Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 24429 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 122(@200wpm)___ 98(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24429 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 122(@200wpm)___ 98(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
"Her?” He spat my way. “She ain't no-- Fuck!"
I stifled a laugh as Jesse accidentally-on-purpose tripped Romeo in the doorway, pulling his arm up and back and throwing his forehead into the door frame.
Romeo's face hit the ground next with some help from Jesse, and I watched as Jesse straightened himself up, brushed imaginary dirt from his shoulders and flexed tattoo-covered arms, his dark crew cut glistening under the flashing strobe lights.
Finally, the table of guys he was with took notice.
Like M-80’s going off in succession, each one stood up in turn, stumbling and bumping their way toward Jesse in some kind of comic four stooges’ sketch.
“Jesse, watch out!” I shouted just as the first guy threw himself the final yard toward his target, a punch half connecting with the back of Jesse’s head.
The girls on stage glanced my way with appealing looks, but they were in no danger. Hell, I doubted these guys were much of a danger sober. Still, Renee and Vanessa gave me pissy looks for not waving them off. Every chance they got, they were backstage, filling their noses with whatever candy was their flavor of the week.
I should have felt sorry for them, but I didn't.
They all treated me like shit, so I figured they could just keep dancing, even if no one was around to throw money onto the stage or tuck it between their offered tits.
It took less than two minutes for Jesse to get the un-happy customers out the door, and nobody had to call the cops, so that was a win. It was always a rush when things got hot, but it happened so regularly we all just took it in stride.
I secretly loved watching the fights. I knew I was safe, and watching Jesse was like watching an Olympic gold medalist win their event every time. Calm authority radiated off him, and when his powerful body went into gear to do what it did best, it was a sight to see.
Every ounce of his power was focused, each muscle moving in perfect coordination with the next.
It wasn't just raw power, either. Sure, he could bench press a locomotive, but he could outwit a fox too. When most people see a giant, tattooed mountain of muscle like him, they immediately size him up as all brawn and no brains. It worked to his advantage, and he liked to have the advantage.
Only, I knew him. I knew my pseudo-stepbrother better than anyone. I could always see the gears turning behind the dark, deep eyes, set either side of a nose that was just the right amount of crooked from when his convoy was ambushed.
A month later, he was back out there.
Nothing scared him. Nothing I had ever seen, at least.
His broad frame was layered with rolling muscle, stretching each perfectly-white t-shirt he wore like a uniform every night. Every-single-night. A brand-new t-shirt, worn 505’s, and his well broken in custom-made Wesco Harness boots.
The only time I had seen him wear anything else was nearly three years ago.
He'd put on an Armani suit to be a pall bearer at my brother Kent’s funeral, after an accident when Jesse was home on leave claimed my brother’s life. I half wished I could remember that day better, because Jesse must have looked good in that suit. Truth was, he looked good in anything. He always had, ever since I could remember.
As a goofy teenager, when he was my brother’s best friend, I wrote his name over and over in my diary. I was too shy to meet his eyes, but I already knew I would never want another man in my whole life.
Even back then, I knew that Jesse would ruin any other men for me.
That thought hit me, and while he and the other guys got the bar straightened up, I snuck myself a triple shot of Grey Goose and slammed it back. It was a little early for me to start that heavy, but no one was looking, so I figured I'd get it while the gettin’s good.
It didn’t take long before new faceless, nameless customers started filtering back into the bar. They filled the empty tables, and Vanessa and Renee took their breaks to be replaced by Helena and Cara, wearing identical bras and thongs that would last only until they figured they'd made as much in tips as they were going to before showing some more skin.
As soon as the fight was over, Jesse had limped toward his office. One of the guys had spilled a beer on his shirt, a dark stain spreading from his hard, flat abs across his chest. Of course, it would be replaced by another white t-shirt, but he could never stand to wear that one again. He wouldn’t even wash it. It would go right in the trash.