Swagger and Sass (Lost Kings MC 14.5)
* * *
“Sometimes your white knight rides a Harley
And he doesn’t need an army
To save you from drowning
In three feet of water…”
Chapter Fifteen
Rooster
With all the noise and the shitty speakers, it’s been harder than hell to make out any of the words Shelby’s sung tonight.
Something about this new song she’s singing, though, has me pushing through the crowd to get closer.
I definitely pick out the word Harley and close my eyes to concentrate on the rest.
* * *
Soon I’ll be singing in a different town.
And you’ll give some other girl your crown.
* * *
Replace crown with cock and I’m pretty sure she’s singing about us. Did I really inspire her that much? Or am I reading more into it? Have I lost my motherfucking mind?
Jigsaw slaps my shoulder. “Are you sleeping through her song?”
“No, asshole,” I growl, annoyed I missed a couple of words.
He jerks his chin toward the stage. “She’s so fucking hot. I get why you’re torqued up over her, brother.”
“Thanks. I’ve been dying for your approval.”
Shelby starts in on the chorus again, and I elbow Jigsaw. “Shut up.”
* * *
“Sometimes your white knight rides a Harley
He doesn’t need an army
To save you from drowning
In three feet of water…”
* * *
“Holy fuck!” Jigsaw doubles over laughing. “That’s you. She wrote a song about you.” He straightens up and pretends to be serious. “I’ll cover you if you want to make a run for it.”
“Fuck off. I’m not going anywhere.”
* * *
“I knew I was in danger
Of losing my heart to a stranger.”
* * *
Maybe I’m more than just a fuck after all.
Jigsaw’s too annoying to concentrate on the song any longer. The audience is getting rowdier, too. We sway with every push and two-step of the crowd.
Shelby finishes our song with her eyes closed and a smile on her face. Can’t help but notice her expression is similar to how she looks after I make her come.
Now I can’t stop thinking about her sweet naked body.
The band kicks into a livelier song that makes the crowd holler and move even faster. Who knew country fans were so excitable? We’re packed in like sardines, so I go along for the ride.
How does Shelby do this every week? Does she play other local bars? I glance around the bar. Still seems to be no security or anyone watching over the place. Who protects her from these idiots if they get out of hand?
Her guitarist rattles off the name of another song, but I’m too focused on a group of guys clustered to the side of the stage who seem to be ducking and laughing every time Shelby turns away from them.
“What the fuck are they up to?” I slap Jigsaw to get his attention off the brunette in front of us whose tits are two hoedown throwdown steps away from jiggling out of her top.
“Huh? Who?”
“The bros up front.” I grab his head and turn it to the left.
He stares at them for a few seconds before unleashing a vicious growl. “Assholes.” He shakes me off and pushes harder through the crowd.
“What?”
“Pretty sure they’re trying to take some upskirt photos of your girl,” he answers, without taking his eyes off his future punching bags.
Jiggy may be a perverted asshole ninety-five percent of the time, but even he has lines that shouldn’t be crossed.
I watch the guys closer, taking in Shelby’s guarded expression and the way she’s now avoiding that side of the stage.
Jigsaw better step aside. I’m about to fuck up some assholes for trying to take advantage of my girl.
Chapter Sixteen
Shelby
Sweat’s pouring down my face by the time we finish Big Lies—my favorite of the new songs I’d written while on Redneck Roadhouse. Thank the Lord for stage makeup. I survived playing White Knight by keeping my gaze far away from Rooster’s side of the bar. The couple songs we played afterward took my anxiety away, but now, it returns with a vengeance.
What if Rooster left?
“Good job!” Trent shouts as the lights fade. He high-fives the rest of the band.
“Tonight was a good one, right?” I laugh and hug him, allowing him to pick me up for a quick spin around the stage.
He sets me down and kisses my cheek. “Gonna make sure the guys get paid.” He glances at the crowd. “You okay out here?”
“I’ll be fine. Go on.” I pat his shoulder. “Thank you.”
As soon as the guys leave, people rush and push to get closer to me. I don’t know if it’s the radio coverage the show was given or something else, but the simple barrier the club uses to keep some space between the floor and the stage isn’t strong enough to keep the audience back tonight.
My blood spikes with fear. More than the anxiety of Rooster hearing my song. My gaze darts toward the bar, but I don’t see him. Still blinded from the show, I can’t see much besides darkness, dots of light and a hoard of people coming for me.
“Shelby! I love you!” A kid close to my age shouts. He shoves something in my face, and I back away so quickly, I trip, landing hard on my ass. My dress pools around my hips. Booty shorts or not, I hurry to push it down and cover myself.
Maybe they don’t see me sprawled on the floor or maybe they don’t care, but the crowd keeps coming, A sea of boots and jeans threaten to drown me. Or stomp me to death.
I search for anything to grab onto, trying to right myself, but keep getting knocked right back down.
The guy who’d startled me bends down, hand outstretched. But, instead of attempting to help me, he runs his hands up my bare legs and under my dress.
I shudder with revulsion at the unwanted grope.
“Get off me!” I pull my legs back and launch both my snip-toe cowboy booted feet forward as hard as I can, hitting him square in his chest—heels first. “Fucker.”
He reels back, then rights himself and lunges again. I desperately search for something to whack him with. My mic stand’s just out of reach.
Suddenly, the crowd parts. The guy who touched me sails through the air, crashing into a nearby table. Wood clatters to the floor and glass shatters against the wall.
“Motherfucker!”
I recognize that rage-filled, growly voice.
“Rooster!” I yelp.
Fury twists his features when he spots me on the floor. He easily bends down and plucks me off the ground. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.” I wrap my arms around his neck and cling to him. Now that I know I’m safe, the fear and indignation evaporates but leaves my entire body shaking.
And I have no doubt I’m safe. Murphy and Jigsaw are busy throwing punches at the frat boys who kept trying to take pictures up my dress during the show. Sparky and another biker wearing the same patches as Rooster are shoving people out of our way.
Heidi’s sitting cross-legged on top of the bar, holding what I’m pretty sure is a ballpeen hammer in her hands. She grins when she sees me but stays put. Rooster sets me on the bar next to her.
“You all right?” he shouts.
“Yeah.” My mouth twists. “Shit. My mic is on stage. It’s actually mine. Not the bar’s. It cost me a fortune.”
“I’ll get it.” His gaze swings to Heidi. “Stay with Heidi.”
“Okay.” I tug on his hand before he returns to the mayhem of the crowded bar. “Thank you.”
“You got it. Stay here,” he reminds me.
Heidi wraps an arm around my shoulders. “You’re amazing! Your voice is beautiful.” She reaches behind her and hands me a bottle of water. “Bet you’re parched.”
“Yeah.” I take a long swallow before capping it and setting it nex
t to me.
“Girl, this is wild,” Heidi says. “Does this happen every night?”
“Not this bad.” I glance at the hammer in her hands. “Planning to do some remodeling?”
She gives me a sly grin. “Murphy set me on the bar, gave me the hammer, and told me to stay put. Anyone who bothers me is getting bopped on the head.” She taps the air with the hammer to demonstrate.
“Aren’t you tougher than a pine knot,” I mutter, impressed that none of this seems to ruffle her feathers. And that her boyfriend apparently doesn’t leave home without a hammer to use as a weapon in case they encounter a little mayhem.
“He wanted to stay with me.” Heidi waves her hands at the stage. “But I’m fine. Looked like you needed the help.”
“Yeah.” I glance around for our bartender, Sherry, but she’s nowhere to be found. “Shit, Sherry’s probably calling the cops.”