But that was nothing compared to how he deepened the kiss.

  Teeth, lips, tongue, all of it clashing and gripping and sliding and rubbing frantically. In all her life she’d never been kissed stupid. It was like being consumed. He kissed her like he was already fucking her, and her hands gripping him tighter was the only device she had to let him know she liked it.

  Tank liked it, too. She could feel it on her lower stomach, a hard, hot staff that he didn’t bother trying to hide from her. No, he actually rubbed her against it, manipulating her hips and flexing his own at the same time.

  There was fire in her blood, heating everything it passed through. A discomforting pressure was building low in her belly, nestling between her legs. Again, because she was so tall, she never felt this protected and threatened at the same time. But she liked it. Right then, at that moment, she liked it very much.

  “Shit,” he whispered, pushing her away by the hips abruptly. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled regret on his face.

  Rose felt her heart dash into a million pieces. Her face grew warm with embarrassment and she looked away. “I’m sorry,” she replied, looking at her keys now like they were the most fascinating thing she owned.

  “You don’t have to be sorry for anything. I’m … I’m helping run this place and you work for us— ”

  To her horror she realized she would burst into tears if he kept talking. She shook her head, keeping her head down, and stepped around him to make her way to the driver’s door. “No, no. I understand.”

  “English, I don’t want you thinking there’s anything wrong with you.”

  That statement made her stop dead because that’s where her brain had gone. He wasn’t interested in another sleazy dancer, he could have anyone he wanted and everyone had seen her without clothes on so what was the point?

  “I don’t want to be the slime-bag boss hitting on the girls who work for him.”

  She turned to face him, nodding. “I get that. I do.”

  Tank nodded, relieved. And she did mean it.