Nina Levine - Fierce

I jerked my chin towards the chick on the ground.  “You do that, asshole?”

His cold eyes challenged me, giving me all the information I needed.  I pulled my arm back and landed a punch on his cheek.  His face swung to the side from the impact and his body slightly crumpled.  I took the opportunity to get another couple of punches in; on his face and then his ribs.  I fed off the grunts of pain he emitted and the cracking sounds my fists caused when they connected with his body.  If it wasn’t for Nash pulling me off him, I would have kept going.

“Easy, brother,” Nash muttered as he shoved me backwards.

I pointed at the asshole.  “If I ever fucking see you here again, your legs won’t get you home.  Women aren’t put on this earth to be your punching bag.  Now, get the fuck out of my sight,” I thundered.

Turning my attention to the chick on the ground, I said, “You want me to organise someone to take you to the hospital?”

She shook her head, and her friend declined my offer, “Thanks, but we’ve got it under control.  A friend’s just gone to get his car.”

“Good,” I said, and then asked, “He your boyfriend?”

She nodded but didn’t say a word.  Her eyes fell to the ground and she looked ashamed.

I knelt down next to her.  “This wasn’t your fault.  I have no idea what’s gone on between you two but nothing you’ve said or done gives that asshole the right to take to you with his fists.  You got that?”

She nodded again but her eyes betrayed her; she didn’t believe what I’d said for one second.

“Let me guess, this shit goes on often and you keep going back for more.  You’re worth more than that scumbag piece of shit.  If you start believing that one day and need help to get back on your feet, you come see me.  Until then, I fucking hope you survive the next round because, let me tell you, it’s just gonna keep coming till you decide to put a stop to it.”

I stood back up and left her there.  There was nothing else to say; no-one could do for this chick what she needed to do for herself.  My breath would be wasted if I kept talking; kinda like with my mother.

“All sorted,” I said to Velvet as I walked past her on my way back to Harlow.

Harlow and her friend were at the bar chatting with Amy.  I let my gaze drop to Harlow’s ass as she leant over the counter to tell Amy something.  Tonight she was wearing a black dress that barely covered anything and clung to her curves in all the right fucking places.  And fuck, she had some serious curves going on.  I didn’t do really skinny chicks; I didn’t see the point if they’ve got nothing to grip on to.  My eyes trailed down her legs; long legs that would feel good around me.  And those heels she was wearing?  Fuck, I’d like to take everything else off and just leave those in place; my back would love them digging into it while I pumped into her.

She looked up at me as I approached.  “So, you’re the boss here?  I think you should give me a job.  Amy tells me you need staff and I’m unemployed.  As you know.”

I didn’t miss the emphasis on that last sentence, and was sure to throw Amy a dirty look.  Harlow would be as suited to this job as a nun would be to a prostitute.

“You’ve had one too many drinks, sweetheart, and have no clue what you’re saying at the moment.  You don’t want to work here.”

She planted her hands on her hip, and gave me what I imagined was her best ‘you’ve got to be kidding’ look.  “You don’t know anything about me.  How do you know where I want to work?”

“I know enough to know that you wouldn’t cope with men leering at you and pawing you while you served them drinks.”

“You might be surprised.  I’ve met some assholes in my time and I’ve put them in their place.”

“I’m sure you have, but the answer’s still no.  I don’t need to be worrying about you all the time.”

“No-one asked you to worry about me.”

“Christ, do you ever take no for an answer?”  I asked; irritation battling with a slight sense of respect.

“No.  So give me the damn job already.”

Amy drew her breath in and Nash stepped forward and touched Harlow on the arm.  “Sweet thing, I think he’s made himself clear.”

“Yeah, I’ve made myself really fucking clear,” I growled.

Harlow shook him off, and stepped closer to me, her green eyes hard.  “I don’t get you.  I need a job, you need staff, it’s a no brainer.  All I’m asking for is an interview...”

“Are you fucking finished?” I roared, fury dripping from my words.

She stiffened, and moved her hand to her throat.  Those greens of hers widened for a second before she narrowed them and replied, “Yes.”

She made a move to step away from me but I reached out and grabbed her hard by the wrist to stop her.  “I don’t owe you a fucking explanation but you’re going to get one anyway.  I do need staff but I would prefer experienced staff.  And staff who are suited to working in a strip club.  When I say I don’t have a job for you, it’s because I don’t believe you’d enjoy it and I don’t think it would be a good fit for you.”  I let her go, and said to Amy, “Can you make sure these two get in a cab?”

Amy nodded.  “Sure.”

Giving Harlow one last look, I said, “You don’t belong in a place like this.  Go home, sleep those drinks off and find a nice job, far away from here.”

I left them all standing there and stalked to the office.  My mind was overwhelmed.  Between my father, Indigo, Blade, Black Deeds and other Storm business, I was buckling under the pressure.  Harlow prancing in here with her fucking curves, attitude and inclination to challenge me at all stops was something I was unable to deal with tonight.

And fuck it, I still wanted a taste of her.

Harlow

Was that a jackhammer?  The noise coming from outside my house was so freaking loud that I thought my skull might explode.  I slowly opened my eyes and pain tore through my head as the light was allowed in.  Scrunching them shut again, I prayed for the pain to end.  It didn’t; it only intensified.

Bloody hell, I was never, ever drinking again.

The noise from outside sounded again, along with a, “Harlow!”

I sat up in bed, the pain ricocheting from side to side at my sudden movement.  That sounded like Scott.  I threw the sheet off me and slowly got out of bed.  My hand flew to my head to try and hold it; if I could keep it still it wouldn’t hurt as much.  That was my theory anyway.  Hangovers weren’t something I often dealt with; I’m sure that made it feel worse.

On second thoughts, maybe I should drink more often. 

“Harlow!  You in there?”  Yep, definitely Scott.

I made my way to the front door because I was sure he would keep banging and yelling until I did.  When I finally opened the door, the sun smacked me in the face and I winced as I tried to cover my eyes with my hand.

“Fuck,” Scott muttered, and I parted two fingers so I could peer at him through the slit.  His eyes were focused on my legs and then they lazily moved up to my face, lingering on my breasts as they went.  A jolt of electricity shot through me.  Scott Cole’s eyes undressing me made me wet.  His hands ripping my clothes off would surely make me scream.

“Do you always answer your door wearing nothing?” he demanded roughly, stepping into my house and moving me out of the way so that he could shut the door behind us.

I looked down at what I was wearing.  Bloody hell, he was right.  I was only wearing my thong and a tiny tank.  Swallowing my mortification, I carried on as if this was a normal occurrence even though it was as far from my usual behavior as you could get.

“Do you always wake people up by banging on their door and yelling at them?  Especially when you know that they would have a hangover and need complete silence to get through the day?”

He smirked, so I smacked him in the arm, and then sashayed my way down the hall; making sure to give him an eyeful of my bare ass.  I figured I may as well work with the situation at hand even if it wasn’t what I would have chosen.  The noise he made as he sucked in a breath was almost enough to make up for my embarrassment.

When I reached the end of the hall, I pointed left towards the kitchen.  “You go in there and I’ll be with you in a minute.”  Turning right, I hurried to my bedroom so I could put some clothes on.  My head was hammering, I felt queasy, and I was still annoyed at the way he spoke to me last night, but I couldn’t deny the excitement bubbling through me that Scott was in my house.

A couple of minutes later, dressed more appropriately in shorts, a t-shirt and a bra, I found him with his head in the fridge.  He heard me and stuck his head out, looking at me, body still bent over.  “You got any cold water in here?”

I shook my head.  “No, I don’t drink cold water.”

“Juice?”

“No.”

He shut the fridge, grabbed a glass out of the dish rack, filled it with water from the tap and brought it to me.  Then he walked back to the kitchen bench where he’d put his keys.  I sat at the table, wondering what he was doing, but as my brain was very slow this morning, the answer wasn’t coming to me fast.  Picking up his keys, he said, “I’ll be back with juice.”

I guzzled some water; the coolness of it against my dry throat felt so good.  Without really raising my lips from the glass, I nodded and said, “Thanks, that’d be good.”  I was struggling, and forming words into sentences was too freaking hard; our conversation was going to be limited today but so far he didn’t seem to care.

While he was gone, I contemplated trying to make myself look better.  I even went so far as to drag myself into the bathroom and brush my hair and teeth.  However, that was the extent of my effort.  I had no doubt I’d regret this when I was feeling better.

Ten minutes later he strode through my front door with bags of groceries and a determined look on his face.

“I thought you were just getting juice.”

“Babe, you need more than juice,” he stated as he handed me a banana, “Eat this, and then I’ve got some Gatorade for you to drink.”

“I don’t think I could stomach a banana, Scott.”

“Eat it, it’ll help get rid of your headache.”

Oh, so bossy.

I watched him as I peeled the banana.  He moved around my kitchen like it was his own, putting drinks in the fridge and adding more bananas to the fruit bowl.  Not only had he bought me Gatorade and bananas, he’d also stocked me up on juice and coconut water.

“How the heck does a man like you know these things?”  It could have just been my fried brain, but Scott didn’t strike me as someone who would know what foods and drinks helped with sickness.  There he was, dressed in jeans, big black boots, a tight black t-shirt, and his biker jacket.  He had tattoos all over his arms and chunky silver rings on his fingers; he had that scary hot look about him.  It was the kind of look that blazed a warning to me to stay away for the safety of my heart.  Why, oh why, did God bring hot, sexy men into my life that were clearly not made for me?

He stopped what he was doing and gave me his full attention.  “A man like me?”  He crossed his arms in front of his chest while he waited for my reply.

“Well, you’re a biker - ” He raised his eyebrows.  Shit, where were my freaking words today?  “What I meant to say is, you don’t come off as the type of man who would know that bloody bananas get rid of headaches.”  I was completely flustered now, and the banana would have no shot at clearing my headache because I’d just made it ten times worse.

“Yeah babe, I’m a biker but I’m not fucking ignorant.  I do know things, for instance, that bananas help with hangovers.”

I buried my head in my hands.  This day had just started and I was already making a mess of it.  Taking a deep breath, I looked up at him.  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“Takes a lot more than that to offend me.  Now eat that banana.  I’ve got shit to talk to you about and I need you thinking straight.”

I did as I was told while racking my brain trying to figure out what the heck he could want to talk to me about.  He cleared the banana peels into the bin and brought me a Gatorade before sitting across from me at the table.  I couldn’t help staring at his arms as he folded them in front of him.  Arms were it for me; the first thing I noticed about a guy, and I’d noticed Scott’s that first day I’d met him.  I quickly decided that he must spend a lot of time in the gym; he was built, and I bet if I were to reach out and touch him, he would be rock hard.