by Bella Jewel
Yeah.
Like I said.
A choice.
I’ve had many choices. I’ve done some things I regret. In fact, I’ve done a lot of things I regret, including putting my boyfriend behind bars, but sometimes you have to do what you have to do.
Even if it means you pay the price for it.
No doubt that’s coming for me.
Sometime soon.
But, for now, I’m going to keep on rocking.
Because I’ll be damned if anyone is dimming my shine.
~1~
SASKIA
“Yo!”
I look up from waiting for a customer’s order and glance at my friend Chantelle. Not Chantelle with an S, but Chantelle with a C. She makes sure you know it, too. Because, somehow, she thinks it makes a difference. She’s waving, newspaper in hand, face flushed, blond hair bouncing almost as much as her fake boobs. I hold up my finger, indicating I’ll be one minute, and then glance back at my customer, wondering if he’s decided what he’s going to eat yet.
He’s asked me more than once what’s in every item on the menu.
I’ve never been known for being overly polite, I mean, I shut my mouth when I have to, I smile, I get tips, I do my job, but sometimes people really just … piss me off. And, unfortunately, my mouth has gotten me into trouble because of it.
More than once.
“The scrambled eggs,” he goes on, giving Chantelle a foul look for interrupting him before glancing back up at me. He doesn’t hide the fact that his eyes stop on my breasts before he focuses back on my face. Jerk. And he wants me to professional? He didn’t even make it a quick glance, that was a slow, drawn-out, perve on my breasts!
Not cool.
“Do they have any form of dairy in them?”
Last time I checked, scrambled eggs were loaded with the good stuff, including dairy. Usually, at the very least, cheese. Everyone knows this.
It’s common sense.
Has he never made scrambled eggs before?
Now he’s just pushing my buttons, wasting my time, and eyeing my bosom.
“Well,” I say, rubbing my chin as if thinking about it, “I’m not entirely sure, I mean, I don’t go out the back often, because, well—” I lean down close, and his eyes once more drop to my breasts “—I once caught two waitresses, you know, getting it on out in the kitchen.”
His eyes widen.
I wave a hand and snort, standing up straight again.
“But that wasn’t your question, was it? Don’t worry, I’m like, mostly sure it’s sanitary out there. To answer your question, we use a lot of cheese in our food. The chef just cuts off the old spots, it’s perfectly fine if you do that. I could ask him, if you like, if he uses that cheese in the scrambled eggs? Or are you allergic to dairy?”
He blinks up at me and murmurs, “No, thank you. I’ll have a black coffee.”
“That’s it?” I ask, acting as if I’m shocked. “No food?”
“No,” he grumbles.
“Oh, well, that’s a shame.” I flash him a beaming smile. “The chef really does put his all into his work, you know?”
He stares at me.
I flash him another killer smile and spin on my heel, strutting toward the kitchen to grab a coffee pot. My boss, Hertez, a big scary Mexican guy, glares at me as I fill the pot with fresh coffee. He loves me, secretly. Or maybe he doesn’t and I just like to think he does. Positive and all that.
“What did you just say to that customer, Saskia?”
I blink, pressing a hand to my chest. “Me? Nothing. I’d never …”
“Last week you told a lady someone once found a hair in their milkshake and choked on it …”
“To be fair,” I point out, “she was insulting my hair, telling me it was too long and smelled funny. My hair does not smell funny, and it’s always tied back. She was rude.”
He sighs. “You’re going to get me shut down.”
I snort. “It’s their word against yours.”
He exhales. “Stop telling my customers horror stories or you won’t have a job.”
I huff. “Fair enough, but that man was staring at my breasts. He deserved it.”
Hertez raises his brows.
“Your blonde friend is still bouncing around out there with a newspaper in her hand. Pour that coffee and go stop her from distracting the customers. Her tits look like they’re about to drop out. I don’t need any more drama today.”
“On it.”
I take the coffee over, pouring it into the man’s mug very seductively, making sure to lean right over and give him a good show. Glancing at Hertez, he’s glaring at me again and shaking his head. I grin at him and turn, walking over to Chantelle and placing the pot down on an empty table and throwing a hand on my hip.
“Your breasts are offending people.”
She glances down at her low-cut top and the bulge hanging out of it. “These old things? Never. I’m fairly certain, by the look on that customer’s face, your bosom is offending people.”
I snort. “Dirty old men. Ugh. Anyway, what’s the newspaper for? You’ve been waving it around for the last ten minutes.”
“Well.” She claps. “You know how you’ve been looking for a new job? To get out of here? I found one.”
I raise my brows. “Do share.”
“A maid.”
I blink. “Ew.”
She laughs. “There is nothing wrong with being a maid; you’ve done it before.”
“Yeah, that’s why I said ew. Do you have any idea what we maids have to endure? Have you ever cleaned a blocked toilet? Or washed sex sheets? It’s not pleasant. Seriously.”
“Anyway.” She grins, waving the paper again. “This job is a live-in maid in some fancy ass house, and it pays well!”
I snatch the newspaper from her hand and open it, glancing at the ad. Full-time. Good pay. Live-in. Owner isn’t there often. Full benefits. All you have to do is clean the house, do his shopping, and basically be an all-round housewife without actually having to marry anyone.
It doesn’t sound bad.
The pay is excellent.
“And,” Chantelle continues, “he’s rich.”
“What’s that got to do with anything?” I mutter.
“We both know it has everything to do with everything. This job might just help you out in more ways than one.”
I know what she’s talking about.
Enzo.
My sweet, pain in the ass, awful boyfriend, Enzo.
Who is sitting in prison because I may, or may not, have shared some information with the cops that got him locked up. Because he may, or may not, have slept with my sister. Whatever. Old news. But, fact of the matter is, he’s getting out soon, but some bad people found out he got locked up and are scared he’s going to talk, so they want their money or his head.
Considering I got him put in there …
It’s the very least I can do to get his money for him.
Good pay will earn that quickly. Maybe the owner of the house is up for some tips, extra cash for extra jobs.
Things like that.
I shake the thoughts from my head because finding your man balls deep in another woman … Harsh.
But finding him balls deep in your sister?
Ugh.
The worst pain ever.
It hurt like hell.
It still hurts like hell.
I should leave him there to rot.
But, for whatever twisted reason, my stupid heart still loves him.
I know. I know. I have problems. I don’t deny this.
I’ve given him six years of my life; I can’t just forget that. Even though I really, really, really wish I could.
“There are going to be a thousand applicants for this job,” I point out.
“Yes, which is why I already set up an interview for you.”
I blink at her, gaping. “You what?”
“You’ll thank me when you’re living in some fancy house, ea
rning loads of money, and not working for nothing.”
I throw my hands up. “I’m not even that qualified. I hate freaking cleaning. I only worked as a maid out of desperation!”
“You’ll thank me,” she says, snatching the newspaper. “This afternoon. Three. Be there or I’ll be pissed.”
I open my mouth to argue, but she turns on her heel and practically skips out of the café.
Well.
I guess I’m going then.
God dammit.
~*~*~*~
MASON
“You’re hirin’ a maid?” Malakai asks, lighting a cigarette and inhaling as we sit around the table after Church, talking about fucking crap that has nothing to do with the club.
“Yeah,” I mutter. “Can’t look after that place on my own. Too fuckin’ big.”
“Why’d you buy it then, brother?”
“Long fuckin’ story,” I answer, holding his eyes.
He should know by now I don’t talk about my shit. He should definitely know I don’t talk about my family, or my house, or my money, or anything to do with my life outside this club.
“You know, half the people in this place got no fuckin’ idea you’re loaded.”
I shrug. “Couldn’t give a fuck who knows and who doesn’t.”
He smirks. “Hope you’re makin’ sure she’s female.”
I glance at him. “Of course I’m fuckin’ makin’ sure she’s female. Not havin’ some hairy ass dude cleanin’ my house.”
“Got any hits?” Maverick asks, joining the conversation.
“Had three already, saw me, ran for the hills. Got another one this afternoon.”
“You wear your leather?” Koda smirks. “Scare all them bitches off …”
“Too bad,” I grunt. “They can’t deal, they don’t get the job.”
“Most women are goin’ to run for the hills, brother,” Maverick points out. “You gotta know that.”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “Likely. I’ll find one eventually.”
“Let us come around this afternoon. Let’s face it, the next ones goin’ to be a runner too. Let us have fun with at least one of them.” Maverick grins, half his mouth raised in a shit-eating grin.
“Do whatever you want,” I say, standing. “Fuck knows I need some entertainment.”
“Gettin’ bored now things have gone quiet?” Malakai asks me.
“Yeah, fuck, shit got real there for a bit with Koda and Charlie. Been months now, and things are too fuckin’ quiet. I need somethin’ to liven me up.”
“Righto,” Maverick stands. “Beers at your house then. Let’s ride.”
I grin at him.
Should be interesting, at the very least.
“We should make a bet,” Boston says, standing and grinning. “How long it takes her to run out the front door.”
“Sounds fuckin’ good to me,” I murmur. “I throw down a fifty to say she’s gone within five minutes of seein’ you lot.”
“I bet fifty she is polite and acts like she’s interested but never calls back,” Maverick chuckles.
“I reckon she ain’t scared at all.” Koda smirks.
“Unlikely.” I chuckle. “But it’s a bet.”
“Well then, let’s ride. Things are about to get interesting.”
Fuck.
Indeed, they are.
~2~
SASKIA
Holy.
Shit.
I get out of my small, banged-up, red hatch and stare up at the three-story house in front of me. A driveway that wraps around a massive fountain. A grand entry with stairs made of stone that leads up to a beautiful front deck filled with wooden swing chairs and awesome outdoor furniture. The house is dark brick, stone maybe, and looks rustic and old school, like something from a vampire movie or some such thing.
It’s breathtaking.
And so big, so fucking big.
I run my fingers through my hair and adjust my shirt. I glance down, wondering if I’m underdressed. I thought about dressing up, looking professional, but the truth is that just isn’t me, and if I’m going to be working here, they need to know who they’re dealing with. And this is who I am. Loose black tee that dips down at the sides so you can see my sports bra underneath. Tight blue jeans and Converse sneakers. My hair, black as the night, is long, thick, slightly curled and mostly always down around my shoulders.
I don’t wear a great deal of makeup. My slate-grey eyes, olive skin, and full lips give me what Chantelle calls natural beauty. Fine by me. I’m not much of a makeup girl, to be honest. Hell, I’m starting to think it’s entirely possible I don’t actually own a dress. No lie. I’ve never been that kind of woman, much to my mother’s horror. Not like my sister. She’s the perfect female in every way.
And I’m just … me.
And that’s completely okay.
I walk up to the front doors and notice a bunch of bikes parked off to the left. Harley Davidson’s. Very nice. The owner must be a collector or has a whole lot of friends who ride. Either way is cool with me. I love bikes. And cars. And anything that makes an angry sound while you’re operating it. I walk up the front steps, glancing around. It sure wouldn’t be awful to live here. Man, I can’t even imagine what the inside looks like.
I reach the front door and knock, then I step back and wait.
For a moment, I think no one is going to answer. Then, the door opens, and a man fills the large gap. And boy, does he fill it. For a second, I just stare at him because, well, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything in my life that looks like him. Ever. Not ever. My mouth drops open, and I just stare, completely blindsided and shocked.
He.
Is.
To.
Die.
For.
I’m not even joking.
He would have to be the scariest man I’ve ever laid eyes on in my entire damned life, and yet he’s so incredibly gorgeous I can’t even swallow. I don’t even want to. I just want to stare at him for the next ten minutes with my mouth hanging open, dreaming of all the incredibly hot things a man that looks like him could do to your body.
He has olive skin, really olive, and it’s the soft kind, flawless. His eyes are bluer than the sky with a hint of silver. He has a jagged scar on his cheek which only adds to his dangerous looks. His hair, dark, thick, and by the looks of it, long. Possibly braided down his back. Holy hot. I don’t usually do hair on men, but on him … breathtaking. His face isn’t clean shaven, and he has bits of stubble darkening his face which, honestly, makes my legs shake a little.
Oh, boy.
I need to say something.
My eyes drop to the leather jacket he’s wearing, and my mouth finally closes. I study it, and I’m impressed when it becomes clear what it is. He’s a biker. I know the group: Iron Fury. Everyone knows them. Nobody really sees them, but I’ve always wanted to meet one. I used to try and sneak to their parties when I was younger, but nobody would ever take me. It’s like the moment people hear biker, they run for the hills.
Not this girl.
I’m utterly fascinated.
“You’re a biker,” I say, my voice softer than it usually is, which I need to correct quickly. I clear my throat, take a deep breath, and look into his eyes again.
Gosh.
Vagina.
Calm down.
“Got a problem with that?”
His voice.
Lordy.
Take me now.
I raise my brows and look past him to see four other bikers standing behind him. And holy wow, they’re equally as good looking. I can’t begin to take them in one by one because I’ll probably pass out from the gorgeousness of them if I do.
“Where do they breed you lot? Hot biker fertility center?”
One of the bikers snorts like he’s surprised by my outburst.
I look back at the one standing at the door.
“No, it’s not a problem, in fact, I am super excited. When I was younger, I used to try and get int
o your parties, but nobody would ever take me. This is awesome!”
I step past the man at the door staring oddly at me and walk up to the four others now watching me, all of them slightly guarded. Did they think I was going to run for cover? Hell to the no. This is super cool. A biker’s maid.
Imagine that.
“How’s it going?” I say to them, stopping in front of them, getting a good look.
Yum.
“I’m Saskia.” I extend a hand to the one that has “President” plastered onto the front of his jacket. “And before you laugh, I didn’t get a choice, okay?”
He studies me, and oh boy, is he to die for. Dark hair. Green eyes. Body like stone. Tattoos. Lordy. Then he grins and extends a massive, ringed hand, curling it around mine. “We all just lost a fuck load of money, but pleased to meet you, darlin’. I’m Malakai.”
“Make a girl blush, using words like that.” I grin at him. “And how did you lose money?”
I move to the next one, the only fair haired one in the group. Dirty blond, honey-colored eyes—man, they just keep getting better and better.
“We made a bet on how long you’d stay before runnin’ out the door. Mason over there has lost three already the moment they saw him, and I’m Koda. I just got all the cash these fuckers bet, because I said you’d be cool with it.”
I shake his hand, grinning. “Three? Well, you are a scary bunch, I won’t lie, but it takes a little more to scare me.”
The next one steps forward, quieter and more reserved. I can’t really tell the color of his eyes, but they look almost … yellowish. He has dark hair, too. Curling slightly at the ends. And he’s incredibly good looking. “Boston,” he says, shaking my hand.
“Did you lose much, Boston?”
He grins at me. “Didn’t bet much, lady. Smart.”
I smile at him. “I like you.”
I step to the last one, and my brows go up. “Well, well. I’ve seen your face before. Maverick, right? You’re the one who caused all the heat with Scarlett Belle. Nice work. That was one hell of a story.”
He grins at me, and it is obvious immediately he is related to Malakai. The two look very similar, only Maverick’s hair is shorter, and he isn’t loaded with as many tattoos. But he’s still big, and still gorgeous.
