Hot as Hades (Four Horsemen MC Book 2)

by Rayne, Cynthia

  But Unlucky wouldn’t reach for it, so she set it down on the table for him. He shook his head, looking at her with mock pity in his eyes, and his buddies guffawed. “You are a dumb slut, giving me lip like that.”

  She lowered her head, acting frightened and helpless, but mentally she counted down from fifty. Damn if he didn’t make her trigger finger itchy. Cowboy made a good call with his no weapons rule. “I’m so sorry,” she muttered.

  “Good. Don’t make me teach you a lesson again.” With that, he knocked over the glass, so the contents spilled on the floor, in a slow, deliberate amber trickle. It both looked and sounded like some guy taking a piss. “Pull me another beer, and clean up this fucking mess.”

  Daisy took a deep, calming breath.

  Combat had sharpened her anger, enabled her to harness it, so she could push through any fear. Unfortunately, this undercover crap demanded a much more duplicitous skill set, one she still needed to work on.

  Adrenaline entered her bloodstream, urging her to take action. Right now, she fantasized about the cold, comforting steel of her .38 in her hand, pressing the barrel against his temple. Maybe she’d play a round of Russian roulette, make him lose control of his bowels in front of his little friends.

  The fantasy made her smile.

  But shooting Unlucky wouldn’t help her find Rose. So she could take this, could take anything if it meant she could get her sister back.

  She cursed him under her breath, but she complied. When she returned with yet another beer and a wrung out mop to clean the floor, she found the skinny stripper from the stage on her knees in front of Unlucky, sucking his cock.

  Who are these people?!

  Unlucky ignored her and she set the beer down, this time in the center of the table, so she could avoid another alcoholic version of fifty-two card pick up. She quickly sopped up the mess and tried to ignore the loud slurping sounds.

  She finished cleaning up as fast as possible, but before she took off, he called, “if you mind your manners next time, I’ll let you suck me off.”

  She didn’t answer him and hauled ass away from the group. After she put the mop away, she trooped to the other side of the room to take drink orders. The second after she rescued Rose? She would teach that jackass some manners. He could count on it.

  After she waited on a table of bikers playing poker, she caught sight of him, the quiet man in the expensive suit from the other night. She remembered seeing him as she danced on stage.

  Like the previous evening, he sat in the corner of the room idly drinking in the surroundings, seemingly bored. The bikers hooted and hollered at the strippers on stage, some men slapped each other’s backs and traded stories, and still others socialized and smoked cigars.

  But not him.

  He didn’t wear a cut and she really couldn’t place him in this crowd. Like yesterday, he wore an expensive black suit and made notes in a leather bound journal. As she drew closer, she noted he had a Roman nose, wide-spaced wintry eyes, a mixture of blue, silver and gray. They reminded her of a frozen lake. His neatly trimmed black hair was streaked with a hint of white, and she estimated him to be in his early forties.

  “Can I get you something to drink?”

  The man cocked a brow at her. “At this bar? I’m afraid not.” He contemplated her breasts for a moment, before he focused on her face once more. His look had been appreciative, but not salacious.

  “Okay.” She turned away; ready to approach another table when he touched her arm. “What is a beautiful young woman like you doing in an awful place like this?” he asked.

  “I might ask you the same question.”

  He smirked. “I’m neither beautiful, nor a woman.”

  She couldn’t help but grin. “I mean you look out of place here, too.”

  “Ah, well, one does what one must pay the bills.” He frowned as he surveyed the room once more. She’d learned to quickly assess people in the military and Daisy could tell from his expression, he’d determined he was above the “masses” in here.

  And who knows? He might be right.

  “I can relate,” she said. “Are you sure I can’t get you anything?”

  “No, thank you, but perhaps you and I will have a drink together, another time and definitely another place,” he said

  “Maybe we will.” Since he didn’t seem to be a Raptor, yet he evidently came here often, he might be able to provide useful information.

  “What is your name?” he asked, extending a hand.

  When she’d signed on for this gig, she thought it best to use her real first name, even if she’d given a fake last name. She hadn’t wanted to blow her cover by failing to recognize her own fake name. And surprise, surprise, the Raptors hadn’t even asked for identification, or had her fill out any official paperwork.

  She grasped his hand, for a shake, but he surprised her by bringing her fingers to his lips, and brushing a kiss across her knuckles. “Daisy.”

  “Daisy what?” he asked, leaning forward in his chair, still holding her hand. “Or is it a secret?”

  “No, no secret,” she said quickly. “I’m Daisy Grant.” Her eyes rounded as he she realized she’d just given Cowboy’s last name.

  Where the hell had that come from?

  “I’m Andrew Kent, but you must call me Kent, everyone does.”

  “Good to meet you, Kent.” She tugged on it pointedly, but he still held her hand.

  “I hope to see you again very soon, Daisy,” he murmured, finally releasing his hold on her and she turned to assist another table.

  An hour later, she’d finished her shift. Thankfully, except for the indignity of serving drinks bare-breasted, the rest of the night had been uneventful. Thank God, there had been a half a dozen strippers and as many waitresses to split the focus.

  The bar had gotten progressively wilder, like Cowboy had warned it would. She’d witnessed firsthand military men at their sluttiest, but even the Marines on a raging bender were choir boys compared to the orgy atmosphere at the strip club. No one could ever call her a prude, but she preferred a one-on-one private kind of encounter.

  As she scooped up her discarded shirt from behind the bar, a couple of strippers laid down on it and bikers lined up to lap Jack Daniels and Jim Beam from their bellies and breasts. She quickly shoved the shirt over her head and walked towards the back of the club, to retrieve the rest of her belongings.

  As she breezed by a table, one stripper stepped up on it, a bottle of Absolut in her grasp, which she poured over her head. She proceeded to thrash around, dancing and slinging vodka on a crowd of cheering men surrounding her. When Daisy finally came out of the changing room, dressed in jeans and a long shirt, the Raptors had shoved the woman’s thong down and one of them had her thighs spread, her legs over his shoulders, as he ate her out.

  Cowboy had a hand on his beer, and seemed to watch the scene impassively. As she made her way to the rear of the bar, yet another stripper knelt by a barstool, undoing a biker’s belt with her teeth. He quickly pushed his cock in her mouth and fucked her throat, hands braced on the top of her head.

  Daisy walked briskly by the manager’s office, and found the champagne room’s door standing open. Inside, a biker spread some white powder on a woman’s belly and snorted it off her with a rolled up bill.

  She slowly backed away from the whole sordid scene, disgusted.

  Just as she was about to head out to her Silverado Junior’s voice brought her to a halt. “You leaving already?”

  She turned around to face him and offered him a flirtatious grin, channeling Marilyn Monroe for all it was worth. “Hi, there, boss man. My shift ended and I have to pick up my kid,” she lied. He hadn’t asked about her home life or family situation.

  He nodded, drifting closer. “Got three kids of my own, I know how it is.”

  “Goodnight.” She took a couple of steps back.

  God, I miss my gun.

  Junior backed her against the wall, the door only a few inc
hes away. “You know, maybe I didn’t make somethin’ clear when I interviewed you for the job. You’re here to make the men happy, that means bein’ real nice. We ain’t got no place for stuck up bitches.” He placed his hand on the wall behind her head. “When you walked in this place askin’ me for a job all slutted up in your tight skirt, with your tits hangin’ out your top, I thought you knew the way of it.”

  “I do!” she said quickly.

  “Well, I didn’t see you bein’ real friendly with anyone tonight.”

  She bit her lip and gave him some puppy dog eyes, hoping she appeared contrite. “I promise I’ll do better next time.”

  “You know,” he said, licking his lips. “I could break you in, if you’re a bit skittish.” He pressed up against her then, nudging her with his beer belly and she could feel his erection against her thigh.

  She pressed her palms against the wall and willed the anger and disgust not to show on her face.

  Junior bent down and kissed her, his tongue darted in and out of her mouth, in short slimy jabs. In many ways, being forced to intimately kiss him violated her more than being manhandled by Unlucky.

  “God damn, you taste sweet. I wanna fuck that pretty mouth of yours,” he muttered.

  She placed a hand on his barrel chest, stroking. “Mmm, I want you too, but the babysitter’s waiting on me.”

  “I’ll let you go in a minute. Open your mouth.”

  Her eyes rounded. Oh, God. She blew out a shaky breath, but instead of forcing her to her knees, Junior placed his thumb against her lips. “Suck it,” he ordered. “I want a little preview.”

  I can do anything for Rose.

  She repeated it over and over in her head, silently willing herself to get through this. His face went slack as she pulled on his digit. Then Junior ground against her, in time with her movements.

  She sucked for what felt like hours, until he finally released her with a grunt. “Fuck, I’m about to cum in my pants.”

  “I’m sorry,” she muttered. “But I have to go.”

  He pulled away from her and Daisy backed towards the door, keeping him in her line of sight until she exited the building.

  Just as she was about to close the door, Junior said, “one day soon, I’m gonna stick my cock in every hole you got.”

  Chapter Eight

  An hour later, Daisy sang along with Drowning Pool as they screamed about dropping some bodies on the floor. The iPod blasted in her ears, as she pummeled the punching bag in the motel gym.

  She’d stripped off her waitress uniform in favor of yoga pants and a black T-shirt, wrapped her hands with first aid tape, and put on the pair of boxing gloves she always carried with her. She pounded the heavy bag, taking out her frustration on it.

  Rapey, biker dickheads…

  “Just the way I like my bitches,” she muttered, then she smashed into the bag hard. Once. Twice. Remembering the feel of Junior’s slimy tongue down her throat, she pretended to sock him right in the kisser.

  “Hey! Earth to Daisy!” Cowboy called.

  Holy shit!

  “What the fuck?!” she screeched, moving into a fighting stance, knees bent, fists at the ready.

  She found Cowboy right behind her, an amused expression on his face. Dammit. He had some serious ninja skills. First the hotel room, and now sneaking up behind her at the gym

  “Hey! Take it easy. It’s only me!” He backed off, keeping his hands up.

  “Sorry. I’m a bit on edge tonight.” Her heart galloped wildly in her chest.

  He looked slightly windblown and irritatingly sexy. His hair fell down below his ears, so different from the jarheads she’d grown accustomed to. Instead of being spit-shined, his boots were road-dusted.

  He sat down on a nearby weightlifting bench and removed the six-pack tucked under his arm. He offered her one and she took it gratefully.

  “Find out anything useful tonight?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “No. You?”

  “Fuck no.”

  “I didn’t get any new Intel, but I think I might have a lead. Did you see the suit guy the other night?” she asked.

  “Yeah, I noticed him.”

  “He asked me to go for a drink and I’m going to take him up on it, see if he’s noticed anything, since he hangs out there all the time.”

  His head jerked to the side. “He asked you on a date?”

  She raised a brow at his tone. “I’m going to pump him for information and that’s it.”

  “Long as it’s the only thing you pump him for,” he muttered, but the sudden stiffness in his shoulders eased a bit. “You know, that was some fucked up shit tonight,” he mused.

  “You mean this isn’t old hat for you?” She popped the top of the beer and sat cross-legged on the floor across from him. “I thought all bikers had crazy parties.”

  He took a swig of the beer. “Yeah, sure we rock star with the best of ‘em. A pussyfest isn’t a big deal, but the girls were high and paid to be the entertainment.” His mouth twisted. “And the drugs? That’s some nasty shit. The Horsemen do a little weed and some moonshine, but nothing hardcore.”

  “Yeah, not my scene either.”

  She thought of Junior and his disturbing plans. Thankfully, she had tomorrow night off, so it gave her a bit of a reprieve. She briefly contemplated telling Cowboy, but ultimately decided against it. His chivalrous streak could sabotage the mission.

  “I’m sorry that dickhead grabbed you,” he said suddenly, referring to Unlucky. “I couldn’t think of a way to intervene without raising a red flag. But after we get what we came for? I’m going to put a serious hurt on him.”

  She snorted. “Get in line. He vaulted to the top of my shit list.” The list grew longer every day—Rock, Junior, Unlucky.

  “After tonight, I’m rethinking this plan. I’m there at the bar with you, but if something bad goes down, I can’t protect you.”

  “Not a problem, because I don’t need protection.”

  She’d agreed to help, not to be treated like somebody’s wife or girlfriend. Marines don’t need to be sheltered or defended. “Cowboy, we watch each other’s backs, but you don’t need to guard me.”

  “Looked like it me,” he said coolly.

  “I handled Unlucky just fine.”

  “Unlucky?”

  “The jerk that harassed me tonight. He has shamrock tats, so I call him Unlucky. Anyway, the movie we’re in is Speed, not The Bodyguard. Remember when Keanu’s partner is about to be carted off by the bomber?”

  “Yeah,” he said, with a brisk nod. “He ends up shooting his buddy to keep him from being taken hostage.”

  “Exactly!” she said. “That is something a partner would do.”

  He cocked a brow. “Are you asking me to shoot you, Wildcat?”

  “Only as a last option.”

  And no, she wasn’t kidding. She meant every word.

  “It won’t ever come to that. I won’t let anything happen to you on my watch,” he said solemnly. “Tonight you had a really close fucking call and there is no telling what other kinds of nasty shit these sick fucks are into.”

  “I can take whatever the bastards dish out.”

  “You could get seriously hurt, Daisy. Letting me help, doesn’t mean you're weak.”

  She snorted and gave Cowboy her patented ‘bitch please’ face. “What does it mean then?

  “It means you are worth defending.” He sighed, spreading his hands. “Look, I get how much you love your sister.”

  “If you did, you wouldn’t be asking me to back off.”

  That seemed to hit home with him. She could finally see some understanding in his eyes.

  “Fine, you and I are partners, I’m not your bodyguard, but if we have another incident like the one today? We’re gonna have another serious discussion about your involvement in this operation. Got it?”

  She stared at him, unwilling to make any promise she couldn’t keep.

  “Got it?” he prompted again.


  “Fine got it,” she bit out. “Whatever.” Then, she turned and attacked the bag again.

  She expected him to go, but Cowboy didn’t leave, just watched her strike the bag. After a bit, he stood up and stripped off his shirt. “Let’s spar. I think you need the tension release.”

  She turned away from him, refused to contemplate his golden chest, having no desire to be knocked out of her fury by an onslaught of annoying lust. Especially lust she couldn’t quench.

  “I’m fine,” she said. “I’ll see you later.”

  “Come on,” he goaded. “You aren’t afraid are you?”

  “As if.” she turned on him and fluttered her eyelashes like a southern belle. “Are you sure, you want to spar with me? I’m a girl, you know. You might hurt me,” she mocked in a high, dainty Scarlett O’Hara voice.

  He laughed without humor and touched his side. “Wildcat, I still got a nasty bruise on my ribs from your elbow.” And sure enough, when she checked, he did have a faint purple splotch on his side. “I think you can hold your own. You up for a match?”

  She shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

  He didn’t bother putting on boxing gloves, just taped up his hands and she moved into a fighting stance once more. Hands raised, she protected her face and kept her legs slightly bent. They circled one another.

  She struck at him and he blocked her attack with his arm. Then, she tried one more and he fended her off yet again. She bounced back on her heels and continued to dance around him, lashing out occasionally. While she grew even more heated, he seemed absolutely unfazed. He calmly defended himself, but didn’t strike her in return.

  It only pissed her off.

  She got low, swung her leg out, trying to sideswipe him, knock him on his ass, but the bastard jumped out of the way. This time, he lunged at her, throwing her off balance and she nearly stumbled, but lurched to the bench and caught herself. She turned to glower at him.

  “Why are you so angry tonight?” He searched her face. “Did something else happen?”