McQUEEN: Las Vegas Bad Boys (13 page)

W
hen the phone rings
, her voice is muffled by the sobs.

“What happened?”

She doesn’t answer, just sobs harder.

“JoJo, answer me.”

“He sent a pair ....” Her breath is ragged through the phone. It’s as if I can feel her shaking even though she’s nowhere in sight. “Oh my God, Ryan, it’s so....”

“What happened, baby? Just tell me. Are you safe?”

“I’m safe. I just—” I hear her blow her nose. She takes a few deep breaths, then speaks again. “The stalker sent something to me in the mail. And thank God I was the one who was here to get it, because my brothers would have gone ballistic. It’s just so creepy.”

“What was it?” I ask, pacing my living room.

“A pair of my underwear.”

“What the fuck?” I ask. “Jo, we’ve gotta call the cops. Now. This isn’t safe. You’re in danger.”

“I know it’s freaky. But—”

“No buts. When are you gonna stop saying
but
to the whole thing? This is serious.”

“I know.”

“Then let me help.”

“No.”

“Dammit, Josephine. You make it really fucking hard to fight for you, you know that? Really hard to protect you.”

“I didn’t ask for your protection.” Her words are pointed and I don’t know if she means them to be sharp, but they fucking prick my skin. “I already have protection. It’s just that every time I leave my house, start hanging out where I shouldn’t be, I get the creepy stuff again. I should listen and take my dad’s warnings seriously.”

“Fuck that. It’s bullshit. And you know it. I could protect you if you let me,” I tell her.

“You couldn’t, though. You’re not from here, this city. There’s a lot of stuff my family is mixed up in, and it’s not just strip clubs and poker tables. It’s dangerous. There’s more at stake than my flipping panties. Letting you in to help me is only putting my family at risk. Putting you at risk.”

“You’re not from this city either, JoJo. And sometimes it’s like you’re not from this century. Call the fucking cops. Stalkers aren’t something you can just
deal with.
It’s more dangerous than that.”

“How would you know what can happen with stalkers? Did you have one?”

I swallow, not wanting to go this deep with this girl who I want so badly, but who doesn’t seem to want me at all.

“Say something,” she says, sniffling again. “Don’t push me out yet.”

“You’ve been pushing me away since day one, girl.”

“I wish I could explain.”

“You can trust me,” I tell her.

“I believe you. But trusting you isn’t what I’m scared of. I’m scared of breaking your heart.”

I stop pacing; sit on the edge of my leather couch. My head is all messed up from this girl; I’m losing control of myself, because all I want is her. If telling her the things I keep buried means she’ll draw closer to me, so be it. I don’t want to lose her.

“It’s been broken before.”

“Who broke it?” she asks.

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean?” she asks, her voice now quiet, as if understanding that something is being transmitted through the phone that isn’t words, but feelings.

“When I was seven years old, my sister was kidnapped. She was four.”

“Oh, Ryan,” she says softly into the phone.

I wish I were with her right now. I’d let her wrap her arms around me, give me something to hold onto. I never tell anyone this story. Why would I? For most of my life Rachel’s been gone.

“No one’s ever found her.”

“Oh my God, that’s horrible.”

“Yeah, it’s fucking twisted. Someone was watching her for a while before they took her. The police found clues about it in her room, in our neighborhood—but Rachel never said anything. Why would she? She was just a little girl. But JoJo, you’re not so little anymore.”

My fingers push away the tears in the corners of my goddamned eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” she tells me.

“So you understand now? You’ll let me call the police?”

She doesn’t answer, and I know without her saying it, she doesn’t want me to.

Fuck this.

“You know what, it’s almost eight. I should head to the club. I have to work, and clearly we want different things.”

“That’s not it, Ryan.”

“What is it then? Because I’m pouring my heart out here; I’m giving you all I got. And you’re giving me nothing in return.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say. To do.”

“Don’t be stupid, JoJo. I know you’re a fighter, but you aren’t invincible. If you don’t want my help, fine. But girl, it’s time you ask your father for it, before this mess can’t be cleaned up.”

* * *

I
told
her why this stalker thing is messing so bad with my head. She didn’t want to hear it. She wants to pretend that she can deal with it all on her own. Fine.

She can keep up this charade as long as she wants. She can hide the truth about her MMA fighting from her family, hide her stalker from her family. She wants to hide me from her family, Fine.

But I’m done hiding. I don’t need to play those games.

Tonight, I’m gonna bring it to the stage. I own this club, and JoJo isn’t the only woman around.

When my final song of the night, “Timber,” comes on, I’m in my flannel shirt, blue jeans, and suspenders, carrying an ax over my shoulder. My face is fucking fierce tonight; I don’t feel like smiling seductively. Everything inside me courses with a rage I’m not used to. I’m used to showing my dimples and getting what I want.

Right now, I’m not grinning. Right now, I’m fucking pissed at the guy sending JoJo her panties and a dick pic. Fucking photographing us when she’s riding me. It’s more than a prank, a funny joke. No one is laughing.

On stage, I rip of my flannel shirt, and the women in the crowd go wild. I pull a woman onstage like I do every song. She’s in her mid-thirties, cute and smiling, but I’m not looking to make anyone laugh tonight. I want to make her wet. I want make her moan. I want her to remember how a man can make her feel.

JoJo might not want me; fuck it. I’ll make this woman want me. She’s got long dark hair and wears a skimpy, too-tight dress—clearly she came out tonight trying hard to look hot, and fuck, it’s working. There are plenty of women who will spread their legs for me if I offer. JoJo’s sure as hell not the only one willing to suck my cock.

The woman sits on a chair, hands on her lap, and I straddle her, grinding my cock against her belly. I’m hard, and she likes it. As I lean my face down to her breasts, teasingly, I hear a faint gasp escape her mouth. She runs her hands over my bare chest, and I raise my eyebrows, smirk at the crowd. I lean into the moment and rip off my pants.

I’m left in a nice little G-string; my firm ass is bare, and my cock’s barely covered. I tease, letting this woman enjoy the view of my ass. She spanks it, causing the crowd to roar.

I play along, and when the chorus of “Timber” repeats, I grab my ax and swing it in front of my cock, teasing the crowd.

It’s a good number, and when I leave the stage, I feel more in control, more alive. Feel the rush of adrenaline I always get when I perform.

Back in my room, I take my time changing into my street clothes. I don’t really know how I want the night to end. It used to be I’d always fuck whoever showed up, and then I’d go meet the guys. But the guys are fucking married off and I don’t want just any girl.

I answer the knock on the door; it’s the stage manager asking if I want any visitors. Apparently the black haired woman wants to know if I want company.

Dismissing the idea, I sit down on the couch in my room.

My head spins; my heart pounds. I don’t know what I want, but I know what I crave.

Josephine. Still Josephine. The harder she pushes me away, the more I want her.

Is it me just wanting what I can’t have? Or is this more?

It’s not even a question. I know what this is.

She wants her family more than me ... fine. I’ll give her what she wants. Back in the VIP room she said the only way she could have me is if I was willing to go all-in with her family. I told her no. But why? What else do I have? What else do I want?

It’s just after eleven, but on a whim I text my brother, feeling really fucking far from home. Maybe I need to make peace with my own family before I join a new one.

* * *

Connor and my dad are having a morning “meeting” in the kitchen. I hear them talking as I tread down the carpeted stairs. I want coffee. Scratch that, I
need
coffee. But I also want to hear what those two are discussing. Sitting on the stairwell, I try to hear, but their words are muffled.

I tossed and turned all night.

McQueen shared his heart, got vulnerable and transparent, and basically all the things any woman is ever begging a man to be.

And that’s when I pushed him away the hardest, the deepest.

I never had his heart, but now, more than ever, I know I don’t deserve what I never really had.

Him.

His little sister was kidnapped and I’m acting like this super-sized stalker ain’t no thing. It’s callous and it’s cruel, to act so flippant about my life.

And sure, I know some people would say me getting in the ring, wanting to fight, is careless, too. But this is a whole other kind of stupid. This is me saying I don’t need anyone to help, when I so clearly do.

I’ve craved the thrill of fighting because it’s this one reckless thing I can have, where no one gets to take care of me, make choices for me. If I’m in a knee bar, I need to get myself out of that hold. Me. No one can help. If I’m in ankle lock and don’t want to lose the fight, I need to reposition myself without asking my dad or my brothers for advice. It’s the one place where I get to call
all
the shots for my life.

But right now, trying to do this on my own could end in something horrific. And I wouldn’t wish that on myself, and certainly not on my family.

Connor is louder now and I can hear his words.

“She wants me to be some pussy who’s home in time for dinner. I didn’t sign up for this, Tom. You know she called me last night? Bitching that she needed me to come get Justice because she wouldn’t stop crying. She has no fucking clue that I was out on a job, that I shot a guy who hadn’t paid us in the fucking head.”

I swallow, realizing this isn’t just some morning coffee date. I don’t want to know about their dirty work.

“At some point, this bullshit has to end,” my dad says. “You can’t sleep here, make me send a crew to your house every night to watch Mary and the kids. That’s your fucking job. Man up. Get your woman in check.”

I grimace at the way Dad refers to his daughter. Doesn’t he care about the way she’s treated? Besides, how exactly does he want Connor to get his point across? Beat her into submission? I wince at the idea of that, of the kids and my sister being put through that.

“It’s bullshit. You’re daughter is a bitch if she doesn’t get what she wants.”

“She’s also the mother of your children, Connor. Fuck, get a grip. What does she want?”

I breathe easier, hearing Dad say something reasonable.

“She wants a housecleaner, a nanny. Groceries delivered and a new car.”

“That’s it?” my dad asks, incredulous. “You know what, Connor, get the fuck out of my house.”

“What?” Connor asks, his chair shooting across the wood floor. “She’s demanding. She wants everything her way and doesn’t realize tha—”

“Enough.” Dad’s yelling now, moving around the room as he lays into Connor. “Mary has a baby. And little kids. You want her to be like your mother back in Boston, who’s never stopped being a slave to your father? Why would you want that? As if your mother was a fucking riot. No. She was a bitch because she was exhausted everyday of her damn life.”

My eyes go wide at Dad’s speech. Oh, shit. Connor’s getting told.

“And furthermore, son,” Dad berates, “Mary is my fucking daughter and I work hard for my family so my girl doesn’t have to wash clothes and sweep her fucking floor. That’s all she wants?” My dad pushes at something, and what sounds like another chair falls to the ground. “You’re skirting from your responsibility because you’re a fucking cheapskate? Go buy my daughter whoever and whatever the fuck she wants.”