Undeniable (Undeniable, #1)(12)

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 f*ck out. He had cameras all over his club, too. Security in this business was 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 backward 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 pile of garbage. His old man had always said he was garbage. He sure as f*ck felt like garbage.

His body jerked as pain exploded in his shoulder.

“Fuck,” he groaned. He hated getting shot. Shit f*cking 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, the second in your brain. Next, you even try for retaliation, and I will gut every last boy in your Queens chapter.”

“Understood,” Deuce 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 f*cking 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.





CHAPTER FOUR


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 IDs and were able to escape to our happy place every Saturday night. Club Red.

The 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 was thirteen and Jacob, eighteen. I’m fairly certain Jacob was head over heels in love with her, but he 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 Saturdays 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 than he hated New York City was the New Yorkers that resided in it. Even more than he hated New Yorkers was the New York City nightclubs filled with New Yorkers.

Two of his boys rode up with him on business. They wanted a party and some *, and since he sorta wanted to pick up some * 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 disco balls twirling on the ceiling, while surrounded by wall-to-wall drunk f*ckwads 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 *. 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 f*ck put a decorative umbrella on it?

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

“Heeeyyy,” 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 skintight clothes that emphasized the fact that they had no tits and no ass. This particular bitch—tall and bleached blonde—was so f*cking 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 f*ck off.”