Butch
Heads turned and gawked at me as I rode my motorcycle down the street, the loud rumble of my engine disrupting a perfect sunny day in suburban America. Being a smart-ass, I kept a cheeky grin on my face and waved at the gawking moms and dads in their Old Navy clothes, playing in the yards with their kids. Some of them were even behind white picket fences.
My eyes took it all in from behind my sunglasses, the cookie-cutter perfection of this neighborhood where none of the houses were more than ten years old and it seemed that everyone drove an SUV or minivan. Lawns were perfectly maintained, and flower beds were free of weeds. Nothing was out of place here. Well, except for me.
In their eyes, I didn’t belong here, with my leather jacket and tattoos, and that was fine with me. These people probably thought that the man I was heading to see—the one living in the two-story house nestled in the curve of the cul-de-sac—was an upstanding member of society. I was sure that he fit right in here, waving good morning to the neighbors and always separating out his recycling.
But none of that meant anything to me.
I parked my bike in the street and waited with my eyes trained on the house. John Holloway lived here, and his black SUV was parked in the driveway. I’d gone to his office first, intending to make a scene there, but I discovered that he’d gone home for lunch.
So here I was, waiting in full view of the neighbors.
When John came out of the house five minutes later in his pressed gray suit, I had dismounted my bike and was leaning against it with my arms crossed. I could have gone inside to take care of my business, but I decided to wait. I wanted to do this with an audience. This man didn’t get the benefit of privacy. Not after what he’d done in one of the private rooms of the club.
John was heading straight for his car, his keys in his hand. But when he saw me, he slowed to a stop, a frown marring his features. I could see that he didn’t recognize me, but that would change soon enough. Straightening, I headed his way, my boots eating up the distance between us.
“Who are you?” he asked, instinctively taking a step backward.
Anger surged as I looked into his startled face, and I gripped his lapels, shoving him back into the side of his own car.
“Please,” he immediately grovelled.Pathetic.“Don’t rob me.”
I let out a humorless chuckle as his eyes darted around futilely. None of his neighbors were going to step in.
“That’s not why I’m here, John,” I said, whipping off my sunglasses so that he could see my face more clearly.
His brow furrowed. “How do you know my name? And what do you want? You can’t do this.”
He talked too much. Without warning, I reached out and slapped him with an open hand across his face. I put as much strength into the blow as I could, so that he staggered to the side.
“What the fuck, man?” he shouted, holding his hand to his face. “Did you justslapme?”
I could feel the eyes of the neighbors burning a hole into my back, but I didn’t pay them any attention. I just kept my eyes trained on the outraged jerk in front of me.
“What’s the matter? You don’t like getting knocked around by someone bigger than you?”
His eyes narrowed on my face, and I finally saw recognition there. He knew exactly what I was talking about.
“You’re from the strip club,” he said. It wasn’t a question, but I nodded.
“Yeah, asshole. I am.”
John frowned, straightening, but when he tried to move away, I shoved him back into the side of his car again.
“That’swhy you’re here?” he asked incredulously. “Because of Cherry?”
“Hell, yeah, it is. You slap her or any of the girls, and I slap you much harder, even if I have to come to your house the next day. Got it?”
“Come on, man.” He sounded annoyed now, like I was being ridiculous. “She’s just a whore.”
This time it was my fist that collided with his face, and I got a deep satisfaction from the crunching sound of his nose as it broke.
“Don’t ever come back to the club,” I spat. I was the head of security, so I would know if he tried to show up again. “You’re not welcome.”
John was groaning and cursing, doubled over as he held his bleeding nose. My eyes flitted around, just to make sure that I hadn’t misjudged his neighbors. I hadn’t. Not a single one of them was hurrying forward to help him, and every person was watching with utter shock. Things like this didn’t happen around here.
“You can’t do that. I’ll go to your boss,” John managed to say, his voice muffled by his own hand.
