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This novella is a spin off of the RUSH: Suicide Kings series

Copyright 2014
This story is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents are invented by
the author or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any similarity to
actual persons or events is purely coincidental.
All rights are reserved. No part of this book or excerpts may be reproduced in form or by
any means without the prior written consent of the author.

Different night, same crowd.
Roxie gulped down the last of her drink, pushed up her breasts and slid off the bar stool. She
was up next, and she’d be damned if the DJ messed with her set like he’d done to Bonnie’s.
Pointing two fingers at her own eyes, she flicked her wrist to return the favor, aiming a single
finger in Junior’s direction. Sitting in a glass enclosed booth, the girl on Junior’s lap quickly
scooted off, and Junior gave Roxie a sheepish grin before announcing her.
“Make some noise for one of the baddest dancers to ever grace a pole!” he shouted into the
mike. “Roxie . . . Da foxy one!!”
There was a smattering of applause, some wolf whistles and a few hoots from the mostly
male customers. Roxie took the stage, giving a sultry smile to the audience as she grasp the pole
with two hands, pulling herself up and then flipping backwards with one leg suspended at a 180
degree angle while the other locked on the pole so she wouldn’t slide down. Somewhere in the
crowd those smoky light eyes of Gauge were watching her, igniting her performance. She’d been
using him to spot her pirouettes, but after a number of rotations his chair was empty. Where the
hell was he?
Only the yellow flare of a lighter being held over a cigarette greeted her eyes, as someone
else took his chair. Some guy in a rumpled suit who was already pretty drunk. The fact that he
was with another female while still throwing invitations her way wasn’t unusual. She was used to
the lustful stares. Hell, it was one of the perks of the job. Men appreciated her body, and she
appreciated their admiration so it was a win-win situation for them both.
With that drunk doing so much hollering Roxie couldn’t help focusing on him and his pretty
companion. The woman looked totally ill at ease. Her hands were folded against her chest, and
she kept swiveling her head as if she expected a serial killer to come up and stab her from
behind. As Roxie danced, she could make out the sounds of an argument between the two. The
woman was adamant about leaving but the well-dressed drunk wanted to stay.
Roxie ended her set with a booty squat, making her rump jiggle to the fading sounds of the
music. Junior prodded the crowd to give her some applause and she hopped off the stage,

wondering if Gauge had gone outside to get some fresh air. As she zig-zagged through the
crowd, the drunk seized her by the waist. Roxie gritted her teeth as she plopped into his lap.
“I’ll make it worth your while,” he said. “I’ll make it rain.” True to his word, a number of
bills were thrown above their heads, momentarily blinding her as they floated in the air.
Still searching for Gauge, Roxie paid little attention to the drunk’s whining, especially since
something a lot more dangerous had entered the club. Two hulking bikers from a rival gang, the
DOAs, or Devil’s Own Assassins, and they were working their way towards Mister
Loudmouth’s table.
“Miss, I’ll give you two hundred dollars if you can get them to give me another drink,” The
guy whined, fanning more money in her face as proof.
Gingerly extricating from his arms, Roxie whispered a warning in his ear. “Quiet down,
baby. You’re already caught the attention of some pretty bad assholes. So put your money away
before they try to roll you.”
Rory McCullough gave her a goofy smile in response. A lock of his chestnut colored hair
fell over his brow, so without even thinking she brushed it back. Rory’s eyes fluttered shut and
his hand closed over hers, trapping it against his face. That simple act was so endearing that
Roxie didn’t know how to respond. Dear God. He was an innocent. A handsome fool unable to
handle his liquor. But he didn’t deserve to have to deal with the Devils.
“Move, bitch.” The biker staring down at Roxie was twice her size with a sneer that clearly
stated he’d knock her off the guy’s lap if she didn’t comply.
Roxie gave him her best “I’m not a woman you should fuck with” glare in return. “I’m
transacting some business here,” she drawled, running a nail along the biker’s exposed stomach
until she reached the bulge in his pants. Coyly, she withdrew her caress. “So you just hold up,
and I’ll be with you in a minute.”
At least that made him do a sort of a grunting chuckle. “You’re not my type,” he said.
“Baby, I’m everybody’s type. Just tell me how you want it, cuz I aim to please.” When her
cute drunk friend tried to protest, she pressed his head into her bosom. Even though the really
mean one was amused, his buddy wasn’t. The guy yanked her up so hard her arm was almost
wrenched out of its socket. Biting against the pain, Roxie reached back to snag an empty bottle
of champagne, clocking him in the head with it.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion after that. Expecting retaliation, she braced for a
hit. The sneering guy’s fist went for her face, only it was somehow stopped by one of the largest
palms she’d ever seen. The thing was like a planet. Attached to the huge hand was a mountain of
a man who bent the biker’s wrist so that it twisted the wrong way with a nasty sounding snap.
Next came a punch that resembled an iron ball firing out of cannon, knocking that surprised look
right off the guy’s face. With one foot the behemoth held down the biker she’d hit with a bottle.
He was screaming at her and promising to do all sorts of terrible things to the guy who’d
interfered. A heavy boot heel to his nuts ceased all his threats and then a follow up punch
stopped his moaning, but quick. Yup, this was a serious game changer.
Wondering if he’d saved her only to eat her as a late night snack, Roxie was stunned to hear
a softly polite, “Howdy Ma’am,” from her savior. “These fellas won’t be bothering you no more,
I’ll see to that.”
“Never mind me. Can you help me get this man out of here before more Devils swarm this
place?”
“Won’t no more Devils be coming here. The Suicide Kings gon’ see to that.”
“Who are you?”
“My name’s Maynard Paul Suggs. Most folks just call me Raid. I’m fixin’ on becoming a
Suicide King.”
“If I had any say I’d vote for you to become a member,” she huffed, wrapping an arm
around Rory’s waist as she tried to drag him away from the table and the men sprawled
unconscious around it.
“Why don’t you let me handle this for you?” Raid’s smile was positively cherubic. It didn’t
match with his big bald head and full cheeks. Something told her that he was just barely of legal
age to enter the club, regardless of his size.
Dumbfounded, she nodded when he picked up the smaller man as if the guy didn’t weigh
any more than a feather. “Let’s get him into the dressing room in the back,” she said, directing
some of the other dancers to help her gather up the money he’d thrown about. Roxie reminded
them that once the guy sobered up he’d probably call the cops if most of his money was missing.
“Don’t get greedy. We don’t need the police coming here and shutting this place down. I like
having a steady paycheck, so don’t fuck this up.”

In some ways the police in their town were worse than the bikers who tried manhandling the
staff and dancers. Wallbangers was a gentlemen’s club, only the female who’d owned it had
been killed a few years ago. Druann had been a good manager, but even she couldn’t control the
influx of bikers who tried taking over the place by claiming squatters’ rights. Having the Suicide
Kings step up and offer their protection would go a long way in keeping quality dancers and
workers. Many of the people who used to work there ended up quitting because they were so
afraid. Though the Suicide Kings were the lessor of two evils, they had a lot more sense than
Devil’s Own because they abided by the old saying “You don’t shit where you eat.”
Once they got the half coherent mess of businessman into the dressing room, Raid propped
the guy up in one of the folding chairs. The room wasn’t very big. It doubled as a makeup area,
prop room and wardrobe closet. Outfits hung on portable racks in splashes of color and fabrics
made of silk, cotton and polyester. Beads, rhinestones and sequins peppered the clothing. There
wasn’t much material to many of the outfits, while boots of just about every shade, from white to
fuchsia lined the floor.
“If you’re in good with the Suicide Kings, then maybe you know Gauge?” Roxie asked,
hoping that nothing bad had happened to her man.
“Yes’um. I know Gauge Jr. He’s the one who sent me in here to watch over Rory.”
“Rory? Who’s Rory?”
Raid pointed to the affable drunk whose hand rose after hearing his name called. “That’s
Rory, Ma’am. His name is Rory McCullough. And I’m supposed to make sure no harm comes to
him. So if you don’t mind I better go check on them two fellas to make sure they don’t cause no
more shit.”
“But-but if you saw Gauge, then where is he?”
“He was fighting a couple of them Devils outside.”
Roxie let out a little scream, clutching onto one of Raid’s barbell sized forearms. “Is he
hurt? Is that why he didn’t come back? Please tell me he’s okay!”
Raid gave her a reassuring smile. “He’s fine Ma’am. After he made quick work of them he
got on his bike to follow some good looking woman’s car so that she got home safe.”
“Oh he did, did he?” Roxie’s brow rose along with her voice. “That lyin’ cheating mother-”
“Aw, Did I go and say too much?”

End of Excerpt
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