Page 159 of Till The Sun Dies (Checkmate 2)

Hungrily, he watches and runs a hand over the short side of his hair as though he forgot it’s not there anymore. He attempts to step closer to the stage, but Kane dives forward and pulls him back.

Ang’s eyes follow me, but his body is involved with Kane’s as they wrestle for freedom. I wonder what Ang would do if Kane let him go? I wonder if he’d truly come up here and carry me away to somewhere that we can be together without fear. But – just as we choreographed back in high school – Jess and I turn on the crowd, dip down low, and pop our asses. Panting, we watch over our shoulders while the crowd go bananas and the guys are struck still.

They’re half hugging, their shirts skewed and messed as they clutch each other mid-fight, but their mouths hang open, their eyes slaves to us.

Snickering and giving her game away, Jess shakes her head and stands for the final verse. Complete with twirls, boob grabs – her own – and a little white girl twerking, I simply stand there and sing while Jess puts on a show that’ll get someone shot before the night’s out.

“Alright, alright, alright.” The guy controlling the music stands when our song ends and money is inappropriately thrown onto the stage. He snorts when a condom packet is thrown up, then a pair of ladies panties follow it and force him to choke on his laughter. “Jesus, ladies. I think we have a clear winner.”

“No we fucking don’t!” Kane clears a path and moves toward the stage. Ang follows in his wake, much less conspicuous as women sit up and take notice of the two men getting ready for their turn. “You know our song, man. Tee it up while we take care of this.” He grabs Jess’ legs and pulls her over his shoulder. Squealing, slamming her fists against his back, her laugh turns to a groan when he slaps her ass, most of the bar starting to pant as they hope for a show.

“Laine?” I turn to find Ang just two feet away with his hand extended.

I take it, because this isn’t the regular world, and I can be brave tonight. His large hand closes around mine as he helps me step down off the low stage, but then he tugs me forward and pretends it’s an accident when I slam again his chest. Smiling down at me, not pulling away when I feel something hard resting against my belly, he shrugs and presses a long kiss to my jaw, freezing the breath in my lungs.

“That was…” he pauses long enough to make me nervous.Horrible? Tacky? Whorish?“Sexy. That might’ve been the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

Warmth floods my face and kills whatever smooth comeback the old me would’ve delivered. Instead, I choke out a stilted ‘thanks’ and trip my way to the table Kane deposited Jess at. Winking, he turns back to the stage and brushes roaming hands from his jeaned ass.

“Jesus, Baby.” Panting, Jessie laughs and pushes one of the guys’ beers toward me. “Have a drink. I’ve gotta cool down before I explode.”

A clearing throat draws our attention first, then a perfect smile that no doubt cost the dude an easy five grand. “Ladies…”

Jess belts out a loud, howling laugh when a man – kinda preppy, but with a strange tattoo on his neck – extends a hand in expectation.

Jess patronizingly pats his chest, but that’s all he gets. “Please go away. There’s no way in hell you’ll survive if you say another word.”

Nodding toward the stage, the three of us stop on an almost black stare as Kane watches our table. He’s so complex; the joker, the thug. He can switch them on and off so easily, you forget how dangerous he can be until someone is hitting on the love of his life right in front of his eyes. “It’s best if you raise your hands in surrender, perhaps drop your eyes in submission, then run away. Trust me, I’m trying to save your life, but we appreciate the compliment.”

“He can’t possibly get both of you,” the guy snaps. “Two?”

“Not both of us,” Jess concedes. Then she nods back to the stage and a silver pair of eyes. “But I get the feeling he has claim on her before you. You don’t want this war, guy. You can’t win.”

Biting off a curse after a long inspection of the stage, he lifts his hands, lowers his eyes, and backs away until he disappears into the crowd.

“You’ve picked up your intimidation game since knowing him, Jessica. You wield Kane like a sword.”

She sips at his beer and shrugs. “He’s mine forever, so using his stare is better than using his gun. I told the guy no. He needed more, so he got my sword instead.”

“Alright, Millennials.” Walking onto the stage, the music man brings his mic up and quiets the crowd. “We’re sticking to the nineties, so if you have a problem with boy bands, you’re gonna need to step out for five. I’m told the dancing girls have a friendly competition with our next up. There’s a lot at stake, and the winner is decided byus. Although the next guys aren’t nearly as pretty, let’s stay classy, stay objective, and give these guys a fair shot at losing.”

The crowd heckles and points drunkenly as Ang moves Kane around the stage like he’s an elephant with a mental deficiency. They stand by the drum kit… talk… consider… At Ang’s instruction, Kane sits on the stool and picks up the drum sticks. He slams them down once –one single time– before Ang grabs his shirt and pulls him away.

They move to the keyboard and repeat the process, only to prove Kane is good at a lot of things, but playing music isn’t one of them. Ang pulls him up, stops in the middle of the floor, then with a huff, he skips off the stage and comes back with a cocktail mixer.

To explain, he shakes it.

Jess and I burst out with laughter at Kane’s offended expression. He gets a shaker while Ang picks the acoustic guitar up and sets the women in the room to swooning. Ang pulls a stool to the center of the stage, then grabs another for Kane.

What was funny to the crowd now becomes a moment of the men getting busy with their phones, and the women watching with big eyes.

“Alright.” Ang’s husky voice moves through the microphone he sets on a stand. “We have a song to sing, a competition to win, and a point to prove, so there will be no shenanigans tonight. I have a classic Charger on the line, and I’ll be pissed if I lose it because you’re bias to the pretty girls. We just want a fair competition.”

The men in the crowd scoff, so Kane takes shit into his own hands.

Setting hisinstrumenton his stool, he stands and pulls his shirt over his head until the thirsty women throw bills worth much more than a dollar onto the stage.

“Oh, come on!” Jess laughingly shouts. “That’s not fair. They’re not voting for your music, they’re voting for your body! This is a shenanigan!”

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