by Hart, Lane
“Oh yeah. Trust and loyalty are big with him. Come to think of it, all of the Aces are a little trigger happy. And a bunch of man-whores, well, except for Malcolm and Nash. Just don’t get too attached to any of them. I’ve seen the guys pull their dicks out of one girl and into another without missing a thrust.”
“Ah, that’s good to know,” I tell her even though it’s a little too late since I’ve already hooked up with Fiasco.
“No problem,” Ronnie replies with a shrug. “At least they pay well.”
“Right,” I agree. Even on slow nights like tonight, the tips have been great. That could also be partly due to the fact that I’m topless and in just my panties, though.
Wiping down the counter with a rag, Ronnie goes on to say, “To be honest, I’ve never seen Malcolm treat anyone the way he did you tonight. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing, though.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s testing you, which means that he doesn’t trust you. Not that Malcolm really trusts anyone but his brothers. He still makes me take a sip from opened bottles of liquor before he’ll drink from it.”
“Wow. The guy sounds a little paranoid.”
“Who wouldn’t be after what he’s been through,” she says.
“What has he been through?”
“You must not be from around here. Everyone knows about how the Ace of Spades MC went up in flames thanks to another biker gang, the Savage Kings, being pissed with them for doing business with the cartel.”
“No, I didn’t know that.”
“They lost so many guys that the MC had to fold. Malcolm, Lowell and Nash were the only ones left, and they formed the Dirty Aces just two years back. That’s why there are only six members right now. Well, there were seven until just recently, but Lowell betrayed them, and…well, the less said about that, the better.”
“Oh. Well, ah, thanks for the history report,” I tell her, glad to have any information I can get on these guys.
Time is not on my side. I need to do what I came here to do and then get the hell out before anyone figures out what I’m up to. Because if I get caught or fail, I doubt I’ll ever see my twenty-second birthday.
Malcolm
* * *
“What’s with the late-night meeting, boss? I’m tired as fuck,” Devlin says, pulling his disheveled jet-black hair back and tying it up with a rubber band.
“This couldn’t wait,” I tell them when we all gather around the table in the back room behind the bar. Most of the lights are out, and it’s quiet in the clubhouse since it’s well after two a.m.
“So, what’s so important?” Nash asks with an annoyed look in his amber eyes.
“We’re throwing cash out every fucking day in garbage bags,” I tell them.
“Huh?” Wirth mutters around a yawn he covers with the back of his tattooed knuckles. “Do you mean that literally or what? I’m too tired to know if you’re being serious or speaking metaphorically.”
“What I mean is that we’re wasting money on bullshit and not bringing enough in,” I explain. “Dev, I want you and Fiasco to hunt down each and every person who owes us a gambling debt, no matter how big or small. If they don’t have the cash to pay up, you start taking their shit – cars, flat screens, iPhones, anything we can sell to show them we mean business.”
“Okay,” Devlin agrees. “But is there a reason this couldn’t wait until tomorrow, boss?”
“Keep your fucking panties on,” I tell him, turning to Fiasco. “And you. Why the fuck did you hire another waitress for weekdays on the boat?”
“Because she’s hot as hell,” he replies with a smirk. “Besides, she was desperate. Also, everyone knows that hot asses bring in repeat customers who think they have a chance of hitting that.”
“She’s an extra expense we didn’t need. And a possible liability if she tries to come at us for harassment or whatever. One look at her and you know she won’t mix with our customers. The girl looks like a goddamn high school virgin!”
“Sounds like I need to see this girl for myself,” Silas grins, making me glare at him.
“She could be a narc or a gold-digger looking for her next jackpot by threatening assault charges on us.”
“Naomi wouldn’t do nothin’ like that, man,” Fiasco says. “Even if she did try to bring up charges, I’m in the clear since I’ve got her on video consenting before she put my dick in her mouth.”
“I fucking knew it!” I exclaim as I slam my palms down on the table. “You and your dick are gonna be the death of us all!”
“It’s just a blowie, boss,” Dev says. “I’ve gotten at least one from every other waitress who’s ever worked for us.”
“Not anymore,” I tell them.
“Huh?” Wirth asks again, apparently the only word he’s capable of in the middle of the night.
“I’m putting my foot down. You all need to keep it in your fucking pants on the job, whether it’s here in the bar, on the boat, or at the chop shop.”
“Ain’t no chicks working at the chop shop,” Fiasco points out.
“You’re not that picky about where you put your dick,” I challenge. “I doubt if Drake or Hudson’s ass is completely out of the question.”
“Whoa. That’s a low blow, prez, even for you,” Silas mutters.
“Look, all I’m saying is that if we want our businesses to keep growing so we can bring in new members and expand to more charters, we need to be more careful with our spending and not make any stupid decisions.”
“Yeah, okay,” Devlin agrees.
“Whatever,” Wirth grumbles.
“Fine by me,” Nash says. “I don’t want any part of the disease-ridden girls who are desperate enough to fuck this bunch of assholes.”
“So, does that mean you’ve been eyeing Drake or Hudson’s ass?” Devlin teases Nash, who flips him both of his middle fingers.
“Fuck you and your pharmacy of STD antibiotics, Dev.”
“Silas, Fiasco, do we have your word that you’ll keep your dicks out of staff and your heads in the game?”
“You’re taking away our easy pussy, man,” Silas argues. “But fine, what the hell. I can get some ass wherever I want it.”
“Fiasco?” I say.
“Can I still fuck them if they’re not on the clock?” he asks.
“Think of all the cash you’ll be saving if you avoid the additional child support, buddy,” Devlin says to Fiasco, who has at least two baby mamas that we know of.
“Yeah. Okay,” he huffs. “Still, it’s fucked up you give us this new rule right after Naomi’s fine ass comes along.”
“You’ll live,” I assure him. Now I just have to convince myself that tonight’s late meeting and my decision isn’t just about the new girl.
Chapter Six
Naomi
* * *
The drunk customers on the cruise are such easy targets. So far none have noticed when I slide their cell phones out of their pockets or ‘borrow’ their wallets before returning them with credit card numbers written down. They blame the alcohol on losing their shit, and I’ve been making a killing.
Thanks to my tips, along with the stolen goods and extra cash I’ve been able to siphon off of alcohol sales, I’ve made almost five thousand dollars in just one week working for the Aces. That means I’m getting closer to paying off the twenty thousand I owe Harry; and at the moment, I would literally do anything to get him off my back with his outrageous interest rates.
Oddly enough, Fiasco hasn’t touched me since the night Malcolm made me strip down to serve drinks, even though the blond man still looks at me like he’s thinking dirty thoughts. Actually, I’ve come to realize that’s pretty much Fiasco’s expression whenever he looks at any woman.
And Malcolm? Well, each day he watches me a little longer, a little more closely, making it increasingly more difficult to slip a few extra dollars into my cleavage. Difficult, but not impossible.
“Guess what,” I say when I waltz u
p to the man in charge on my eighth night.
“What?” he asks, avoiding eye contact with me and preferring to study the room.
“It’s been over a week and I still haven’t quit,” I remark.
“You want me to throw you a party?”
“No,” I reply. “A simple congratulations, I was wrong will do.”
“In your fucking dreams, honey,” he says with a soft chuckle as he pulls out a cigarette and lights it up.
“Speaking of dreams,” I start, leaning my hip against the stool next to his. “What do you dream about, Malcolm? Or should I say whom?”
An arched eyebrow as he sucks on his cancer stick is his silent response, but at least now he’s looking right at me.
“Men or women?” I ask softly, causing him to cough when he starts choking on his smoke.
Ronnie eyes both of us curiously from behind the bar before she fills a glass with water and sets it on the bar for Malcolm. He quickly picks it up and guzzles it down. Once he’s finished the water off, he slams the glass on the bar and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “The fuck did you just ask me?”
“You heard me,” I say. Ronnie is standing too close now for me to repeat it without definitely pissing him off, if I haven’t already.
“Screw it,” Malcolm says, glancing away from me. “I’ll leave that one up to your imagination, honey.”
I take a step closer to his thigh before I quietly say next to his ear, “Then I choose you and Fiasco…together. The question is…who would be the top?”
Quicker than a snake, Malcolm strikes, grabbing a handful of my hair and tugging on it hard when he pulls my head down to speak into my ear. “I don’t know what you’re playing at, little girl, but that mouth of yours is going to land you in a world of hurt if you don’t watch it.”
“Guess that answers my question,” I reply breathlessly.
“I should’ve fired you the first night,” Malcolm says as he pulls my hair tighter so that my face is only inches from his.
“Why didn’t you?” I ask.
“Hell if I know. Keep running your mouth and I’ll have to rethink my decision. Now get the fuck back to work.”
“Yes, sir,” I reply as he releases his hold on me. “Can I get you anything? Maybe a fifth of whiskey?”
“Jack Daniels,” he responds and starts to turn away before he adds, “And if Jack were still alive, he’d be the only one I’d ever consider fucking. You can bet your ass he’d be a bottom too.”
Despite all of his threats and attempts to scare me, I can’t help myself when a smile spreads across my face.
“Watch out, Jack,” I mutter before I reach over the bar to grab a bottle of the amber liquid, intentionally letting my skirt rise up the back of my thighs because I know Malcolm is looking.
Malcolm
* * *
Naomi’s fine ass is within slapping distance, begging for a palm to claim it as she reaches over the bar.
I know exactly what she’s doing, but it won’t work.
No matter how badly I want to fuck the mouthy blonde’s brains out, I won’t do it. I swear she’s been sent to earth to test me, to tempt me, because I’ve never had as much trouble keeping my dick down as I do around her. The damn thing has a mind of its own, standing up proud and ready to report for duty when I didn’t request his services.
Maybe Silas was right, I need to get off before I go fucking insane and kill someone. Each day that I abstain I get a little crankier, a little less stable and a helluva lot hornier. And there’s nothing stopping me from calling up one of my usual girls and taking care of business except for one smart-mouthed, too sexy for her own good, waitress. Without even trying, I know that Naomi’s face and ass and tits are the ones I’ll see when I’m inside any other woman. It’ll be her mouth wrapped around my dick, her mouth begging me for more. I may be an asshole of the highest order, but even I wouldn’t use another woman just to pretend she’s someone else.
This is not a problem I’ve ever had before. Women are women. They all have asses and tits and pussies that feel equally amazing. I’ve never even been all that picky, willing to screw the curviest girl in the room or the thinnest, the shortest or tallest. I don’t even care all that much about their faces as long as their bodies put in the work.
Until now.
The only reason I haven’t pulled Naomi on my lap and fucked her in front of everyone on the boat yet is because I know Fiasco’s been keeping his hands off of her.
Why am I so sure about that?
Because I’m barely able to let her out of my sight while she’s on the clock unless duty calls, and then, after hours, I’ve followed her home after we dock like some sort of creepy stalker.
She’s becoming an unhealthy obsession; one I can’t seem to shake.
And the worst part?
My gut says there’s something…off about her. Why would someone like her choose to be here, working on a dangerous boat with outlaws? It doesn’t make sense. I’ve ran a background check on her and even followed her home three different times to see if she has any ties to rival groups, or even worse, law enforcement.
So far? Nothing.
Every night after the boat docks, Naomi goes straight home to a white, two-story farmhouse, alone. Why am I so sure she lives there alone? There are no other cars in the driveway; and as soon as she walks inside, she flips on each and every light as she goes through the place and leaves them on, like she’s scared of the dark.
I’ve become so fixated on her that I even manhandled her right in the middle of the casino with everyone watching when she ran her mouth.
She was messing with me, trying to rile me up. And it fucking worked.
No one has ever had that kind of effect on my cool and calm demeanor. It’s…unsettling. Naomi unsettles the fuck out of me.
I need to put more distance between us and fast before this shit gets worse and I do something crazy like take her home with me, tie her to my bed, and pound inside of her body until I finally get my fill of her. Even if that takes hours or days...
“Fuck,” I mutter aloud, causing Naomi to startle as she was pouring my Jack into a glass.
“You okay?” she asks with her brow furrowing.
“Just give me the bottle so I can get back to work,” I snap at her, not because she’s done anything wrong other than not being restrained to my bed twenty-four seven like I want.
“Here you go,” she says as she hands over the bottle.
“Thanks,” I huff as I take a long swig and carry it in a death grip back to my office.
Chapter Seven
Malcolm
* * *
It’s been two weeks since Naomi started working on the boat, which is a week longer than I predicted. I’m not usually wrong about these things. My intuition is always dead-on, so what the fuck am I missing with this girl?
Lately, I’ve made myself stop gawking at her from the bar, which just means that now I do it from my office with my feet up on my desk, smoking a cigarette and watching her on the surveillance camera app on my phone when I should be working on the books. I’ve convinced myself that I’m keeping an eye on her for the good of the MC when really I just can’t seem to take my eyes off of her for more than a few seconds, worried one of the guys will try and feel her up; and if so, I’ll have to break their hands.
And it’s a damn good thing I’m keeping a close eye on Naomi too, or I may have missed the sleight of hand when someone orders a drink and she stuffs the cash down the front of her tight black dress. At first, I don’t think anything of it. But then I zoom in on her and watch her do it over and over again instead of putting the money in the register at the bar.
I try and convince myself that at the end of the night, she’ll settle up for the drinks, but she doesn’t when we dock. She simply leaves…
“I fucking knew it!” I say aloud as I jump to my feet.
And goddamn, I really hate that I was right about her. I wanted her to be differen
t, even though I have no clue why.
I’m so fucking enraged by her betrayal that I want to break something. The closest thing in my reach is my desk; so, with one sweep of my arm, I send everything on it flying. Ashtrays, paperwork, a money drawer, all of it ends up hitting the opposite wall and crashing to the floor.
Once everything is wiped clear, I hunch over the desk feeling absolutely defeated, my palms spread and head hanging so low the ends of my long hair nearly brush the desktop.
Nothing feels worse than betrayal. It’s nearly impossible to trust anyone nowadays, which is why I don’t usually fall for anyone’s bullshit.
This time, with Naomi though, I did. I fell for her sweet, innocent act and thought she really was here to work and earn money. Instead, she’s stealing mine and the MC’s cash right out of our pockets.
Since I know from experience that I need hardcore evidence before I start accusing someone of theft, I grab my phone to shoot a text message to Ronnie, asking her to come to my office before she leaves for the night.
“Yes, sir?” she asks a moment later when she peeks through the cracked door, sounding out of breath from getting here in a hurry. Her eyes widen when she takes in the mess on my floor.
“Come in and shut the door,” I tell her.
She slips inside and does as I asked, clutching her hands behind her back.
“I need you to do inventory tonight. I know it’s short notice, but I’ll pay you double for the overtime, if that’s okay?”
“Sure, yeah.”
“Tomorrow night too. And not just cases, I want every single bottle accounted for. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. And Ronnie?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t tell anyone about what I’m asking you to do.”
“Is there a problem…” she trails off.
“You just go do your job and report back to me each night. Got it?”
