Page 33

THREE

Scotch

“Here’s to mommy number five.” My stepbrother James raises his glass of Jameson as two of Dad’s girls teeter by, biting their lips and waving, but I keep my attention on my brother. “Just happy my visit with mom coincided with the celebration.”

James splits his time between Chicago where his VC corporation is killing it and here in Detroit where his mom still lives.

“Are we taking bets on how long it will last?” I say, scratching my cheek and clicking his rocks glass with my shot glass of ice water.

The smell of reefer and the dancers overdone perfume mixes with the trays of buffalo wings on the food buffet at the end of the bar making my gut twist.

I’ve seen more tits and ass in my 28 years than most men do in a lifetime. Means nothing, I’m here for business. I’m only a small partner on the clubs with Larry, my dad but I don’t use that honorific for him. He’s not earned it.

I grew up in these clubs. It’s just not someplace I’d hang out if it wasn’t necessary.

Only, tonight is different. Something feels off. Like the other shoe is about to drop. I find I keep gripping the top of my head or running my hand down my face and I can’t pinpoint what’s making me hinky and it’s not alcohol.

I quit drinking after I nearly twisted a fucker’s head off years ago when he came into my garage talking shit. I was twenty, and there he was telling me if I didn’t back off and leave his customers alone, he was coming for me.

I don’t do threats. If I have a problem, I take care of it. Anger has been my muse since I was a kid but after my mom died, I’ve cultivated it like a fucking organic garden in Portland. Only that day I’d already thrown back a fifth of Stoli and wasn’t thinking clearly. I saw red, and there he was.

I damn near twisted his head backwards and shoved my thumbs through his eye sockets. Problem was, two cops were trailing behind him on some bullshit call about a robbery. It was a fucking set up and I took the bait. I did two years for assault with intent and never touched a drop of alcohol again.

I’m all about control and if something isn’t aligned with that objective, fuck it. It’s gone. That includes people.

James sips his drink as I toss back my fake shot. I could just drink ice water from a regular glass but I get fucking sick of hearing, ‘You not drinking?’, ‘Have a fucking drink, relax!’. The fucking alcohol culture is so pervasive especially in a strip club. It’s just time saving to have what always looks like a drink in front of me. I don’t like to waste my time.

“Nah.” James shakes his head nodding as Larry comes out from the back hall with number five. “Let’s let this one play out. She’s pretty.” He remarks and I give a shrug of agreement. “How does Dad do that? Gets these hot women…he’s…something.” He shakes his head and I nod.

“Love’s a mystery, my brother.”

James’ mother was married to my dad for three years. We were both ten when they came along and by thirteen, he was gone, but we always had a bond and we’ve kept it tight all these years. He’s my brother for all intents and purposes and probably the only member of my family I would spend time with outside of some business obligation.

Mom died the year after he moved out in a car accident coming home from her shitty mid-night shift at the diner. Larry of coursed used one of his crooked as fuck attorney’s to make sure mom got the bare minimum of child support and nothing else. Such a fuck he is.

I’m rolling my neck around when a six-foot seven wall of muscle steps behind James, holding a finger to his lips as I flick my eyes his way then back to my brother.

Tiny, who has been at The King’s Palace since I was fifteen, reaches around, grabs James’ drink from his hand and lays a kiss on his cheek.

“What the fuck!” James spins, fists at the ready as Tiny throws back the rest of the Jameson with an exhale and a smile.

“Hi, Jimmy,” he says, rustling my brother’s hair as he winks at me. No one calls him Jimmy except Tiny because…well, he can.

“Fucker.” James chuckles, brushing his ever-perfect ink-black hair back into place as Tiny shifts to stand to my left stuffing his hands in his front pockets as patrons make a wide arch around us.

Most of the tables are occupied by regulars or Larry’s low-life acquaintances, all here for free drinks and a crappy buffet celebrating what is sure to be his fifth ex-missus Nelson soon enough.

Tiny nods toward the stage. “Hey, look. It’s time for karaoke. There’s your new sister.” He shoves an elbow into my ribs.

“What?” I cough, looking down at my phone, checking if I’ve gotten a response from the flaming review I just posted on the business currently in my crosshairs. Squashing the competition is something I do well, and I enjoy it.

My newest target is the only competitor to a business Larry and I bought a few months ago. I’ve been luring away customers by undercutting their pricing as well as posting shit reviews on Yelp, Marketplace and their website. I’ve got twenty sock-puppet accounts and with those I’m also making sure to send fake customer emails every day, complaining about all sort of bullshit and threatening legal action. Even made an anonymous tip to the DA about some stolen goods being sold through there. Sooner or later, I’ll bring them down, or make them miserable enough to sell.

At pennies on the dollar. To us.

“Scotch.” James punches my shoulder making me growl.

“Stop fucking touching me you assholes.” I swallow dead eyeing Tiny then James both who could give a shit.

James nods to the front of the club, “Look, it’s our new sister.”

I run my tongue over my front teeth, the knots of anger clenching harder in my belly. Larry knows I don’t do family, not outside of the business ventures we have together.

Fuck that. It’s not like we’ve spent a holiday or Sunday dinner together for years. All I want is to search and destroy. Cozying up to some new version of the Brady Bunch is not happening.

Except, fucking nuts.

I nearly double over feeling a zap in my balls like someone just shoved a taser down my pants.

“Holy shit,” I choke as the luscious, fire-haired cherub with an ass for days takes the stage with a shitty karaoke microphone in her hands.

A deep fissure opens inside of me. My dick stiffens as my balls threaten to heave. What the fuck is this? I’ve never had this reaction before. Not to any of the girls in any of the clubs or for that matter, motherfucking anywhere.

She’s wearing this little white ruffly sort of off the shoulder blouse and dark jeans and black boots. Simple. Stunning. Fucking take-my-breath-away hot as fuck. The hottest fucking thing that’s ever graced that stage, or ever fucking will.

A wild, dangerous desperation pounds in my temples as I clench my teeth. I already know I’d kill for her. Not because she’s my stepsister, but because, in some primal corner of my DNA, she’s mine. I want her. In a crazy, lose my fucking mind sort of way.

I’m a control freak when it comes to my life. I’m an asshole of the highest order to most that know me. But, this girl, fuck-a-duck, I’d carry her bubble butt around on pink pillows for the rest of my fucking life if I could.

This is bad. She’s my new stepsister and it’s going to take all my willpower not to pound into her over the fruitcake at Christmas from now on. Because, I’ll be having her for Christmas. In every position possible.

James and Tiny are jabbering about leasing versus buying or some shit but I’m in another world.

“What’s her fucking name?” I mutter, not sure if I’m talking to myself or asking them.

“Huh? Oh, Lois I think,” James answers looking at his phone.

I cinch my brow, Lois? She’s no Lois.

Then, Tiny adds, “Not Lois, dipshit, Lula. How do I know this shit and you two assholes don’t?”

Because we don’t talk to our father. Life is better that way.

Tiny raises a brow, looking at the stage and adds. “She’s cute too.”

“Shut the fuck up.” I shove a finger into Tiny’s chest, not even shifting him an inch but it’s the only time I’ve touched him. I don’t do touching. No hugs, no handshakes. Not even James. Everyone fucking knows.

Don’t. Touch. Scotch.

I can’t fucking stop staring at her. I’ve never felt this fire-in-my-veins sort of lust. I mean, yes, I have lust. I’ve had lust, I should say. It’s been a while. It’s the only bit of touching I’ve done with anyone since mom died and as far as that sort of fuckery is concerned, it’s been a year, maybe more. And even then, it was a non-event and rare. Fast and dirty. No kissing, no fucking talking. It was some sort of ballast relief but over time, that’s lost its appeal as well.

It’s no secret I could probably have my pick of ninety-percent of the girls that work in the clubs but there’s no pull for me there.

But, this. Jesus, this copper-haired Cupie Doll with the spooky blue eyes is flooring me from across the room. She holds the mic to her lips. There’s an innocence and discomfort in her expression that makes me want to leap up there and sweep her away.

She’s too good for this shithole, too pure, too perfect. And every fucking man in this place, and woman for that matter, is looking at her.

My fingers curl into fists, that ball of anger I carry in my chest pounds and pulses as I try to understand what the fuck is happening to me.

“Hi. I’m Lula.” Her cotton candy sweet voice comes over the speakers. Leroy, tonight’s DJ, leans in for her to whisper in his ear and I want to fucking tear it off. Imagining her sweet breath colliding with any other man’s flesh is almost more than I can take. “This song is called Shallow by one of my idols, Lady Gaga.”

Lula. Her name is a Mike Tyson punch to the side of my head.

There’s a smattering of applause with one excited bride in a skintight white leopard skin unitard fist pumping the air.

My new stepmother.

I’m already moving through the crowd as the first notes of the song start to play.

She’s a good girl. I sense it. Sweet. Probably untouched from the blush on her cheeks and the way she’s holding her legs together. The filthy thoughts that tumble through my head are beyond any porn I’ve ever seen.

She’s different. Fuck, I’m different. She’s changed me in the thirty seconds I’ve been staring at her. I want to make love to her slow and easy then spit on her asshole and tell her to beg me to bury my meat in her ass down to the balls while she’s wearing my belt around her throat.

I can’t stop looking at her lips as she starts to hum to the melody. Her eyelids flutter as she shifts her weight from one foot to the other.

So fucking sexy. Her plump pink lips match her plump tits and her crazy lush hips. One pout from her and I’d give her the world. Crush any fucker that makes her frown. I’ll take her to heaven then fuck her back into hell.

I’d settle between those thick thighs until she was a sopping wet mess with burn marks on her alabaster skin from my stubble.

She’s your stepsister, douche. Stop.

And young.

Fucking young.

Doesn’t matter. She’s a fucking wrecking ball destroying all the anger and resentment I’ve held on to like a life preserver forever.

At least, for her. I still hate everyone else. Everything else. But, Lula…

Fuck, even her fucking name wrecks me. Guts me. I want to say it over and over like a fucking chant.

I’m already fucking gone when the first words of the song drip from her glossy lips and every wall I’ve built around myself crumbles.

Tell me something, girl

Are you happy in the modern world?

Or do you need more?

Is there something else you’re searchin’ for?

That lost unsteadiness evaporates as she closes her eyes and the lilt of her voice spreads through me like sweet poison. The song stings me in places that have never felt anything. She raises one hand along with the high note, tightening my balls against my body.

Tell me something, boy

Aren’t you tired trying to fill that void?

Or do you need more?

Ain’t it hard keeping it so hardcore?

This is going to fuck things up. The things I want to do to my new stepsister but it’s a force larger than myself. As I move through the tables, winding like a viper toward my prey, my eyes lock on the ‘V’ between her legs.

I imagine throwing her down, cutting every shred of her clothing from her curves, grabbing her behind the knees and spreading her wide so I see it all. That slick pink slit, that puckered little asshole. My fire’s never been lit like this and I start to wonder if the bartender slipped something in my water shot just for shits and grins.

The irresponsible desire to defile her, to have her sticky and stuffed full of my cock as I pump through my own jizz to fill her up again, raw and rough, is all-consuming like wildfire on the horizon.

I imagine her calling for me. Begging me in slutty, needy moans, leaving all that sweetness behind and turning into my little wet fuck doll, greedy for what only I can give her. Slapping that juicy little cunt while she calls me Daddy and begs me to fuck her.

I’m off the deep end, watch as I dive in…

Fuck, this girl is destroying me right here in front of every-fucking-one. Every word, every note delivered directed into the ball of hate in my chest, destroying it.

We’re far from the shallow now…

Her lashes flutter then her eyes connect to mine. I’m standing at the edge of the stage in the middle of it all and I don’t give a fuck. She looks like she was born to be on stage but not this shitty one.

She holds the microphone like she should be holding my dick. Chubby little fingers wrapped around, barely circling the girth.

Her tumbles of red curls split over her bare shoulders. That white blouse barely covering her voluptuous tits that are making my mouth water.

Three of the dancers catch my eye sitting at a table to the left. They’re throwing back shots with a few regulars but they’re mocking Lula. Pretending they’re singing into invisible microphones. Only, they are pumping their hands back and forth like they’re giving head, their tongues pulsing out on their cheeks as the others laugh.

Oh. Fuck. No.

A low growl rumbles in my chest, constricting my throat as she finishes the last of the song and I’ve never heard anything more beautiful in my life. She’s got a voice like an angel. My angel. And this bullshit is going to stop right fucking now.

She kills the end of the song on a note that gives me fucking shivers and nearly stops my damn heart.

There’s applause, her mother is doing this little bunny hop while she claps, pointing to herself and telling everyone Lula is her daughter while my father sits at a table, oblivious to it all, tapping on his phone.

“We should invite her to chubby chasers’ night,” one of the girls says.

Then a gold chain wearing dude named Sam—a regular with a wife and six kids at home—chimes in, “Yeah, fucking nasty—”

He doesn’t get to finish. I barrel over there and flip the four top over, laying him out with one solid fist to his jaw knocking a tooth onto the floor as blood splatters over his bottom lip. I’m not one to hit a woman but it takes Tiny and James to keep me from twisting the pink haired bitch dancer’s head off.

“Not a party until shit gets broken,” I hear Tiny’s voice through my rage as he pulls me up, panting and growling and then leans next to my ear. “Dude, get it together. What the fuck is going on with you? You’re sister looks scared shitless. Chill, man.”

Anger pulses through me as the trio of girls and the three patrons are picked up by the wait staff. My father shoots me a ‘what the fuck’ look but the only thing that stops me from pounding the rest of their heads into the floor is Lula.

The look of fear and horror on her face stops me cold.

She is scared.

Of me.

My fists ball so tight my knuckles burn. The girls skitter away, giving Lula shitty looks as Leroy settles the crowd and calls for a time out, which as the girls and regulars here know, means no girls on stage but instead, patrons can take the dance floor and pay for the girls to dance with them.

He puts on some fucking song I’ve heard in here a thousand times as I watch Tiny tell a couple of the dancers to take the guy I almost knocked out over to the bar.

Smart. Because if Lula wasn’t looking at me like a scared bunny, I’d finish what I started.

Still, the confidence she had on stage when she sang is all but gone. Her arms are wrapped around her middle as her mother slips over to give my father his own private lap dance, leaving her daughter standing alone like a fucking kitten in the middle of the freeway.

People are looking at her. Patrons and dancers. They’re whispering and laughing and I’ve fucking had it.

They want to look?

I’ll give them something to look at. My dick agrees and there’s no help for him now.

I’m as hard as a titanium rod as I walk over and take my stepsister’s hand and lead her onto the dance floor.

This is going to end badly but I don’t give a shit.

“Come on, Lula, I’m Scotch, your new brother. Fuck all of them. Let’s dance.”