Classic (Adrenaline Book 1) (3 page)

Merrick

Strolling next to Ben through the back parking lot of Olympus, which is reserved for exclusive club members, I slide my hands in my dark jean pockets. My body tenses harder, the closer we get to the door.

I shouldn't be here. I should go. I should go back home. I just grabbed this new book from the book store that gives insight to Van Gogh's passions and what moved him in life. I should be reading it. I'm really in no mood to fucking party. Look at this face. Do I look like I wanna party? Did you just offer me a hug? I will take a hug. Did you say naked hug or am I hearing things again?

On a sigh I say, “I’m not sure I can do this. I'm not sure I
wanna
do this.”

“You've been broken up or departed or what the fuck ever since Tuesday or some shit. It's Saturday. Fucking Saturday! You need to get back on that horse and ride that motherfucker.”

“That doesn't even sound―”

“No.” Ben cuts me off twisting his white baseball hat backwards. “I don't wanna fucking hear it. I need my best friend. J money needs his best friend―”

“He's in the goddamn booth tonight.”

“Not the point.”

“How is that not the point?” I snap back frustrated. “Fuck it. What
is
the point, Ben?”

“The point is there's a crowd of fine ass females waiting for you to show your precious mug so their pussies can weep.”

Weep? Is it just me or does that analogy feel...wrong? It's Ben though. What about Ben doesn't feel wrong in some way? I'm all ears for that answer.

Being the hype man that he is, he wraps an arm around my shoulder, and hits my chest. “Now, who are you?”

With a sarcastic look I shrug. “What?”

“Who are you? Are you some pussy whipped nobody falling to shit, all over some piece of ass that's been passed around like a community bong--”

See what I mean. Wrong. I swear my Aunt Kelli dropped him on his head. Probably more than once.

“Or are you Merrick McCoy, youngest, but definitely the most fun of the infamous McCoy brothers who race hard and fuck harder?”

My head bobs for a second as that information swims around in my head trying to settle. Trying to grab the persona I live under, that I've always lived under, from drowning in the need for something better, I answer “Merrick McCoy.”

“I’m sorry. What was that? Do I need a hearing aid?” He acts as if he hasn’t heard me. “Who are you?”

“Merrick McCoy,” I repeat a little louder.

“Who are you?”

“Merrick McCoy!” I say loudly twisting my baseball cap around as well.

“That's what I'm talking about baby!” Ben tugs me closer to him by the neck marching us closer to the back entrance.

No. Partying and sticking my dick into random club ass won't fix any of my problems. It won't get me any closer to filling this weird misshaped void inside, but you know what? At least it'll pass the time by. And at least I'll get to bust a nut. I definitely need that.

The security guard opens the black door and we're immediately leaked into the club. Taking the private path that lets out beside the D.J. booth, I take a deep breath to pump myself up.

They're expecting a show. It's my job to give 'em one. I hate to disappoint. Besides....don't you wanna see me in action at least once?

Ben bangs on the glass of the booth that's surrounded by brown brick to give an aged appearance all around, but keeping the top half of him and his moving hands on perfect display. Thankful my neck is finally free, I move it side to side while watching the security guard glare at Ben for his continued banging. Doesn't stop the knocking. Finally, J Money, my other best friend and also Saturday night D.J. here, turns his attention to greet us with a nod.

“Merrick!” A group of females showing more skin than they are hiding, shout my name as they rush over from the direction of the upstairs bar closest to us.

At that moment Ben looks up at J Money who winks and switches tracks to one of Ben's favorite songs right now,
Bitch Better Have Me Money
. They shriek and gather together in front of us, moving their hips and their asses in front of us, the invitation to dance clear. With crooked grins, Ben and I fold our arms across our chest as they continue gyrating in our view. The girl in the middle has the most potential in her short leather skirt and black shirt that looks like a bandanna.

One pull of the back and it'd be Girl's Gone Wild.

When her hand hits her own ass, I toss my attention to Ben who laughs under his breath.

He likes 'em this easy. I don't.

“Come on cuz. We gotta swing by Vinnie's before we post up,” he instructs, walking to the right past the girls without another look.

I follow suit, a couple feet away when they shout my name over the music. “Merrick!”

Turning around, so I'm walking backwards, I give them a wink. “Ladies...”

With slightly drunken cheer they raise their glasses before demanding, “Come back!”

A false promise comes off my lips. “Definitely.”

Another wave of the dancing lights rolls through the club highlighting the lounge couches against the wall, the glass tables perched in front, the brown brick that's similar to what  J Money is encased in, covering all the walls, while the rest of the place is filled with chrome décor. The railings, the dance poles, and even the bird cages for the girls hired to dance and girls who drunkenly crawl inside, are made of chrome.

Ben stops on the side of the bar where Kameron is swaying her low cut jean hips around, showing off her dance moves as much her drink making abilities, giving an extra show when she lets drops of lemon juice trail down between her tits that are sticking out in her red spaghetti strap shirt. The bar that acts as a perfect accent to the outfit is built into the brick wall. It has red back lights, which tie into the red lights that are now rolling through this place as well as the red stripes on the couches. Kameron's eyes catch a glimpse of me and I see a slight twinkle in them before she winks.

Yes. Yes I did. Twice. Hey! We're just friends now! Besides, she's dating Kaleb, one of the lower deck bartenders. Apparently she was looking for a little more than a fuck buddy on Wednesdays and I couldn't see myself ever offering her more than that. What do you mean why Wednesdays? It's typically a slow day...

She pushes a button behind one of the bottles and the wall slides to the side. I follow Ben inside making sure to close it behind us.

“Why do we need to see Vinnie? Races were last night.”

“I wanna see who's on the board for next week. Plus there's a couple other races in Lake View I wanna check into. Those rich brats always shell out cash first and check under your hood later.”

True. Most of the time, the dick's who lose the most, think just because we're not flashing our shit all over town for an ego boost that we ain't packin'. The look on their faces every time they lose is worth it.

“Wait.” I stop him at the top of the stairs that lead to the underground level underneath the active club. “Last time you were in Lake View, you got arrested.”

“But the money―”

“Jumps out of pockets just fine here.”

“The prices we're talking cuz...”

“Really Ben? You can’t get enough of jail? Because that's what I'm hearing. You've been busted four times―”

“Three and half. That lady cop let me go when I showed her new ways to use her handcuffs.”

I would judge except I would've done the same thing once or twice. Come on...you know you like handcuffs too.

“One more and your ass ain't comin' out.”

“You know that last time wasn't my fault. I couldn’t help it,” he whines. “That turtle neck wearing prick revved their engine and―”

“And you gave in knowing damn well you couldn’t afford to race any more! That's the shit I'm talking about Ben! We race when it's set up. When the crowd is ready. When the cops are paid off. You know this and don't fucking follow the code anyway. You're gonna get locked up or in some shit even Madden can't pull your ass out of.”

Ben screws his jaw and looks away. Clearly annoyed he grunts, “Can we just go see Vinnie? I won't fucking sign up for shit. Deal?”

I nod and he starts down the stairs.

Look, Ben's fam. His mom, my aunt, filled in mom moments when Knoxie couldn't. His dad ended up in prison right alongside ours. They both made us vow to take care of all the McCoys. To take care of each other. Or at least that's what Madden says. I don't fucking know. I barely remember them. Regardless, Ben stirs up shit sometimes just to remember how it smells. It's not good. And it fucking worries the hell out of me because I know one of these days it's gonna get him killed.

Underneath the bottom of Olympus is another bar that's not to be discussed. Most people have no idea it even exists. Most of the time it's filled with those of us who live life a little less legal and rely on Vinnie's skills to make it possible.

Arriving on the bottom floor, I toss head nods at faces I recognize and winks at girls I've sampled.

You didn't really just think it was just upstairs, did you?

“The McCoys!” Vinnie says tossing his hands in the air thrilled to see us. Leaning over the bar he gives us each a fist bump before pushing his box framed glasses back up his olive colored nose. “Personal or business?”

“Business,” Ben answers.

He nods, lifts up the side of the bar that works as an entrance, and allows us behind to follow him. Through the side bar door where the spare cases of supplies are kept we continue the path around the back corner where we enter another door, leading us into his private office.

Vinnie locks the door behind us, his slightly mousy face beaming with typical excitement of seeing us.

“Shelby,” Ben greets one of his assistants, who just so happens to be one of his girlfriends as well.

You heard me right. One of his girlfriends. And I don't mean just pieces of ass he rotates through. I mean chicks who would give their left tits to save his neck. How the fuck did he find that? How does anyone?

“Ben,” Shelby coos back politely.

.

When he gets a grin that's too wide for comfort, Vinnie grunts, “No-huh Benny. You know better than to let your eyes land on my girls.”

“Come on Vinnie.” Ben folds his arms. “I was just lookin'.”

“And with you McCoys lookin' leads to touchin'. So start talkin',” he demands. His long thin arms fold across his chest. “What can I do for you?”

After nodding his head my direction, he says, “I wanted to look into Lake View races, but someone's panties are in twist over it―”

“Didn't you end up in jail last time you raced in Lake View?” Vinnie cocks an eyebrow.

“Exactly,” I agree.

“Does anyone around here have faith in me?” When Vinnie and I make similar disagreement sounds accompanied by laughter at his expense, Ben grumps, “Can we get a look at what's good for next week?”

Vinnie smirks and says over his shoulder to his girl, “Lights.”

Shelby hits a switch and the wall in front of us that looks like nothing more than a car racing poster, flips over to a chalkboard. She hits another switch and the lighting in the room switches from regular to black light, highlighting a list of names, cars, places, and bets.

Yeah. This is the real deal. We don't fuck around and drag race to pass the time. This shit is one reason the police department has to be paid off. They aren't the only ones who get a handout for helping either. This isn't a hobby. It's a lifestyle. And while it may not be ideal and I may want more, it is what I'm good at. Plus, I do enjoy racing.