Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 76082 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76082 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
“I’m not doing it for her,” I snap. “You’re ours, and we keep our own safe.”
She hesitates. “Right, the deal.”
Yeah, the fucking deal.
14
NATALIE
"In here," Badass orders, dragging me into the back office of the Eagles’ Roost. I'm barely inside before he backs me up against the wall and presses his lips to mine. His hand closes gently over my throat, calloused fingers stroking down the sides in a display of possession that gets my heart pumping more than any virgin has the right.
When he finally pulls away, I'm out of breath and tingling all the way down.
"But nobody’s watching," I say breathlessly, still using the wall for support.
"It's important we practice." He cocks an eyebrow, waiting for an argument that never comes. If I make one, he might not do it again. "Call it rehearsal. I'm about to bring you out in public, and who the fuck knows who's coming in tonight? Our word’s enough back at the compound, but here? We’ve gotta sell it or we’re fucked.”
Alright. I can do this. For me, Sandra, and to get rid of the Unwanted so they don’t do this to other girls.
And not because the guys make me feel things I’ve never even imagined before, obviously.
“I’ll do my best. I think I can pretend to be a club, um… girl, but I’ve never worked at a bar before, and I’ve only been here that time I came looking for Sandra.”
“You’ll be fine. Place has only been open a couple months so new staff won’t stick out, and nobody’s gonna think we hired you to be good at the job. Not the job you’d have on the books anyway.” Badass reaches down and pops a couple buttons on my shirt.
“Hey!”
“Tie the bottom under your tits. You need to look the part.”
“Like a hooker?” I ask quietly, doing as he asks.
He puts his fingers under my chin and forces it up. “Like you’re ours. Our little toy, dressed to play whenever we feel like it.”
“I’ll do my best, but will people really believe that guys like you want a woman like me?”
“Are you fucking kidding me? Not sure you’ve been looking around, and everyone’s got their own tastes, if you feel me, but not many bikers object to tits and ass.”
I'm still not sure I believe him, but he doesn't give me time to think about it.
"Keep looking at me like that and I’ll tear those shorts right off your sexy ass and bend you over the desk. The only reason we aren’t is because your first time should be a little special, right? Don’t worry, muffin, we’ll stick to the deal." He slaps me on the butt so suddenly, I jump a step forwards. "Out to the bar."
My cheeks light on fire when he calls me muffin. “Did Quickshot tell you—”
“Better fucking believe it, and once we figure out if the shitty oven in the shared kitchen works, you’re baking us something.”
“Bikers like cookies?”
“Who the fuck doesn’t?”
He takes me past a break room where a couple of girls drink coffee while resting their legs on a glass coffee table. They’re wearing the same booty shorts as me, and their shirts are tied up the same way. Next is a small kitchen where a couple of burly guys flip burgers on a griddle while the deep fryer hisses behind them. The main attraction is booze, but they serve a pretty basic menu for most of the evening. And then Badass pushes open the door to the main room, and we pop out right next to the bar.
“Where should I start?”
Badass gives me a long look, then one side of his mouth curls up. "How about on the stage? You'd look fucking irresistible, and you wouldn’t even have to worry about talking to people."
"You only say that because you haven’t seen me dance. Trust me. You don't want me up there."
"Oh I fucking do. Just wait."
“What? No, I’m not going to—”
A nearby table looks up at the sound of us arguing. Badass reacts immediately. His hand snaps to the back of my neck and he pulls me close. "You don't make the decisions, girl. If I want to watch you shake your tits, you’ll do it. Got me?”
“Y—yes, sir.”
“Remember what we talked about,” he growls, fixing me with a glare meant to remind me how serious this is, and to convince anyone who might be watching that he’s the one in charge.
I nod and drop my eyes to the floor. “I’m sorry.”
He’s so easygoing most of the time that it’s quick to forget the aura of controlled violence he can turn on like the flick of a switch. His grip is firm but under my hair, his thumb strokes over my pulse point, reminding me that we’re both playing our parts.
“Good. I didn’t bring you here to talk back. Now go help me at the bar.”