Three Hitmen: A Triple Bad Boy Mafia Romance (Lawless Book 2)

by Alice May Ball

  “Grinder, take Belle behind the bar to start with and try and not let break anything,” a look passed between the two men. “Try and not let her get broken either.” Grinder’s smile was warm and confidential. I felt safe with him. For now, at least.

  Hammer said, “Pour us a couple of shots to get started.”

  Grinder filled two shot glasses with bourbon and slid them across the bar. Hammer lifted one and said, “May the road rise with you.” He expected me to slug the shot down in one with him.

  Well, I thought, It probably won’t be the hardest thing I’ll have to do tonight.

  The bourbon sparked on the back of my tongue and blazed all the way down my throat. I sighed and licked my pursed lips as it dropped to my stomach. And I saw Hammer watching me. No expression, only an intense concentration.

  He slapped the bar with the flat of his hand, he and Grinder exchanged nods and Hammer was gone.

  Grinder took me behind the bar. He showed me where the beers and bourbon were. He said, “Don’t worry about prices. I’ll take the money for tonight.” In his eye I caught a glimpse of him watching me.

  “There’s not too many club members out here tonight. That’s on account of the game in back. Your first night, I don’t think you should be out in the back room.”

  While he was kindly, he still was wary. Ready to take me under his wing, but wondering who the fuck I was. Understandable, I guess.

  In the corner of the room was a low stage. A girl danced slowly in the beat of the pumping heavy metal. A few very appreciative bikers clustered around the edge of the platform.

  Her hips and shoulders snaked on the rhythm. Waves of blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders. Her big, soft boobs bounced above and below the knot of a tied rebel flag.

  She clawed one hand through her hair and threw her head back dreamily as her other hand slid into her sheer black panties. Tall heels made her long legs seem extra lithe as she writhed her hips against her hand.

  The nearby bikers leaned forwards. On each beat of the bass, her pelvis flicked forward. In her panties, her hand flexed and clenched. The tip of her tongue slid around her parting lips and she looked in the eyes of the bikers, one by one.

  Her thighs parted wider and her hips ground lower. Slower. Longer and deeper. She danced closer to the edge of the stage. She reached her free hand out to run a biker. Ran a finger down the front of his shirt. She shimmied over to the next man and wiped her thumb along his lips.

  His eyes were wide. Her crotch flicked, back and forth, inches from his lips. She licked her lips as she patted his cheek. Even in Vegas, I hadn’t seen a public show this raunchy. In here, apart from the bikers around the stage, no-one else appeared to notice that anything was happening.

  The girl danced sideways to the next biker. Her to lip curled back and her teeth bit into her lower lip. Her free hand slid down the biker’s shirt, over his belt. She lingered on his elaborate buckle.

  Between her thighs, her hand plunged deeper. Her pelvis rocked a little harder. Her eyes opened wide as she slipped her palm over the bulge that pressed out the taut front of his denim jeans. His grin turned to a hard leer as she gripped him.

  Around a table at the back, four rowdy bikers in clear view of the stage seemed to take no notice at all. Then I spotted a brown head of hair, bobbing in one of the biker’s laps. The huge, black-haired biker wiped his bandito mustache before his hand rested on top of the head in front of him.

  His dark eyes fixed on mine before my head turned back to the stage.

  The dancer’s hair billowed as she whirled around. Her pert butt bounced and ground around in front of the biker’s face. She peered back over her shoulder into his eyes. The one hand still rose and fell inside her sopping panties.

  The biker lifted his hands towards her inviting ass, but she waved the index finger of her free hand and shook her head slowly. She touched her finger to her pursed lips. Her eyes widened as she moved her buttocks closer to his face.

  If she went on teasing him harder like that, getting closer in his face, surely he wouldn’t be able to stand it. Her thighs parted wider and her ass rolled lower. Her pussy was right in front of him. He must have been able to smell her, taste her, practically.

  He grabbed her ass. She waited a moment before she span around. She shook her head slowly with a theatrical schoolmarm look on her face. Her finger reached out to wag in front of his face. The guy’s neck was red.

  She put her finger under his chin. She stepped backwards. With his eyes bulging, he followed her up, onto the stage. She stood him in the center of the floor, then turned. She danced with her back to him. Pressed and rubbed her buttocks against him.

  Each time his hands moved, she tapped them with her fingers or wagged her finger to stop him.

  With her legs splayed wide, she bent forwards. Her ass ground up and down against the strained front of the biker’s jeans. Her eyes were comically wide as they swept the tight clutch of men at the stage’s edge.

  The biker’s face was reddening. The dancer turned and landed on her knees in front of him. She put her fingers on his pelvis. Pushed and pulled on his hips. Her hands came closer together and her mouth opened.

  The tip of her tongue pressed against her front teeth as she reached into his fly for his buttons. The girl turned to the audience with her eyes wide as she popped each button.

  She hauled out the biker’s fat, stiff cock and she licked the bottom of the shaft. Her hand reached into his open jeans and she popped out his balls. She took them into her mouth one at a time.

  Then she got her lips over the head of his cock and slid her mouth slowly all the way down it. He couldn’t hold himself back then, and he grabbed her hair. His hips thrust his cock deep into her mouth.

  She drooled and wet clucking sounds escaped from her throat as his cock plunged all the way into her wet face. His thighs widened and tensed as he gripped her hair. His buttocks clenched as his shaft rode into her throat. She gave a loud, wet gasp at each and every long, hard stroke.

  Veins stood out on the biker’s neck as he leaned over and buried his fingers deeper in her hair.

  “You won’t get paid for watching the show,” Grinder’s voice snapped me back. There was a mischievous twinkle in the older guy’s eyes as I turned back to him. “Whatever you want to do while you’re here, it’s up to you. And whatever you don’t want to do, that’s up to you, too.”

  He was talking about the girl on the stage. “But you do need to do something to make Hammer see that you earned your money.”

  Grinder had me help him pour four mugs of beer and said, “Take these over to that table at the back.”

  I grabbed the handles of the four mugs and headed for the table. I was self-conscious as the huge, black-haired biker watched me, all the way from the bar to the dark table where he sat. Under his cut-off bike jacket he wore another leather jacket, hooded.

  There were silver buckles on the jacket and on his heavy belt. His boots had silver fastenings. The dark, reddish complexion of his slick, oily skin contrasted with thick silver rings that studded his fingers and sliver bracelets hung on his wrists, and the massive watch under his left sleeve. The skin around his neck and cheeks was red and rough.

  I couldn’t see whether he still had company under the table or not. He saw me looking, though. I felt it. Felt his eyes and his scornful grin on me as I hefted the beers onto the table.

  His voice was a growl as I turned to leave. “You’re new here.” I looked back at him. He studied me like a pawnshop teller. His sharp, green eyes were all over me, “You should have me show you round.”

  “You aint even a member, Hawk.” A bearded biker spoke up, “Leave the girl be.”

  The green eyes hadn’t left off from assessing my t-shirt and its contents. He didn’t turn or look away to reply. He didn’t stop his tongue from sliding over his red lips. “Don’t I get the full courtesy you afford a guest, Ol’ Bear?”

  Another of the men, big, frizzy-haired and
quietly spoken said evenly, “You’ll get all of the courtesy you’re entitled to, Hawk.” The features of Hawk’s strong face closed slightly. He quieted a little.

  “Hey, no beef, Abe.”

  “No worry, Hawk. Hammer just brought her here, you saw that.”

  Hawk was still watching me. I stayed quiet. He said, “Yeah, I saw that, Abe. I thought maybe she could do with some stress testing. That’s all.”

  “It’s a helpful thought, Bro. Just don’t be thinking you’ll be our test pilot, okay?”

  Hawk said to me, “I’ll see you in the back room later, right, girly?”

  Abe told him, “Girl’s way too new for the back room, Hawk.”

  As I returned to the bar, I felt Hawk watch the back of me all the way.

  “You get any trouble from Hawk over there?” Grinder asked me.

  I told him, “Nah,” but inside I didn’t feel so confident. I felt safer back behind the bar, but I remembered what Grinder had said about being useful.

  I kept an eye on the tables. Watched for when the beer glasses got low. Then I’d saunter over, say ‘Hi,’ and asked if they’d like some more. Took fresh drinks over before I cleared the old glasses away.

  The bikers were all friendlier than I had expected. Kind and even gentle in their manners. All but for Hawk. His eyes were hard on me the whole time. Whenever I stopped by at his table to ask if they’d like more beer, he always said something sly. Hinted at what else he’d like.

  Beanie came to the bar. He looked different in his leather cut-off from how he was in the. He was smooth-skinned. His tribal swirls of ink looked ornate and stylish, in an urban guerilla kind of a way. The open sparkle in his eye was replaced by a hard set in his sharp jaw.

  Here, with the leathers and in among the other bikers, his voice was deeper with more of an edge. His manner towards me was the same, though. As I served him a beer he said, “Glad Hammer could fix you up, Belle,” and he chewed his cheek as his pale, gray eyes softened at me.

  The girl on the stage had taken most of her audience up there with her, one by one. The last two men she took up together. She was bent over, one guy in front of her with his cock in her mouth, the other up behind her jiggling ass.

  Her knees sagged and her eyes were wild as the two men both came. The two men grinned and they slapped her ass as they got off the stage, stowing their cocks back into their pants. The girl sagged to her hands and knees.

  Her face was wet and sticky. So was her hair and so were her tits. The flag was long since abandoned and her sheer panties were in shreds. She had a bleary, satisfied look in her eyes.

  A short while later, she made it over to lean on the bar. Her big, pale green eyes sloped down at the sides and they floated a little. Her blonde cascades were sticky and mussed. She’d put on a leather jacket. With nothing more than heels and the shreds of her panties, it made her seem more naked than she was without it.

  She folded her arms on the bar and dropped her chin onto her wrists as she waited. When I went over she asked me for a bourbon. Her smile was sweet and her voice was hoarse but cheery. Her eyes told another story.

  When I brought her the shot she lifted a hand to me, “I’m Carlie, hi.” She lifted her head and it floated and slowly bobbed over her neck.

  “Belle,” I said back. Her touch was soft and warm when I took her hand. Carlie slugged her shot, then another. They didn’t appear to have much of an effect on her. If anything, she became more focused.

  I chatted with her while I served drinks, and I liked her. Carlie gave me a frail, tender embrace before she drifted back among the bikers.

  A woman, tall, olive skinned with slow, exotic dark eyes was down the bar in front of Grinder. A black halter-top, patterned with rhinestones and tight black jeans emphasized her generous curves. Her hair was black, long and wavy.

  She talked with Grinder a while before Grinder motioned me over.

  “Belle,” the woman said, stretching out a cool hand, palm down like a paw. Like a priest offering their ring to give a blessing. When I took her hand she said, “I’m Jascinta. Welcome,” like it was something formal. As though the place was hers and she’d only just gotten around to meeting me.

  She said to Grinder, “I wonder if I could borrow Belle for just a little while, Grinder,” she spoke like a teacher, talking to children out of school.

  Grinder said, “It’s Belle’s first night here, Jascinta,”

  But she cut gracefully across him, “I’m sure Belle can take care of herself,” her eyes cast a dark twinkle in my direction, “Can’t you, Belle.” And she made a smile for me. “We’ll see that she doesn’t come to any harm.”

  Her arm stretched out. It was a signal for me to go with her. I looked at Grinder. His lips were pressed together, but he gave a nod. Jascinta said, “Bring a fresh bottle of bourbon, honey. You can freshen everyone’s glasses.”

  As I passed, Grinder said quietly, “Watch out.”

  Jascinta led me through a door at the back of the room. In the gloom of the corridor she stopped. “Let me take a proper look at you, Belle.” Her finger lifted my chin, like I was a piece of livestock. “You’re Hammer’s little waif, right?”

  “I’m not anybody’s, Jascinta.”

  “Yeah, okay,” her eyebrow raised as she said, “That’s good. I wonder if you can back it up, though. It can be demanding. Place like this. No-one to protect you.”

  She said, “I don’t know what the men are like wherever you blew in from, Belle, but these men are bikers. You show them a challenge, specially in front of other bikers, they’re going to step right to it.”

  She looked in my eye. “You jut your chin like that, with that ‘Oh yeah?’ look in your eye? They’re going to show you, right away.” I didn’t know if she was looking out for me or simply trying to scare me. Jascinta struck me as a woman with a strong sense of her own territory, and I wasn’t sure she was glad to have me there.

  Her head tilted to one side, “Your first night, you want to stay back. Watch. Learn where you are.”

  “You mean if I want a second night?”

  “I mean if you want a tomorrow morning, child.”

  Then she led me into the cigar smoke of the back room.

  As I peered through the smoke at the men sat around a card table, it reminded me of Larry. My boyfriend, Larry. Larry the asshole who maxed our cards and trashed my cellphone contract, leaving me stranded in the Nevada desert.

  Larry who, I was certain, made a moonlight dash from our apartment with us owing two, maybe three months rent. And leaving me unable to see my few possessions ever again.

  Larry the genius card-player, card-cheat he called himself, who brilliantly came away from every game a few thousand poorer than he was when he’d arrived.

  Lately, when he got home at four or six in the morning, I’d ask him how the night had gone. Then he’d yell. He’d concoct some bullshit about how I was ‘crowding’ him or I was ‘clingy.’

  A couple of times he made his point with the back of his hand. Then he sniveled and cried and said he ‘didn’t know what came over him,’ and ‘how could it have happened.’ He swore he’d ‘die before he’d ever do that again.’

  And each time I let him get away with it, my self-esteem dropped a floor down. My opinion of him sank, and my image of myself sank with it. In a very big way, I was glad he’d finally bolted while I took a trip.

  I wasn’t sure I was ever going to make the break. I’d rather it had been me, but I was glad it was one of us. Leaving me stranded, though. Hard to find a way to be glad about that.