by Lynn Burke
What I wanted was to put her over my knee and redden her ass with my palm for haunting me like she’d done. Scratch some lines along the backs of her thighs with my knife without drawing blood. Scrape the edge along her pussy lips, gather her arousal and tell her to lick it off just to see if she’d obey.
“Gunner,” my brother introduced himself, his gaze sliding down over Hannah and back up again, and for the first time in my life, I wanted to hurt one of my Outlaw brothers. “Cool your ass, Bowie,” Gunner said without turning, and I realized the growl in my head must have escaped my lips.
I forced myself to step back, hands itching to grab Hannah, throw her over my shoulder, and take her to my office to pick up where we’d left off the week before.
“Bowie tells me he didn’t hire you.”
Her plump lips turned down in the sexiest fucking pout as she glanced sideways at me. “He didn’t.”
“Care to enlighten me on the why, Bowie?”
I stared at Hannah rather than meet his gaze. “Too young.”
“I’m twenty-one,” Hannah insisted, lifting her chin, that fire glinting in her green eyes.
“You’ve got no fucking proof, and we aren’t hiring.” My goddamn voice continued to growl.
“Now, that second part is bullshit,” Gunner said, but still I ignored him, my body vibrating like a tuning fork -- for one heavenly virgin who stared at me with those luminous eyes, still pissy yet begging… Fuck, how I wanted her to beg me for something other than a goddamn job.
“You need to leave,” I told her.
“She stays.” Gunner’s word trumped mine when it came to the lounge, and I bit my tongue. “Come on, sweet thing,” he said, grasping her elbow and steering her toward the hallway out back. “We’ll draw up a contract and get you on the floor tonight.”
Fuck. Goddamn motherfucking bullshit. Fuck! I stormed behind them, glaring at his hold on her and ready to punch a fucking wall.
Gunner was the most observant fucker I knew. My pulling out my knife should have been explanation enough of why I didn’t want Hannah on stage, bearing every inch of her lush skin to lusting perverts who would fight to lay their hands on her.
He took up position in my office chair, and I stood beside the door, fighting off the red haze robbing my eyesight as he and Hannah went through the expectations and rules we placed on our dancers. She signed her name in blue ink at the bottom of a year-long contract, all swirly cursive, less than fifteen minutes later.
Signed her goddamn innocence away. To the Devil’s Outlaws MC.
One scratch of the pen named her as our property, under our protection. It also ensured she’d be putting her innocence on the shelf, becoming eye candy for the dirtiest of fuckers. I was fucking doomed, but what Gunner said, went.
He buzzed the intercom and told Avril, the manager of our girls, that he had a new chick, an angel, to put under her wings.
Every muscle in my body begged to explode, and the pounding in my head demanded another shot, but I kept still and quiet as Avril came in, all smiles and big tits, welcoming Hannah to the family with a warm hug.
An ex-dancer and untouchable by Outlaw law, Avril had been tending to our girls from opening day. The body of a goddess, still in her prime, unmarked by age -- and unclaimed by a brother. Single, and unfazed by all men, it seemed.
Hannah slipped past me on Ave’s heels a few minutes later, glancing up at me through her lashes. She quickly dropped her gaze as though all too aware of the violence ripping through me. The door clicked shut behind her.
“Sit down.”
I dropped like Gunner commanded into the chair Hannah had vacated -- still warm from her lush backside.
Gunner peered at me. “Either claim her or get the fuck over it.”
“Easier said than done,” I muttered, stretching my neck side to side in attempt to loosen the tension owning me. I took what I wanted, when I wanted, and never allowed a woman to get under my skin. That sort of shit only led to obsession. A sickness of the mind that would make a man kill to keep -- or just upright kill out of madness, something a young boy sure as fuck shouldn’t have to see.
“She’ll be off limits, same as Ave.”
I nodded, thankful as fuck, but my concern didn’t lessen. Obsession for the virginal angel had already rooted in my goddamn soul. “Any fucker touches her, and I’ll make him bleed.”
“Ah. The knife.” Gunner nodded slowly. “Got it. Any fucker touches her, and he’ll be taken care of by your brothers -- same as with Ave, same as Candy. You’ll keep your fucking knives to yourself, or I’ll have your colors.”
I inhaled until it hurt, slowly letting the air leak out of my lungs at the thought of the two other women protected by the Devil’s Outlaws. Gunner’s word was law, but I didn’t have to like it. “No lap dances.”
“No.” He continued to study me.
“No private dances.”
“Only for you.”
“Fuck.” I scrubbed a hand down over my face, hating that I wanted her so goddamn much.
“You’re one of the strongest men I know.” Gunner’s soft-spoken words jerked my attention to his face. Rarely did anything but flint fill his dark eyes, but he peered at me with confidence. “Until you decide to claim that tasty little morsel, I trust you to keep your knives sheathed. Any trouble, you let Brewer and Austin handle it.”
I dipped my head, but just the thought of that fucking trouble worried my brain.
A knock sounded.
“Yeah!” Gunner called out, and Darling poked his head in.
“Got a sec?” he asked, glancing between the two of us.
Gunner motioned him in. “What’s up, Darling?”
“That girl still here?”
“Yeah,” I said, frowning at him. “What about her?”
“Hannah Harris, right?”
“Morris,” Gunner said.
“Bullshit,” Darling said. “She’s that girl who disappeared a few weeks ago -- preacher’s kid. I’d bet the fucking ten grand reward offered for news of her whereabouts.”
My eyebrows popped up. “No fucking way.”
“Mega church south of D.C. full of rich politicians and an even richer preacher.”
“Fuck.” Gunner pulled his cell from his back pocket and leaned onto my desk, swiping at the screen.
“Why didn’t you say something last week when she’d come in?” I asked.
Darling shrugged. “Thought she looked familiar, but didn’t connect the dots until she walked in today. Less makeup.”
Gunner grinned and tossed me his phone. “Can’t blame you for not placing her right away. Fresh-faced innocence covered by all that shit women paint on their faces.”
I stared at the image of Hannah from the news app Gunner had pulled up. “Eighteen. Fucking hell.”
“Ten-thousand-dollar reward,” Darling said again. “We oughta cash in on that shit.”
“Fuck the ten grand,” Gunner said with a grin. “Think it’s time to call in Val. See what her rich little daddy is really willing to pay to the anonymous fuckers claiming to hold her for ransom.”
Val was our tech wiz who’d graduated magna cum laude from MIT and decided to live a depraved life of extortion and racketeering. Better pay, he claimed, and fuck did he keep the Outlaws in the money. Easy to do with shifty-as-fuck politicians in close proximity. Fuckers didn’t try very hard to cover their tracks when sneaking out for a quick fuck on the side while their Stepford wives lounged at home. Didn’t bother watching what they spoke about on their cells when every goddamn word could be snagged out of fucking air, either.
But holding a person against their will? We’d never done such a thing, and with it being Hannah…
A tickle of unease shifted me on the chair, and I tore my focus off the sad green eyes of the youngster’s image on his cell. “We kidnapping her for real?”
“Nah.” Gunner caught his phone when I tossed it back to him. “She’s just a kid rebelling against her upbringing if
you ask me. She isn’t going anywhere, and if we keep it quiet, she won’t have a fucking clue.” He glanced down at the contract she’d signed. “Bowie, she’s your responsibility. Keep an eye on her.”
I dipped my head, having already made up my mind to make sure no fucker touched her -- but Gunner’s command went beyond watching her while at the lounge. He’d put me in charge of her, keeping her close until her parents paid up.
“I’ll have Val send the usual.” Gunner stood and started toward the door. “Let’s see what this little girl is worth to her parents.”
“Should I tell Ave to keep her out back until we get what we demand from her dad?” I asked, considering Darling might not be the only guy to recognize her from the missing ads and posters I expected plastered the area even though she’d grown up over an hour south of us.
“I don’t give a fuck she’s too young,” Gunner said. “She’s an angel, and she’s gonna have men throwing their money away by the hundreds. I’ll talk to Ave. Have her face made up enough no one will recognize her.”
Angel… The nickname would stick, I didn’t doubt as Darling followed our president from my office.
My stomach knotted to shit and thoughts twisting over the sickness that had taken hold of my dad’s weak mind, I slumped in my office chair the second Gunner took off for the day. I picked up the paperwork on Hannah Morris, scanning over the answers she’d written in the personal and medical questionnaire.
Clean and on the pill -- the two top things I wanted to know but told myself I didn’t.
She also lived a mere two blocks south of the club, third floor apartment. A walker, then, I realized, my frown returning. Fucking woman would leave here late at night and walk home alone? Was she on fucking crack?
It was my duty to watch over her, and I took my club duties seriously. I’d see her home safely every goddamn night even if being that close to her fucking killed me.
Other than that, I would stay the fuck away from her except for when absolute necessary. The sooner her parents paid up, the sooner I could kick her ass out of our lounge, out of my life. Otherwise, the fucking demons inside could very well take control.
Chapter Three
Hannah
Every inch of me had tingled the second Bowie’s gaze landed on me. His voice, the glint in his eye, the lust when I’d called him Sir, soaked my panties through. Temptation to give him everything, every inch of my body proved more than I’d ever withstood when it came to sinning as the Old Hannah.
Even following Avril from the office and having to pass close by his towering body, the magnetism of him, the evergreen and warmth of his scent, weakened my knees.
I’d signed my life away to the Devil’s Outlaws, and while Gunner assured me that fucking patrons wasn’t part of the contract, I was allowed to do as I pleased with whomever I wanted.
Bowie’s thunderous stare singed the back of my neck at Gunner’s words, and I knew without a doubt that he wouldn’t allow me to touch anyone except for him -- if that’s even what he wanted.
Because I sure as hell wanted him to.
“Meet our newbie, ladies!” Avril said with a laugh as she walked into a large room with racks of slinky clothes and vanities, their huge mirrors lit with bulbs like in a movie’s dressing room.
My face heated as the three women seated before the tables turned, their gazes sliding down over me.
“Make Angel feel welcome, and if there’s any cattiness, your asses are mine.”
Angel. I grinned at the perfect stage name she’d given me.
“Yours,” Avril said, pointing at the vanity at the far end which sat empty, the table top cleared. “I’m thinking virginal…” She moved toward one of the clothing racks, and I turned my smile on the three other women.
“I’m Ginger,” the first said, offering a smile in return. I recognized her from the first time I’d attempted to land a job at Devil’s Strip Club. Red, curly hair hung to her waist, little black-starred tassels sticking to her nipples. “Welcome to the family.”
The second women dipped her head and turned back to the mirror, slickening on more red lipstick. The third smiled, but not as welcomingly as Ginger. “That’s my bitch of a sister, Kitty, and I’m Kat. Go ahead and laugh, but the brothers love a little twin action,” she said with a wink while her sister muttered under her breath something that sounded a lot like “bitch.”
Both bottle-made blondes, with perfect, natural breasts I coveted.
“It’s nice to meet you all.” I lifted my chin against the insecurities I’d dealt with since puberty, and turned back toward Avril.
She held three hangers, all with bits of lace. “These ought to do,” she murmured, tossing them onto the vanity. “Now, I’m assuming you can dance; otherwise, you wouldn’t be in here.” She turned, arms crossed, and tipped her head toward a practice pole beside her. “Let me see what you’ve got.”
Candace had taught me well, so good that she bemoaned the fact that my years of ballet gave me an edge over her years of experience.
I strode over in my fuck-me boots, grabbed the pole like I owned it, and started with a cartwheel, my legs in a perfect split, Rihanna’s Skin beginning in my head.
“Nice,” Avril said, but I continued on with the dance Cadence had helped me perfect, climbing the pole, showcasing my flexibility and upper body strength with spins and smooth transitional moves.
Imagining Bowie as the pole as I’d done since the Sunday before, I closed my eyes and pretended to tease him in the way Cadence had suggested, my lips parting, warmth rekindling between my thighs, my breaths in time with the music playing in my mind.
My muscles warmed, limbering and stretching, allowing me to go deeper -- wider with each split, imagining Bowie’s lips on me, his tongue sliding through my pussy, up and over my torso, until he claimed my mouth.
“Well shit.” Avril’s soft chuckle brought me back to the dressing room, and I lowered my feet to the floor, breathing heavy but not from exertion.
Ginger clapped. “Well done.”
Kitty snorted and turned away while Kat gave me another wink. “Not bad, newbie.”
Avril’s sea-green eyes twinkled as she dipped her head. “You’ve got that virginal look with some of the sexiest moves I’ve ever seen. The boys are going to eat you up.”
Appropriate word for my appearance, but I kept that knowledge to myself. I also kept the fact the only man in the lounge I wanted eating me up was Bowie.
* * *
Two hours later, platform, clear stilettos strapped to my feet and my face painted by Ave until I couldn’t recognize myself, I stood behind the main stage’s curtain, breathing steady breaths, counting and centering myself.
No different than ballet performances. Focus on the work. Focus on the movement, the art…
“This afternoon,” Avril purred into a microphone out in the lounge, “we have a little treat for you gentlemen.”
A few hoots and hollers sounded, and eyes closed, I rolled my shoulders.
“Our newest dancer came straight from heaven for all of you lonely gentleman.”
Skin’s first notes rumbled through the lounge, and I inhaled until it hurt.
“I give you Angel…”
I slid from behind the curtain into blinding spotlights, swaying my hips, sweeping my head side to side, gaze filled with feigned lust, drawing in the eyes staring at me -- even though I couldn’t see most of them, Cadence assured me my confidence, the look on my face, would bring them to their knees -- and have them tossing bills my way.
My skin pebbled, awareness of Bowie’s focus shivering down my spine.
I wrapped my hands around the pole, and rolled into the routine I’d memorized, but instead of the imaginary man I’d imagined dancing for, I thought of Bowie. Peeling our clothes off, touching and tasting. His hands taking, claiming.
Rough, just like Rihanna said in the song.
The mere bit of white lace hiding my shaved pussy from sight soaked half-way through m
y routine, but the thump of the music, the movie in my mind drown out the cat calls, the voices begging me for a touch of my skin.
I slid my back down the pole, legs spread wide, eyelids fluttering open.
Bowie sat front and center, his face flushed, gaze on my crotch.
My heartbeat kicked up, and I released my hold on the pole and crawled toward him, exaggerating the sway of my hips.
Those beside him reached for me, and the rage in his eyes had me backing off. I slid my feet beneath me, turned and bent over to grab the bills littered around me, sticking my greatest asset in his face, just out of reach. Hands full, I rolled to a stand again -- and strode off the stage without looking back.
“Holy fuck, that was hot,” Avril said with a laugh the second I slipped back behind the curtain. “Hope you know what you’re doing, tempting the devil like that.”
A sheen of sweat dampened my body, and I shoved the money into the hat she held and grabbed the water bottle from her other hand. “Devil?”
She tipped her head to the right, and I turned, the bottle rising to my mouth stopped halfway.
Bowie stalked toward us down the hallway, a slew of emotions on his face, his eyes narrowed, nostrils flared.
“Too late.” Avril chuckled and pushed in the dressing room door. It closed behind her, leaving me alone backstage with a man hell-bent on either swatting my ass or devouring me where I stood.
I hoped for both.
He stopped a foot away, energy and heat rippling off him, sending another shiver over my skin. “What the fuck was that?”
“What?” I sipped, feigning calm even though my hand shook.
His gaze narrowed further as he studied my face, my stare that matched his, unwavering. Gone was the submissive wanting the job. Gone was the little girl he’d taken two firsts from. I wanted what I wanted -- him, and the ropes and whatever other kink he wanted to dish out. He claimed to like sass, so I planned on letting him have it.
“You like men lusting over you, dreaming about shoving their dicks into your tight pussy. Don’t you?”
I shrugged and sipped again. Cadence claimed I had an exhibition streak, so he’d probably nailed the truth of it.
