Wait For Me

CHANCE

It’s been a few weeks since I met the intriguing young Kyra. I hate myself, but I gotta admit I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her. Those damn eyes, man. Every time I close my eyes, I see her glowing blue orbs staring deep into my soul.

She hasn’t texted me at all. I even texted her back saying, “hi” like a fucking dumbass after I dropped her off at her house a few weeks ago, but nope, nothing. And, well, come on, it’s definitely for the best.

I told her to call me if she needs anything, but honestly, she’s better off without me and my crazy life, even if she is stuck with a shitty fucking family. I guarantee the life I’d give her would be much more destructive.

I put out my smoke, grab my cut, and head out the door. A couple of us are going to a club tonight. One of the member’s old ladies just opened the doors downtown in Chicago, and apparently, it’s pretty sick.

I put on my nicer combat boots, shave my stubble, and put on a newer black shirt under my leather cut. It’s about a twenty-minute bike ride from the compound to the club, which I guess is named Stellar. Stellar. It doesn’t really sound like the type of club me and my guys would like.

But my buddy Cruz insisted we check out his lady’s club, and of course, we gotta support our family. We pull up to the building, which has neon-colored underflow surrounding it, probably making it look inviting and exciting to most people. To us, it looks preppy as hell.

The bouncers let us in instantly; they probably know the owner’s husband is part of the biggest MC club in Chicago. Flickering neon lights paint the walls in a kaleidoscope of colors as an EDM DJ’s music vibrates through the floor. Damn, this shit hurts my head. I’d much rather be playing pool or hammering shots at an old leather booth.

We get seated in the VIP area up on the second floor. The sexy blonde waitress flutters her lashes at me as she takes our order. I give her a wink and tell her to bring over two bottles of Jack Daniels.

“Anything for you, handsome,” she purrs at me before she walks off.

“Damn, bro, only been here ten minutes.” Skip laughs at me.

“You’re just jealous,” I tease him.

“No way, bro. I got the hottest piece of ass waiting for me at home,” he brags. He and his old lady have been together since they were like fucking thirteen. I’ve been the third wheel in their relationship most of my life. That or Skip and Miranda try to hook me up with her friends, but I just hump and dump. I’ve never wanted to see the same girl more than once.

I head to the bathroom to take a piss and rail another line. This shit from Twisted Reapers is definitely good, better than our old shit, that’s for sure. We made the deal with them, and I returned to Woodridge a week ago to pick up our first order. I couldn’t help but cruise by Kyra’s giant mansion.

I wondered which room she was in. I wondered if she was looking out the window or if she heard the rumble of my bike. I wondered if she got excited knowing I was near. I know I sure fucking did. I swear I could feel her everywhere. The second I rode into the town.

After I take a piss and give some flirty girls some attention on my way back, I head over to the railing and peer down at the dance floor below. It’s packed tight with people grinding and sweating all over each other. I cringe at the idea. I’d much rather have a private lap dance, but sadly, this club doesn’t offer that. I people-watch a little longer before scanning a familiar face.

What the fuck? Kyra. She’s definitely too young to be in downtown Chicago at 1 a.m. at a fucking nightclub! But she looks absolutely gorgeous. Plastered, but gorgeous.

She’s arguing with some preppy-looking douchebag in the middle of the dance floor. He keeps trying to put his hands on her, but she keeps shaking him off. I squeeze the railing so tight my knuckles turn white underneath my tattoos.

God damn, she’s fucking seventeen! I don’t know when her birthday is, but it doesn’t matter; the feelings I have for her are wrong. So fucking wrong. Even if she were my age, I know I should stay clear from her, but nope, I’m a dumbass and find myself walking past the guys at the table, heading downstairs to see this girl.

I approach her from behind, and I hear her scream at the douche, “Jason! I wanna go home!” She slurs her words and stumbles back a little bit. I can’t help but stare at her gorgeous legs in her short, tight little black dress. It’s just long enough to cover her sexy bubble butt. Fuck. She should not be allowed at a club dressed like this!

She’s wearing little white Converse shoes. This makes me chuckle; of course, she doesn’t wear heels. She knows she’s so fucking hot it doesn’t matter what she wears on her feet.

The douche catches me staring at him from behind Kyra. “What the fuck are you looking at?” he stupidly asks me.

I walk over to him and stop beside Kyra. She turns her head and gasps when she sees me.

“The fuck you looking at?” I ask the fucking prick in return. He notices my leather cut with my club’s name on it, and his face changes. He looks like he’s gonna piss himself like a pussy. I glance over at the gorgeous Kyra; she’s not afraid at all. Actually, the way she is staring at me is making my dick almost spring out of my fucking jeans.

“Chance,” she slurs, and she smiles up at me.

“Kyra, good to see you.” I reach out as if I’m about to brush my thumb over her cheek or some shit. She holds in a breath as my hand gets closer, but then I realize what the fuck I’m doing and drop my hand back down to my side. She exhales her breath.

“How the fuck do you know this guy, Kyra?” the tool, whose name is apparently Jason, barks at her.

“Watch your tone,” I hiss at him. I don’t care who the fuck he is; he’s got no right talking to Kyra like that. He shuts up instantly.

“I met him at the grocery store. I-I forgot my wallet, so he paid for my milk,” she blatantly lies to him.

“Whatever. We need to go.” He snakes his little bitch hands around her waist and tries to pull her close.

“Don’t touch me,” she spits, a glare on her face as she wrenches herself from his grasp. This definitely bruises his ego; his face turns bright red.

I see his fingers latch on again and push down harder into her waist. She lets out a little gasp, and my protective side takes over.

“Get your fucking hands off her. Now!” I snap as I reach into my pocket and put my hand on my gun. His eyes widen, and he lets go of Kyra.

“Fine. Whatever. Find your own way! See you at home, sis.” He sneers and then leaves.

She breathes a huge sigh, and she also fucking tumbles into my arms. Jesus Christ, she’s drunk. I hold her up to steady her while looking around, trying to figure out what I’m going to do. She’s way too drunk to ride on my bike right now, and I don’t even wanna take her home—”See you at home, sis”—What the fuck?

I’m assuming he meant foster sister, but the way he had his hands on her, like he was staking his claim or some shit, made my blood boil. I catch eyes with Sherri, Cruz’s old lady and the owner.

She looks at me, confused, but then I scoop Kyra up into my arms and walk toward her, and she nods, gesturing for me to follow her. Kyra nuzzles her face into my chest and lets out a sleepy moan. Man, this woman is killing me.

Sherri shows me to her office. She’s got a couch in there that I lay Kyra down on. She needs to sober up a little before we figure out what we’ll do. I really don’t want to send her back to that fucking house, but who am I to step in? I barely know the girl.

***

I sit back in a chair and watch Kyra sleep. The club is shutting down now. It’s 3 a.m., and my buddies are texting me. I tell them to head home without me, that I’m dealing with something. I know I should wake her, but she looks so peaceful right now.

Just as I settle back into the chair to watch her, her long eyelashes start to flutter. She opens her bright blue eyes and stares directly at me. She gives me the cutest smile ever that shoots a fucking lightning bolt into my damn heart.

“Come here, Chance,” she whispers. Oh god. How am I supposed to say no to that?

“Angel, I think it’s best if I stay over here.”

She looks a little heartbroken when I say this. “I’m not a kid, you know,” she snaps and then sits up abruptly.

“I know you aren’t, but you’re still too young for me, beautiful,” I say softly, trying to soothe her anger a bit.

“It’s what, like a four-year age difference? That’s nothing,” she says and starts stalking toward me, looking sexy as hell with her now messy hair.

“It doesn’t matter. I ain’t a good guy to keep around, angel. I’d fucking taint your pure soul,” I say when she gets to me, standing so confidently and so close.

She snorts. “Don’t act like you fucking know me,” she says.

Oh fuck, no. I don’t care how cute or young she is; no one talks to the VP of the Hell Razors like that. I shock her like crazy by grabbing her by the throat, not hard, but with enough pressure her eyes widen, and she gasps for air.

I push her against the wall and push my hard cock into her. She lets out a mumbled squeal when she feels it. “Don’t ever talk to me like that again, angel,” I tell her before I release her throat. I can’t help but notice her squeeze her thighs together.

I bet she’s wet as fuck.