Tap'd Out Page 6

  “Shit,” Danielle lamented, glaring at her brother. “You ruin everything.”

  Breaker’s grin only widened as he waved to the woman who was weaving through the crowd to get to us. “Hey babe, how you doin’?”

  “Don’t you ‘hey babe’ me, asshole. I can’t believe you brought your skanky side piece here. You tryin’ to rub her in my face? Do you want me to kick her ass?”

  I whipped my head around to find the speaker. She had long, bleached hair and stood at least four inches taller than me. I recognized her immediately from mug shots as Chloe Withers, arrested four months ago for possession with intent to sell. I wasn’t the officer who’d made the arrest, but I’d been at the station when they brought her in. The evidence vanished, and Chloe only spent one night in jail before the charges were dropped.

  “Yeah, babe. That’s exactly what I want you to do. Aren’t you the bitch in charge of that kind of thing?”

  “In charge of what?” Her glare went from me to Breaker and her eyes lit up with understanding. “Shit. You want me to jump this cunt into our club.”

  He nodded. “Look at you, brains and beauty.” He grabbed the front of her shirt, pulling her against him. She fought him off until his mouth claimed hers. Then he grabbed her ass and deepened the kiss. Several of the women in the room hooted and hollered, egging them on. They practically dry humped in the middle of everyone.

  When Breaker finally let Chloe up for air, her eyes were glassy and her lips were swollen and red.

  “No need to be jealous, babe. There’s enough of me to go around.” He swatted her on the ass. Looking straight at me, he added, “And you know nobody’s pussy is as good as yours.”

  Chloe didn’t miss it. The passion in her eyes turned to fire as she clenched her fists and stormed toward me.

  God, I hated Breaker and his mind games.

  I’d barely braced when Chloe punched me square in the gut. I hadn’t been ready for it, and pain shot through my stomach as I hitched forward, trying to block my body from more assaults.

  “Nice hit,” Breaker said with a grin. “So, you’ll do it?”

  “Fuck you, asshole.”

  “Later, babe. You got a bitch to jump in. You gonna do your job now? Or do I need to fuck her right here in front of you to make sure you’re angry enough?”

  “This is supposed to be my bachelorette party!” Danielle shouted.

  Chloe spat. “If she survives, she’s in.”

  “Thanks, babe. I knew I could count on you. Just don’t fuck up her face or her pussy. Those parts are mine.”

  Chloe’s face turned red.

  Breaker gave me one last look before turning on his heels and walking out.

  “Fuckin’ bitch,” Chloe said, driving her elbow into my back. “What makes you think you can touch my man?”

  Holy shit. She was going to kill me, and I didn’t know what to say to stop her. “I’m sorry!”

  “Yeah you are. Shut your goddamn mouth.”

  A brunette punched me, but Chloe snapped at her. “She’s mine first. Wait your fuckin’ turn.”

  It didn’t take long before I realized that getting “jumped” into Seattle Serpents required a mob-style beat down led by the jealous, vicious girlfriend of the biker who was fucking with me. Chloe didn’t mess around with any of that girly-style hair-pulling and scratching nonsense. She was all about the knuckles and feet. She swept my legs out from under me, and my body hit the hardwood floor with a jaw-rattling thud. I bit my tongue on impact and my mouth filled with blood. I started to get up, but Chloe kicked me in the right kidney.

  “Stay the fuck down,” she said, nailing me with another kick.

  Stars danced before my eyes. The coppery-sweet scent of blood overwhelmed my senses.

  “Alright, bitches, let’s fuck her up!” Chloe shouted.

  They descended on me with maniacal enthusiasm. A punch to my shoulder. A kick to my calf. An elbow to my side. Someone cut me across the thigh. Someone else sliced my arm. A kick to my right boob ripped a cry from my throat. The front of my dress was torn. Someone spat in my hair. A kick to the face rang my bell and made me realize these women didn’t care what Breaker said. I was at their mercy now, and they had none. I took the beating from all sides and the pain was excruciating. Everything hurt. Each atom in my body cried out, begging for the assault to stop.

  Blood trickled out of my mouth, down my arm, across my leg. I drifted on the edge of consciousness, wondering if the next punch or the next kick would end me. Breaker had pissed Chloe off intentionally, because he wanted me to feel this pain—wanted to remind me of the power he had—and I heard his message loud and clear.

  Eventually, I ceased to exist. There was only the pain. It flooded my senses, consumed my thoughts, and ate away at my resolve.

  Then, just when I thought I’d finally break, it stopped.

  Wondering whether I’d passed out or died, I opened my eyes. Or, I tried to at least. My left eye was swollen shut.

  “We have to move her. The stripper will be here any minute, and he can’t see this shit,” Danielle said. “Jolene, there are rags and cleaner under the kitchen sink. Wipe up the blood. The rest of you, help me get her ass into the office and out of sight.”

  Then I was being dragged over the floor and into another room. They tossed me against the wall. Chloe gave me one last kick before they left me, laughing as they went.

  Tap

  I’VE BEEN DANCING since I was ten. I didn’t make the best choices back then, and my best friend and I got caught shoplifting after school one day. Mama decided I needed something to keep my ass busy and out of trouble until she got off work. One of her clients taught hip-hop dance classes and, despite my many objections, Mama signed me up.

  It was one of the best things she ever did for me.

  Before dance, I was a skinny little bastard who lacked drive and self-confidence. I’d always been competitive, but dance gave me a way to rise above. It taught me how to push myself further, gave me a body I could be proud of, and helped me understand how strong I really was.

  Of course, there were other benefits as well.

  As one of only two boys in the class, I was a hot commodity. The boyfriends of my fellow dancers teased me and questioned my sexuality, but they only had to ask their girlfriends to find out the truth. Dance is a lot like sex, and the way I moved promised a good time. I made a reputation for myself by delivering on that promise, working my way through my entire high school dance team before leaving it all behind to join the military.

  Intelligence operatives weren’t exactly known for their light feet, and after my sobering training, I didn’t have much left to dance about. I thought the dancer in me was dead forever until I started researching ways to make good money while staying off the grid. Like riding Valkyrie, stripping has been slowly bringing me back to life. Every time I turned on my portable speakers, it became a little easier to reconcile with the easy-going, hip-gyrating kid I once was.

  Removing my sweatshirt, I stood in the center of the room wearing a wife beater and my sweatpants. Nodding to Chloe, I dropped my head to my chest and waited for the music to start. The opening note of “Porn Star Dancing” stretched out while I bounced my shoulders and flexed my chest to loosen up. When the beat dropped, so did I, landing in the start of a crab walk with my knees spread wide and facing the crowd. Women cheered as I thrust my hips to the beat before slowly rolling myself back up to stand.

  “Take it off!” one woman shouted, getting the whole room to chant with her.

  Smirking, I grabbed the bottom hem of my shirt and teased, showing a few inches of my abs as I bucked my hips. Launching into full body rolls, I closed in on the crowd. Then I grabbed my crotch and slowly circled my hips.

  Women reached for me, but Chloe swatted their hands down before they made contact. As the lyrics talked about wrapping hands around a pole, I turned my back on the crowd and stalked toward the bride-to-be. Danielle Pritchard, daughter of the ruthless motherf
ucker who called himself “Buzz,” sat in a kitchen chair in the middle of the room, watching me. Locking gazes with her, I once again played with the bottom of my shirt, giving her a preview before ripping the fabric from my body and circling her chair. I used my now torn wife beater to tie her hands behind her back as I popped my ass low, breathing against her neck and shoulder.

  Spinning around until we were face-to-face, I checked my handiwork. Her eyes were wild and full of desire as her gaze raked over me. I kept my shit clean and smooth. No doubt my waxed chest and stomach made me a novelty compared to the hairy Neanderthals she was used to. I rolled my body forward in her face until my right nipple was within an inch of her mouth. I held myself there, teasing, before backing off and facing the half-circle.

  Dipping my thumbs into the front of my sweats, I continued to roll and thrust, inching the waistband down, waiting to let my pants fall until the lyrics mentioned dropping a dress. Wearing nothing but my fireman themed boxer briefs and suspenders, I kicked it up a notch and gave my cock a squeeze through the thin fabric.

  The crowd liked that. A lot. Their reaction was healing, reminding me that no matter how broken I was, or how many nightmares kept me awake at night, I was still a man capable of bringing pleasure to a room full of women. I’d been known to get caught up in the moment and let one of the women pay extra to take me home. Sometimes I hit the after-party with more than one woman.

  That wouldn’t be the case tonight, though. No matter how much these bitches planned to pay, there was no way in hell I’d touch Serpent pussy. I had one set, three songs to dance to, a handful of bugs to plant, then my ass would be in the wind.

  Straddling Danielle, I continued to roll, thrust, and grind my body, soaking up the way her greedy eyes watched me. There was a certain kind of high that came from making women want me, and I rode that euphoria all the way to the bank.

  “American Woman” was the second song of the set. I never got completely naked, but I didn’t have to. I shoved down my boxers to reveal a banana hammock that looked like a fire hose encasing my cock. I stroked myself until the hose was fully erect and then swung that motherfucker around like I was putting out a fire, making all the broads lose their shit. By the time I finished the set, I was all hot and sweaty, as were Danielle and most of the women surrounding us. Untying her hands, I asked her where the bathroom was so I could clean up.

  Truthfully, I’d studied the layout of the house and knew my way around—there was a back door through the kitchen and sliding glass doors that let out of the master bedroom—but it would have looked fishy if I walked right down the hall and into the bathroom.

  Danielle gave me directions, and Chloe rounded up the women and started discussing the rules for some sort of drinking game, making it easier for me to slip away. I collected my discarded sweats and speakers, leaving a bug that looked like a charging brick plugged into the power strip, before carrying my bag off toward the bathroom.

  When I walked past Buzz’s office, the door was cracked open. I hadn’t planned to plant anything in there, but I hadn’t anticipated finding the door open and the office empty, either. The opportunity was far too good to pass up. Stopping, I listened and looked around for a camera before slipping inside to investigate.

  That’s when I saw her.

  At first, I thought she was dead.

  Lying on the floor with her head dropped forward and her short blonde hair hiding her face, she looked lifeless. A tight little red dress clung to her body in tatters, shredded at the top and hiked up at the bottom, exposing one breast and everything from the waist down. Her arm was bloody, as was one of her legs.

  Something within me stirred to help her, but she wasn’t my problem. Not the objective. Keeping one eye on her in case she decided to come to life and alert people of my presence, I got down to business, bugging Buzz’s desk phone as well as his desk. When I finished, I headed for the door, but didn’t get far before my conscience made me stop.

  I couldn’t force myself to walk out on her. Memories tugged at the back of my mind of another woman who left for a mission and never returned. Could someone have saved her?

  If I abandoned this woman, would some other daughter be left motherless?

  The blonde curtain parted as she looked up at me. Her lip was split, one eye was swollen shut, and the right side of her jaw was battered. But it was the strength and determination in her eyes that stole my breath away and glued my feet to the floor. All the blood, all the bruises—she’d taken one hell of a beating—but she wasn’t broken. Not by a long shot.

  She was fucking gorgeous. Alive. Fiery. One bright green eye swept over my mostly naked body, taking in my costume, my banana hammock and suspenders, before meeting my gaze.

  “Leave me,” she pleaded.

  It was the last thing I expected her to say, and the only command I couldn’t follow. If I walked out the door, her pleas would haunt me every night for the rest of my life, just like the others I’d left behind. I couldn’t do it.

  “Fuck,” I muttered, marching toward her.

  Her good eye widened. “Leave me,” she repeated, her words sounding even weaker now. Who knew how much blood she’d lost or what these assholes had done to her? I refused to let fear keep her here so they could finish off the job.

  Opening the office window, I pushed the screen out. Setting my bag behind the desk, I picked the woman up and slung her over my shoulder. She weighed maybe a buck and a half and smelled of blood and perfume. Her ass was exposed, so I tugged her dress down, trying to preserve what little of her dignity I could. There was a small black purse lying beside her, so I bent and picked that up, too. She groaned and then passed out, becoming dead weight on my shoulder. Swearing and mentally kicking myself for not walking out the door and leaving her ass when I had the chance, I made my way to the window and climbed through with her still hanging over my shoulder.

  My car was parked in front of the neighbor’s house. I hastened to it and laid her and her bag in the backseat before going through the window of Buzz’s office again to collect my shit. sliding on my sweats and sneakers, I walked into the living room and took in the scene.

  The bachelorette party was in full swing now, with the bride and all her friends gleefully throwing back drinks. A couple of them grabbed at me as I passed, begging me to stay. I thanked them for their invitation but explained that I had another gig to get to. As I walked past the guards, I made sure they saw me with nothing in my hands but the bag I’d carried in.

  The woman was still out cold in the backseat when I slid behind the wheel and started up the rental car. I kept one eye on the house, but nobody came running after us. As I pulled away from the curb, wondering what the hell to do, I called Link.

  “Tap,” he said, sounding relieved to hear from me. He’d been expecting me to call and check in after the gig, and it was reassuring to know he’d been anxiously waiting. “How’d everything go?”

  “I dropped off the packages, but I also picked one up.”

  “Come again?” He sounded as confused as I felt.

  Cell conversations were one of the easiest things to hack into, so I wasn’t about to get into specifics over the phone. The Serpents probably didn’t have the necessary technology, but there was no telling who they had in their pockets and I didn’t take chances with shit like that. “You heard me.”

  “What kind of package?” he asked.

  “The kind that has to be taken care of.”

  “Shit. I have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about and it’s still got me crawling out of my skin.”

  “I’ll bring it to the fire station.”

  “Like hell you will. There’s enough bad blood between us and the Serpents. I don’t want to give them any reason to attack us. Whatever you took of theirs, I don’t want here.”

  Link didn’t really understand the art of not saying shit over the phone.

  I glanced in my rearview mirror, angling it so I could see Sasha in the back seat. She wa
s still out cold, half on the seat, half off, but her breathing and heartbeat were steady. Her arm had stopped bleeding, but her leg wound kept leaking away. She needed stitches and probably an antibiotic to avoid infection. “What the fuck am I supposed to do with it?”

  “You took it, it’s your problem.”

  “That’s helpful. Thanks, Prez.”

  He chuckled. “Look, I’m in the middle of something right now. I’ll send Havoc to help you figure out what to do with it. Where the fuck are you?”

  “No. Not Havoc.” I didn’t know the club’s sergeant at arms. I mean, I knew him, but I hadn’t spent a month listening in on his conversations to make sure he was the stand-up guy everyone thought he was. I hadn’t personally vetted him. “Can’t you break away?”

  “I’m trying real damn hard to be considerate of the shit you got going on in your head. If you were anyone else, I’d be sending out a prospect to handle this. Havoc has always had my back, and there isn’t a soul on this planet I trust more. I’ve given you a lot of leeway, brother, but the time is coming for you to either piss or get off the pot.”

  There was a bleeding woman in my backseat that I’d just sprung from a dangerous criminal’s house and Link was trying to have a come to Jesus meeting now? “I think this ass chewin’ can wait ’til later, Prez,” I said through gritted teeth. “I need help.”

  “Never planned to leave you hangin’, Tap. You’re one of us, now. Trust me. I won’t do you wrong. But I’m not holding your goddamn hand, either. You have a house. Probably a couple of them. Since nobody knows where you live, your place will be the safest to store whatever you have. Give me your address and I’ll have Havoc meet you there.”

  Send Havoc to my house? Hell no. I was driving around trying to figure out what to do with the unconscious woman in my back seat. She didn’t need Havoc or my house; she needed a hospital. “Fuck it. I’ll figure it out myself,” I said, disconnecting the call.

  Then I drove to the nearest hospital.

  The remnants of the woman’s dress didn’t leave a whole lot to the imagination, and I didn’t want to put her business out there like that, so I slid my sweatshirt over her head and tugged it down, not bothering with the arms. It came down past her ass, covering more than her dress had. I scooped her up and headed toward the building. When we were halfway across the lot, she woke with a start, almost launching herself out of my arms. She cried out in pain, gasping as I tried to settle her.