Meyah reached into her back pocket, whipping out a can of glitter body spray and barely giving me enough time to suck in a breath before she coated me in the shit. I coughed and choked, waving my hand in front of my face, searching for air without sparkles to inhale. I quickly kicked off my Converse, opting to go barefoot tonight. “All right, you play my song. I’ll be up on stage getting this shit going,” I told her, quickly scooting out the door with Meyah quick on my heels.
I ducked and dived through the busy crowd, my skin already beginning to get sticky and hot because of the writhing bodies around me. The opening bass to my favorite song started playing a few moments later, just as I made it to the stairs on the left side of the stage.
Dancing was something I loved.
Music like a part of my soul.
It wasn’t often you’d find me without headphones in my ears. It eased my thoughts, helped me to keep out of my own head. I needed it because if I got stuck inside my own mind with my fucked-up thoughts—well, it took a lot to drag me out before I let them swallow me whole.
My hips swayed, the attention of the crowd turning toward me as I walked to the center. The roar that rose above the slow-building music was like a shot of adrenaline into my veins.
My body moved, allowing the rhythm to take over, my hips hitting every single beat. I looked over the crowd, a smile on my face, unable to ignore the fact that I actually enjoyed this. Maybe not the exhibitionist part of it, but the freedom, the excitement, the way it made my heart race, my skin tingle—the way it made me feel a little bit alive.
My eyes caught something at the edge of the crowd, the double doors that lead out to the back rooms opened suddenly, Shotgun and Shake walking out together, Shotgun carrying something in his hands.
My fingers curled around the poll on the stage as his eyes met mine for a second.
Then looked away.
But before I could take a breath, thinking Meyah and I had gotten away with it, his entire body paused, and he tossed whatever he was carrying to Shake. Shake, whose smirk was growing wider, his mouth moving though I couldn’t make out what he was saying.
Shotgun turned on his heel, his eyes meeting mine again as he stomped down the side of the dance floor.
My hips were still moving on their own, but with less vigor because I couldn’t help but watch him walk toward me, the promise of something in his eyes. Something that should have made me nervous, but that I was growing to fucking love.
He took the stairs of the stage two at a time, not even acknowledging the crowd below us as he came straight at me, pausing for a second only to dip his shoulder and press it into my stomach before lifting me off the floor.
“Shotgun!” I cried out, a mixture of horror and laughter as he tossed me over his shoulder, so I was hanging down his back. A loud resounding slap came down across my bare ass, the crowd below us gasping collectively before a deafening roar of approval filled the room.
Hoots and hollers serenaded us as Shotgun carried me down the opposite side of the stage, ignoring my protests until we reached the bottom of the stairs that lead to the VIP room. He dropped me back onto my feet, his hands holding my waist as I swayed, trying to find my balance again after being fucking upside down.
“Was that necessary?” I protested, though I was so fucking turned on at that point I was about ready to ask him to throw me back over his shoulder and carry me out the back.
“Who the hell told you it would be a good idea to get on stage?” Shake asked, leaning against the banister with a smirk.
I grinned. “Your old lady.”
The way his face changed had me let out a soft giggle, though it quickly trailed off when Shotgun reached up and tugged at my bottom lip with his thumb, dipping his mouth close to my ear. “You’re fucking lucky we have something else to do right now, and I don’t have time to show you what that little stunt just cost you.”
The lump of nerves in my throat made it hard to swallow. “What do we have to do?”
“You’ll see.”
He turned me, his hands at my hips, directing me up the stairs with Shake right beside us. I still couldn’t make out exactly what he was holding in his hands, but my tummy was twisting and turning with nerves.
Ripley was standing at the top with an unlit cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. “Nice try, twinkle toes,” he smirked, shaking his head. “When are you girls going to learn, man?”
Learn what?
Shotgun stepped up beside me, and Ripley’s eyes moved to him, the grin on his face exploding into full-blown laughter. “You bastards trying to upstage us now? I mean, the glitter is a nice touch. It really compliments your eyes.” My hand went to my mouth when I finally got a look at Shotgun’s club cut. The side he’d thrown me over was now coated in a layer of body glitter that sparkled perfectly in Empire’s lighting.
Huntsman stepped up beside Ripley, his eyebrow raised at the other club president.
Rip nudged his dad. “We need to take this as a challenge. We go bigger. I’m thinking tinsel.”
Shotgun lifted his hand and turned his middle finger to Rip before grabbing the item Shake was still holding and walking into the center of the VIP room.
The entire club was there, a large number of Exiled Eight members too, everyone suddenly quiet and captivated as Shotgun climbed on one of the bar tables. Everyone turned, attention on him—though I was very aware that for a second, his eyes were still very much focused on me.
Like I was the only one there.
Like he couldn’t see anything but me.
And when you’ve spent your life feeling like you were the child who was unloved, unworthy, and unwanted, I wasn’t sure if he had any idea what that one look was doing to me.
But knowing Shotgun.
He probably did.
“Tyler, get your ass here, boy!” Shotgun called, finally scanning the space. The young guy basically dove out of the seat he had been sitting in, moving quickly toward Shotgun. “Everyone will know this has been a long time coming.”
My mouth fell open, my hand going straight to my heart as I watched Tyler suddenly freeze mid-step, the entire room realizing what was about to happen. Crush came up behind him, ruffling his hair before giving him another shove forward.
Shotgun jumped down off the table, laying the item in his hands across it and unfolding the black sheet that had kept it safe and concealed. The leather was new, clean, ready for a lifetime of wear. Tyler stepped in front of Shotgun, his chin held high though I could see the way his eyes were sparkling. An arm wrapped around my waist, Laken laying her head on my shoulder and sniffling softly.
I laughed, hugging her close as we watched this amazing young man who we had watched grow to become a fucking man.
“You’ve been pushed to every fucking limit, and not one fucking time have you ever said I can’t do that. Never have you bitched or moaned about the shit we put you through. And trust me, I listen to these bastards complain… a lot.”
The room roared with laughter and protests for a moment.
“All because you knew that this is where you were born to be. With us. In our family. And I think I speak for everyone here… club members, old ladies, club girls, and those bastards from Exiled Eight, when I say we see you as a brother in more ways than one. The kid brother a lot of us never fucking had.”
Everyone in the room cheered, raising their glasses as Repo helped Ty take off his prospect cut, and Shotgun held up his new colors. “Welcome to the family… Kid.”