Madeline Sheehan - Undeniable

"I'm sorry," I whispered, not feeling at all sorry.

He shook his head. "No darlin', you didn't do anything wrong. It's all on me cuz I knew better and I did it anyway."

We stared at one another. He still wanted me, I could tell by his eyes. Frankie looked at me like that, like he wanted to eat me alive.

"I'm married," He said quietly.

I knew that. My father kept tabs on everyone he considered even a mild threat to him and the people he considered a major threat, people like Deuce, he had extensive amounts of information on.

“I know that,” I said just as quietly.

"And you're sixteen…and I'm thirty four."

I knew that too.

"Fuck," He muttered, running his hands through his hair. "Fuck!"

He stared at me a moment longer, his indecision plain as day.

Next thing I knew the door to the stairwell was slamming behind him and I was alone. I sat back down and lit up another cigarette. And grinned.

☼☼☼

Deuce got the fuck away from Eva as fast as he could, took the stairs two at a time and burst out onto the sidewalk and slumped against the clubhouse, breathing heavily. He'd fucked up. He'd fucked up big time. He was so fucking far beyond disgusted with himself but his cock was hard as a rock fucking aching for sixteen-year-old pussy. Christ. Yeah. He was just like his old man. Rock fucking bottom.

He couldn't even blame his fucked up marriage since he'd been solving that problem with club whores. This was different, so fucking different and so fucking confusing. He hadn't wanted a sixteen year old girl since he was sixteen, maybe eighteen, but he wanted Eva, and now that he'd gotten a taste he wanted her something fierce.

Girl had been about to give it up to him, too. And not because he'd been coercing her into it but because she straight up wanted him. She didn't have the first clue how to kiss but instead of being timid like the teenagers he remembered from when he was a teenager, she'd thrown everything she had into it and when she came on his hand, fuck, but that was beautiful.

God dammit! What the fuck! How could he have lost control so completely? He was all about control. How could a sixteen year old have fucked him up?

"Holy fuck," He muttered, scrubbing his palms over his eyes. "Holy fuckin' fuck I fucked up."

"Yeah you did."

His hands fell to his side. Preacher stood a few feet away. Alone.

Not good. No witnesses to be seduced into ratting Preacher out if his body was ever found.

"Got cameras all over the club," He informed him. "Even in the stairwells."

He nodded. If he'd been thinking clearly he would have known that and gotten the fuck out. He had cameras all over his club too. Security in this business was fucking necessary.

"You ready?" Preacher asked, pulling his piece. He watched him screw the silencer on.

Was he ready to die? No.

Did he deserve to die? Yeah. For a long time now.

Was he just going to turn tail and let Preacher kill him? Fuck no.

"Alleyway, Deuce. Now." Preacher pointed with his gun.

He faked a turn and went for his own piece. He wasn’t fast enough and Preacher’s first bullet took out his right leg. He stumbled backwards and fell on his side in a pile of garbage.

Preacher's boots pounded the concrete and he braced himself for the killing blow. Fucking fitting that he was going to die in a fucking pile of garbage. His old man had always said he was garbage. He sure as fuck felt like garbage.

His body jerked as pain exploded in his shoulder.

"Fuck," He groaned. He hated getting shot. Shit fucking hurt.

"I'll call your boys to come collect you," Preacher said, surprising him.

"Unfortunately, I need you alive. Our boys are in too deep together, got too much ridin' on shit you got a hand in. That said, you come anywhere near my girl again, first hit's gonna be in that sick dick of yours, second in your brain. Second, you even try for retaliation I will gut every last boy in your Queens chapter."

"Understood," He croaked. Since he liked both his dick and his brain just the way they were and none of his boys deserved to go to ground for his fucking sins, he was never going to go near Eva Fox again.

But fate was one mean bitch.

And two years later she slapped him in the face.

I loved dancing. I loved Club Red. And I loved my best friend Kami.

She was loaded, I was loaded. She was spoiled, I was spoiled. She was bored out of her mind and I was being suffocated to death.

Being the spoiled, bored, suffocated girls we were, with the help of another bored and spoiled rich kid, we procured fake I.D.s and were able to escape to our happy place every Saturday night. Club Red.

Best part, Frankie had no idea where I was.

We were able to accomplish this with the help of Kami’s sexy chauffeur, Jacob, who Kami had been giving it up to since she'd been thirteen and Jacob eighteen. I'm fairly certain Jacob was head over heels in love with her but he'd gave up trying for anything more than sex years ago.

Kami, being as starved for attention as she was, had convinced herself sleeping with a lot of different men was a good way to go about getting what she was lacking at home. It never worked but she never stopped trying

Anyway, this is how my Saturday's went. Frankie would drop me off at Kami’s penthouse. If Kami’s parents were home, we’d get prettied up, wait until they went to bed and then sneak down the back stairwell. Jacob would meet us in Kami’s underground parking garage, drive us out the back exit that was only used by the penthouse occupants, deftly evading the tails Frankie put on me, and off we went.

Freedom.

☼☼☼

Deuce hated New York City something fierce. Always had and always would.

Even more then he hated New York City was the New Yorkers that resided in it. Even more then he hated New Yorkers was New York City nightclubs filled with New Yorkers.

Two of his boys had rode up with him on business. They wanted a party and some pussy and since he sorta wanted to pick up some pussy for himself, he tagged along. He wished he hadn't.

He was standing against a wall in a packed nightclub with red satin hanging all over the place and red fucking disco balls twirling on the ceiling while surrounded by wall to wall drunk fuckwads grinding against each other to what he supposed was music but sounded a lot like television static with a crappy beat.

He was a simple man. He liked kegs, country music and down home pussy. He didn't see the need to dress up the fact that he was getting drunk and laid. It was all the same in the end. Sloppy kissing, skin slapping and a nasty hangover. Why the fuck put a decorative umbrella on it?

His boys had ditched him about an hour ago in favor of some slutty club bitches. He'd seen Cox disappear with two scantily clad Latinos and Mick had gone off dancing with a woman he was pretty sure was packing a cock under her seriously short skirt. He was so fucking miserable he had momentarily considered taking pictures of them with their whores and sending them to their wives as payback for making him endure this shit.

"Hey," A female voice slurred. He rolled his head left. Christ. Fucking skinny bitches everywhere in this city. No tits. No ass. All of them wearing skin tight clothes that emphasized the fact that they had no tits and no ass. This particular bitch, tall, skinny, and bleached blonde, was so fucking skinny her breastbone was on display through her skin. The napkin she was fronting as a dress was practically see-through and he could see she wasn't wearing any underwear.

"Fuck off," He said.

Her eyes went wide. “What?”

"You deaf?" He asked. "I said, fuck off."

Her mouth fell open. "What?" She whispered.