Nothing Wagered, Nothing Won

Nothing Wagered, Nothing Won

Saturday nights at the Lantern made the Friday night bashes at the clubhouse look small in comparison.  Steady streams of locals filtered in all night, most of them looking to down a few beers and enjoy the bar’s legendary food.  The bravest of the pack rubbed shoulders with the Lords, mingling with the outlaw bikers that packed the place on any given night.

Ginny Brawer stood behind the bar, looking much like the queen bee observing her hive.  She turned to Crux, hazel eyes dancing and a wicked smile curving her lips.  “That club president of yours is one fine looking piece of man.”

Chuckling, he set down the tumbler he had been polishing and shrugged.  “I wouln’ know nothin’ about that, but ya better be careful o’ that one, lassie.  I hear his ol’ lady has a mean streak fifty miles wide.  A real bear, she is.  Could scare an Irishman sober.”

“Why Crux,” Ginny drawled in a honeyed tone.  “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were flirting with me.”  At his wink, she laughed.  Hands settling on her hips,  her mirthful expression turned to one of pressing sarcasm.  “And what’s this?  Just an Irishman, huh?  No ornery Scot?  Jesus, don‘t tell me I‘m losing my jizz.”

“Sorry t‘ disappoint ya, love, but I don’t e’en remember what sober feels like.”

“Love? Am I missing something here?“  A deep voice interrupted the playful banter. 

Closing in on Ginny, the president’s solid paw connected with her ass.  The swat caught his wife unaware and forced her on tiptoe.  Her yelp cut the air.  Cam’s blue eyes sparkled as he snaked his arms around her waist and nuzzled her ear.  “Quit your complaining, woman.  You know you liked it.”

Though low, the intimate murmur still reached his ears.  Pulling out the bottle he kept tucked behind the bar, Crux lifted it in silent toast to the couple.  Even after thirty years, they still had that newlywed spark.  Dragging his eyes away with a twinge of envy, he took a long swill of whiskey.  It wasn’t a warm body but, most times, he preferred the company of a good liquor over the nameless void hang-a-rounds and strippers left behind.  His mind danced around endless strands of meaningless words and half-truths.

Some burdens were meant to be borne alone.

~*~*~*~*

It was the same old story.  Weeks of frustration, sexual and otherwise, came to a head as he battered into the drunken blonde.  She didn’t resist when he bent her over the break table after his shift.  He didn’t even know her name, but he knew she had a thing for the club’s vice president, Rune.  Most of the girls did.  It didn’t matter that her muffled gasps praised Trinity’s future heir; Crux just concentrated on the pleasure at hand.  As long as it kept her from turning around, and him having to deal with the endless disconnect, she could scream out the Pope’s name for all he cared.

~*~*~*~*

Wrapping her jacket tighter, Katrina stared at the garage, her verdant gaze troubled.  The high pitched whine of air tools filled her ears, along with the music blaring from the bay.  Her heart sank with a crippling mixture of fear and dread. Hard as she tried, she could not shake the uneasy feeling that she was stepping into proverbial the lion’s den.

“Can I help you?”

The sneering drawl sounded over her shoulder.  Startled, Katrina jumped, heart in her throat as she spun.  The biker raked stained fingers through his short salt-and-pepper hair before wiping his palms on his shirt, leaving a greasy smear across the tag. 

“I brought you five hundred.”

The corners of Crux’s dark eyes moved in a dangerous tick, but he thumbed through the small stack she handed over with a nod.  “That leaves you with another hundred due next week.  I’ll see you then.”

Katrina watched him turn with a wince.  “Crux?  Wait, please.”

He stopped to cast an impatient glance over his shoulder.  She closed the distance his long strides covered and toed the gravel as she chewed her lip in thought.  “I . . . I think you have the wrong impression here.”

“Yeah?  An’ just what would that be, lassie?”

His tone cut deep.  It wounded and riddled her with shame.  She knew how things looked, and she didn’t blame him for harboring resentment, but she couldn’t bear another seven weeks of it while she paid off her ex’s debt.

A sigh escaped her lips and her shoulders slumped.  “I’m not some shallow little rich girl from the bluff.  Me not staying with you that night had nothing to do with . . . with--”

“Save your spiel, darlin‘.  I’ve heard it before.”

“No you haven’t!  This isn’t some lame rhetoric tossed out on a whim. Would you please just hear me out?  Please?”

Crux plowed his hands through his hair and cast an agitated glance toward the shop.  “Fine, but not now.  I’ll be at the bar after my shift.”

“What time?”

He shrugged and spread his palms.  “Whene’er I get there.”

~*~*~*~*

Purse tucked beside her in a booth, Katrina traced the rim of her beer with an absentminded finger.  She glanced at her watch and did her best to ignore the rowdy swell of the crowd.  The raucous laughter and music reverberating through the intimate confines drowned her thoughts and provided a comfortable backdrop.  Gleaming mahogany tables and brass fixtures provided a pleasant distraction for the eye, but it was the numbness, the sense of losing yourself in the chaos that held the most appeal.

Waitresses hustled by, desperate in their attempts to keep up with the dinner rush.  Katrina became so used to the activity rushing by her that she didn’t bother glancing up until a gentle nudge drew her attention.  Startled, she glanced up to see Crux standing beside the booth.  Clad in faded jeans, a black long-sleeve shirt, and the unmistakable Lords of Mayhem cut, he looked quite formidable as he towered over her.  That is, until he pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head and smiled.

“Well, what do ya know?” he said, sliding into the seat next to her.

Katrina scooted over, mesmerized by the dimples accompanying his easy grin.  In her fear, she hadn’t noticed them last week.  Nervous, she tucked a wayward strand of inky hair behind her ear and traced her glass.  “I was starting to think you weren’t going to show.”

“Naw.”  He offered a dismissive wave.  “Got held up at the shop.  Don‘ like it, but it happens.” 

His eyes locked with hers.  Leather, whiskey, and cigarettes rolled off of him, a heady mixture that had her heart beating a little faster.  Trapped beneath the weight of his smoldering stare, Katrina squirmed, trying to shake the nagging fear that he could read her thoughts.  The corners of his mouth twitched before he broke the spell and waved down a nearby waitress.

“Bring me the usual, sweetheart.  Oh, an‘ I want an extra glass.  Might be a double fistin‘ kinda night.”  He dropped a wink at the redhead when she rolled her eyes.  Turning his attention back to Katrina, he shrugged.  “So?  You wanted my attention, lass, an’ ya got it.  What gives?”

Her dark brow furrowed as she wondered if this was the same man she had talked to earlier.  Gone was the bite.  Instead, she was confronted with the playful, carefree man she saw in his kitchen.  Maybe it was the prospect of food that lightened his mood . . . or the whiskey riding on his breath.  Shaking her head, she snapped out of the hazy thoughts ensconcing her brain.  “I don’t know where to start.”

Crux’s throat rumbled with a chuckle.  He pressed closer, a hint of amusement playing on his lips.  “The truth is as good as a place as any.”

“I’m not sure I know what that is anymore.  I’m so confused right now.”

“That makes two of us, darlin’.”  He looked up, flashing a smile at the waitress as she dropped off a bottle of Jamesons’ and two shot glasses.  “Put it on me tab, doll.”

Katrina waited until they were alone again.  Taking a deep breath, she downed half of her beer in long, desperate gulps.  She flinched as his hand drew near, then flushed as the pad of his thumb caressed her upper lip.  “Thanks.” 

At his nod, she fidgeted, her weary mind so very tired of searching for answers.  “The truth is, I was scared to death that first night.  I mean, you held a knife to my boyfriend’s face.  As much as people tend to look the other way, everyone in this town, hell, this county, knows what the Lords of Mayhem stand for.”

Crux nodded, his hand running over his goatee in thought.  “That piece of shyte wasn’t much of a boyfriend.  No real man pawns his woman off like a whore just to pay a debt.  As for the club,” he shrugged.  “It’s a brotherhood.”

“Of outlaws.  I’ve heard the stories, Crux, everyone has.  People who cross your ‘brotherhood’ end up dead or wishing they were.”

He seemed at a loss for words; his gaze fixated on the table for a long minute.  Reaching for the bottle, he poured two shots.  He pushed one her way and slammed the other one down.  “A wise man once said not to believe anything you hear and only half of what you see.”  Pausing, he offered her a wink that made his brown eyes sparkle.  “Of course, he was talkin’ to the local law officials at t’ time.”

Katrina almost choked.  Her eyes slammed shut and her hand flew to her mouth in an attempt to keep both whiskey and laughter in.  “That accent, are you--”

“Scottish,” he supplied.

“Sorry.  It’s just . . .”

“I know.  I’m a hard man t’ follow sometimes.  O’er a decade in this country and I still get people lookin’ at me like I’m an alien whene’er I speak.”

“I like it.”

“Yeah?”  He chuckled, dark brow raised as he poured another shot.  “Guess that‘s one thing I got goin‘ for me then.”

She studied his profile as he twirled his hand, watching the amber liquor swirl.  Scars or not, he was a handsome man.  His sepia gaze always sparkled with a hint of mischief and there was no denying the wicked arch to his brow.  A dizzying combination of boyish charm and strength radiated from him, leaving no doubt the devil lurked somewhere inside, lying just beneath the surface.  A long straight nose led to the trimmed goatee covering his chin.  His lips were neither too thin or too full, but they held the promise of softness.  The coarse hair on his chin held stray hints of silver, like the subtle patches near his temples.  Like good and evil, youth and age seemed locked in a battle for control.  Somehow, it all worked.

“Don’t say that,” she pleaded, her voice barely above a whisper. 

At his questioning glance, she busied her hands with the salt shaker.  “That’s why I wanted to talk to you.  To explain.  It’s not the scars on your face that had me running.  They lend you a certain . . . charm.  They aren’t why I didn’t stay that night.  It’s the patch on your back that scares me.  You’re actually a good looking g--”

Crux laughed, loud and hard.  His brown eyes shone with good humor as he shook his head.  “Ya got no reason t’ be fillin’ my ears with honeyed potion now, lassie.  Handsome, is one thing I’m not!  Back ‘ome, I’m what they call a double bagger.”

Katrina fought hard to rein in her temper.  Her green eyes sparked with ire.  “I could care less what they say at ‘ome,'” she bit back.  “And I don’t appreciate being called a liar.  I’m entitled to my own damn opinions, Scotty.”

His eyebrows spiked in surprise.  “Woah!  Where did the hellcat come from?”

“From a man who’s too damn rude to accept a compliment when he’s given one.  If I wanted my every word second guessed and judged, I would go have a conversation with my father.”  She grabbed her purse from the corner and attempted to nudge him out of the way.  “I should have known this would be a big mistake.”

“Hey, sit tight now, kitten.”  Crux held solid, refusing to budge.  With a gentle tug, he freed the purse from her hands and set it down in front of them on the table.  “Calm down and sheathe those claws.  I didn’t mean t’ upset you.”

The words hung between them before the boisterous noise of the bar swept them under.  Katrina sighed, torn between rational thinking and the powerful sway of the man sitting next to her.  “I’m sorry.”

The Scotsman nodded, lifting his glass in a peace offering.  “It’s alright.  I like a bit o’ sass now and then.  Makes life more interestin’.  Now, what‘s this story with your father?”

Color suffused her cheeks.  She could feel the telltale burn, even as she cast her eyes to the nicks scarring the table.  “It’s just how he is.  I’m thirty years old and he still tries to control every little aspect of my life.  My friends, my home, where I work, how I look, who I date.  We’re from two different sides of the tracks, you and me.  Tattooed thugs and outlaw motorcycle clubs don’t exactly fit into daddy’s grand scheme.”

Crux grabbed the bottle and chuckled against the rim.  “I imagine it don’t.”  He took a long swill and placed his hand over hers.  Holding her startled gaze, Crux leaned in close, letting the distance between them fade.  “An’ you?  What is it you want?”

The intensity was too much, forcing Katrina to break the stare.  She pulled her hand free and rubbed it as if it had been burned.  In a way, it had.  She could still feel the searing heat of his touch branding her skin. 

“I don’t know,” she whispered, nearly kicking herself when he leaned in closer to hear her over the music.  His breath fanned against her neck in a scalding caress that made her squirm.  The effect the man had on her was unmistakable.  “I don’t know what I want, or what I’m doing here.”

A small smile tugged at the corner’s of the Scot’s mouth.  Nodding, he took her hand and kissed it with an impish wink.  “I guarantee your da ain’t in this bar, lassie.  Enjoy the here and now.  You can figure the rest out along the way.”

~*~*~*~*

Katrina stared at the mere quarter of Jamesons’ dwelling in the bottom of the bottle with a giggle.  Even a thick cheeseburger and fries could not smother the raging effects of the booze.  Her companion didn’t seem the least bit phased by their three hour drinking binge, though the Scot was in high humor.  Draping his arm around her neck, he took a generous swill before lifting the bottle to her lips.  His chuckle sounded low and deep against her ear, sending a wave of delicious chills rippling down her spine.  He pulled the bottle away at the last second.  Katrina pouted like a scolded child.

“I think you’ve had enough, kitten.  Com’on.”

The protest died on her lips as a powerful arm snared her waist and pulled her from the booth.  Tipsy, she wobbled and collided against the hard lines of his body.  Katrina’s breath caught as her hands splayed against his chest and she felt the faint vibration rumble beneath her palms.

“I tol’ ya that bottle ‘ad a bite.”

His lips crushed against hers in a hard kiss that left her yearning for more.  A low ache coiled in the pit of her belly, branching through the rest of her with insistent fingers.  Moisture pooled between her thighs. Oblivious to the damage he inflicted, Crux pulled her through the crowd, hindered by a few pats of greeting and inquisitive stares from his brothers.  They stopped in the middle of the bar and Katrina felt his arm wrap around her; the bottle of Jamesons’ pressed against the small of her back.  Though the room spun, she felt safe as he pulled her close, his body swaying in time to the music blaring from the jukebox.

The soothing chords from Tuesday’s Gone thrummed through her body and wrapped around her soul.  Pressing her cheek against the cool leather of Crux’s cut, she allowed him to cradle her in his arms.  She smiled as his chin settled on her head.

“Where were we?”

She blinked up at him through her alcohol fueled haze, a sly smile playing on her lips.  “I think you were a step away from making me one of the . . . what do you call them?”

“Who, love?”

“The women hanging all over half the club.”

Crux tipped her chin back with a loud laugh.  “Sweet butts?”  He shook his head.  “While you got the ass to carry that name well, I had no intentions of sharing’ ya, lassie.” 

He melded her against him, proving his point without words.  Katrina flushed, the hard evidence of his arousal impossible to ignore.  She curled a brave hand around his neck and urged his lips toward hers.  He obliged with a guttural growl, dragging her back toward an empty booth where he slammed the bottle of whiskey down without breaking the sweet hold he had on her lips.  Her desire burgeoned.  Need blossomed to a desperate ache.  Strong hands hefted her up, and laughing, they tumbled across the seat.  Katrina gazed down at his face and tucked her hair behind her ears.

“Mary, mother of Christ,” he muttered.  “You are beautiful, Kat.”

The emotion behind his words brought the unwelcome sting of tears to her eyes.  Never had those words sounded more sincere.  She was grateful for the gentle stroke of his fingers against her cheek.  Letting her lids drift shut, she leaned into his touch, marveling at the way his fingertips explored her face and the path of fire they left in their wake.  Unable to bear much more, she lowered her body on top of his and sought the refuge of his mouth.  His fist tangled in her hair, deepening the kiss until her head swam and all coherent thought fled her mind.

“Aww!  Come on, man!  Glad to see you two are having fun, but for fuck’s sake!  Get a room.  Last thing I want is to sit in a pile of Scotty juice.”

Crux sat up, bringing her with him.  He stared at Reaper for a long moment before cracking a shit-eating grin.  “I got one, brother, an‘ I hate t’ break it to ya, but chances are high you‘ve already sat in a pile or two.”

Reaper’s menacing blue eyes narrowed.  Running a hand through the disheveled raven curls covering his head, he grimaced.  “That’s just sick, dude.  Seriously.”  Not waiting for a response, the club sergeant turned away, slinking through the crowd with the grace of a feline predator.

Crux’s laughter rang in Katrina’s ears, a deep guffaw sounding so out of place given the situation.  Her mind whirled.  What was she doing?  “It’s getting late,” she whispered into the air between them.  Concern darkened his features.  His eyes probed hers, searching for answers she hoped he wouldn’t find. 

“Aye.  But there’s still a bit o’ hair left on the dog’s back.”

Brow twisting, she tried to decipher his words.  “Sorry?”

Flustered, he motioned with his hands.  “Time, woman.  That is, unless you’re tired.”

Katrina felt torn.  Pulling back, her hands twisted in her lap in a desperate attempt to ease the tension creeping into her body.  “I should go.”

His broad shoulders lifted in a sigh.  Crux stretched his arms out on the table in front of him, twirling the bottle of Jamesons‘.  A long moment of silence passed, broken only by the click of his lighter when he pulled a pack of smokes from inside his cut and tapped one out.  Taking a deep drag, he held it in.  “Hot don’ jus’ turn cold in the blink of an eye.  Talk to me, Kat.”

She shook her head.  “I’m tired.  Tired, and wondering what the hell I am doing here.”

“I thought you were havin’ a good time.”  Tapping the end of his smoke, he rolled the edge around the rim of the ashtray in front of him.

“I was, but take a look around.  This could never work.  This club, the life, it isn’t me.  I’m not some Friday night whore, Crux.  I . . . I want more out of life than some meaningless romp between the sheets.”

“Kat,” he murmured, dropping his cigarette to cup her chin.  “Do ya think I don’t?  Bloody Christ girl, I’m not some young pup only lookin’ t’ sow me oats anymore.  I could do that anywhere.  Truth is, glitter an’ g-strings lose their shine.”

“Don’t do this.  It’s hard enough without you--”

“Speakin’ the truth?”  He gave a derisive snort and shook his head.  His hand fell away fell away from her face, dropping to the table with a thud.

Katrina swallowed against the anguished lump in her throat.  She turned her head away, unable to look at him.  The mixture of confusion and anger was almost too much to bear.  Pain exploded along the back of her scalp and a startled yelp left her lips as he hauled her head back by a fistful of hair.  She squirmed, fear coiling in her stomach, a stark contrast to the demanding ache between her thighs.  Eyes wide, she regarded the blazing depths of his eyes as they bore into hers.

His mouth crushed against hers without warning.  Long fingers speared through her hair, gathering it to deepen their hold.  She whimpered against the bruising kiss, her hands lifting to push against his chest.  Instead, they danced in uncertainty and flattened against his back.

He pulled back with a groan.  “Feckin’ hell, woman.  Don’ run away.  Give whate’er this is a shot.  I don’ give a shit about yer da, Kat.  I jus’ want t‘ see where this road leads.”

Katrina stared at him wild-eyed.  “Which road would that be?  The one leading into my pants?”

Crux’s lips pursed in thought.  Giving a lecherous waggle of his brow, he broke into a grin and chuckled.  “Well, aye.  That one, too.  I’d be a damn liar if I said o’erwise.”

She rolled her eyes, trying hard to hide her amusement.  “At least you're honest.”

“Brutally so, I‘m afraid.”

His words held a hint of promise that brought renewed color to her cheeks.  Nerves jacked to their limits, she picked up his cigarette and took a long drag.  The noxious cloud hit her lungs, making them seize in an instant.  Coughing, she doubled over, laughing through the tears as Crux patted her back in concern.  The smirk on his lips told a different story.  The ornery Scot was amused, as were the bikers standing near their booth.

“Gawd love ‘em, lassie, but what do ya say we lose the crowd and head somewhere quiet?  The booze jus’ bit me and I could do with stretchin’ me legs.  Let me take ya home. We’re both too wasted to be drivin’.  I can’t make no promises, but I’ll try t’ be a gentleman.”

Katrina wasn’t sure what got into her, but before she could stop herself, her mouth bowed into an impish smile.  She leaned close, letting her lips graze the Scot’s in the barest tease.  Having caught his attention, she met his gaze dead on.  “A gentleman, Scotty? That’s a pity.”

He laughed and cupped her ass on the way out the door, both of them celebrating the promise life held.  Nothing wagered, nothing won . . . some chances were worth taking.


WC~3997
Written for:

1380461

Paradise Cove Writing Challenge  [18+] A fabulous world awaits in this Romance/Erotica writing contest. Great prizes. by Jace--New prompt at 1380461