by A. C. Bextor
I called her Angel and I wasn’t wrong. There are no other words to describe her.
Mia Zanders is clean in all ways.
Because of this, I should calm down. Take more care. Explain the facts as they are, and do it in a way someone like her would understand. Right now, though, my patience has left town and is headed for the tracks to the crazy train. I need to curb this shit and fast.
Of all the people I would be paid to babysit.
Fuck me.
“The scene you made back there was a little over the top,” she comments snidely, not giving me a chance to start. “Don’t you think?”
Anger and frustration push me three steps forward. A flash of fear passes through her eyes before she regains her disobedient composure.
Standing more in her space than she’s comfortable with, I lower my voice and ask what I already know, “Have you ever worked behind a bar, Angel?”
“No,” she returns, her eyes blazing with annoyance.
“Have you ever so much as stepped a foot into a club like this one?”
Shaking her head, she replies, “No, but—”
“This isn’t a no-name hangout in some no-name town. There aren’t security guards or police you can call when you get in a pinch,” I add to scare her further.
She doesn’t know, not one of them would ever touch her. She hasn’t been around long enough to understand that even if these men are who they are, they’d lay down their lives to ensure her safety.
“Yes, I know—”
“The brothers who come for a beer work hard all day. Some have jobs on the outside. Some have wives at home who do nothin’ but bitch and moan. Some have kids who they rarely get to see.”
“Right. I—” she tries again.
“So, you’re gettin’ my point?”
Her mouth closes and her nostrils flare. She has something to say, and fuck me, but I’d love to hear what’s in her head.
“I get your point,” she finally gets out.
Ensuring she does, I go one further. “If a woman like you pitches them shit in any way, they’re gonna fuck back because it’s a right I’ve given them.”
“A woman like me?”
“You have no idea who the fuck these men are,” I clip.
“They work here,” she quickly gets out on a whim.
“You have no idea what these men are like,” I assert.
“I was doing my job,” she comes back, crossing her arms over her chest. The subtle move pushes the neckline of her dress down, revealing the crest of a pale pink camisole beneath. “A job you gave me.”
Against my body’s will, my cock pulses violently at her defiant demeanor.
“You’re still new here, Angel. So I’ll just give you a quick lay of the land ‘cause, apparently what I’ve said so far hasn’t penetrated in that beautiful brain of yours.”
“Generous of you,” she snaps.
Images of marking her ass red for that comment come fast and hard. Mia is a handful.
Clearly.
Calmly, I inform, “Angel, we’ve never had a tip jar as long as I’ve been a member of this club.”
Her mask of irritation slips and she prods, “You’ve never had a tip jar?”
“Never. And I’ve been here a lotta years.”
“You’ve never had a tip jar?” she asks again.
Directly, I take advantage to convince. “You think I’m gonna tip a woman like Jizzy, when I know the bitch’ll suck my cock for free?”
Scrunching her nose, she sneers, “That’s disgusting.”
“It is what it is.”
Tears fill her eyes. Humiliation maybe. Fear possibly.
Either way, I wait until she finally grinds out, “I understand.”
Using my finger, I trace her jaw. I expect she’ll pull back, stand away. But she doesn’t. She allows my touch and I note her skin is soft, as I knew it would be. No makeup to taint its color. No trace of cheap perfume on her skin. Nothing. Just who she is.
Fuck, but I want to taste her.
Both our heads turn to the door after one knock comes and it opens.
Grabbing Angel, I wrap my arm around her waist and bring her into the side of my chest. A move I can’t explain or reason with.
“Um, hi,” Cricket calls, holding the handle of the door. She scans both Mia and me up and down before clearing her throat and advising, “Mom’s looking for you, El. She’s in a state.”
“About what?”
Cricket hesitates, her face flushing pink.
“Cricket,” I press. “About what?”
“Mom went to your room when you didn’t come down right away,” Cricket says.
Fuck.
“Lane was in there and she was—”
Fuck!
I’d blown Lane off to come downstairs. She started to undress as we entered my room, and I told her I’d be back and we’d talk.
Evidently, she didn’t take to what I meant by talk. She will once I’ve finished here.
“Mom’s waiting for you. Prepare, El. Lane refused to leave and Mom is not happy.”
Under Cricket’s concerned gaze, Mia fidgets in my arms. I hold tight, not giving her an inch.
When Cricket’s satisfied her message is delivered, she eyes what’s in front of her before stepping back and closing the door.
Mia jumps, thrashing until she’s away from me, and again standing against the wall. Her breathing is uneven. Her neck and face are flushed and her hands are trembling.
She’s as affected by me as I am her.
Good.
If I have to, I’ll use intimidation to keep her in line until she’s gone.
“Are we finished?” she snaps, her brows furrowed and her annoyed eyes on me.
No fear. No worry. Just a lot of pissed-off hellfire.
“We’re almost done,” I tell her. As she turns to grab the handle to the door, I place my palm near her face to keep it closed. With my front plastered against her back, she has no escape. “Just one more thing.”
“About to impart more wisdom?” she asks to the wooden door. “Go on. I’m listening.”
In a coaxing tone, I insist, “Don’t fill those men with thoughts of you.”
In profile, I watch her pink tongue dart out to wet her upper lip. She leans forward, resting her forehead to the door in defeat. She understands. A woman, who looks like her, couldn’t not understand the effect she has on men like those here—men like me.
Knowing I shouldn’t, my nose settles against the braid along the side of her shoulder, and I inhale.
She gasps, but doesn’t pull away when I say, “Especially when they’ll never taste so much as the promise of you.”
“I didn’t know I was doing that,” she quietly admits, opening her eyes and looking down.
“No?” I question, leaning in further to smell her skin.
“No,” she returns, her body frozen, her sweet breath slowing.
“Have a mind to where you are and who you’re with,” I give, this time as calmly as I can.
“Okay.”
Seconds pass. My hands itch to touch her, my body wanting so much more. I figure with Mia, not only am I getting clean and pure, but also there’s a chance I’d be getting holy water and hellfire. All of this is tempting.
Too tempting.
“Go on.” I step back and nod to the door, though she can’t see. “I’ll follow in a few.”
Without hesitation, she moves. Grabbing the handle and opening it wide, she walks out without another word.
The woman is either incredibly sweet to the point of naïve, or she’s the most talented fucking tease I’ve ever met. Proof of either is my traitorous cock standing at full attention.
And I barely fucking touched her.
“Hand me the rest of those glasses, Angel,” Elevent orders, standing alone at the other end of the bar.
I haven’t seen him since our ‘talk’ in the back room yesterday, where I was embarrassed by his words and humiliated by my
body’s reaction to hearing them. When he touched me, I all but melted. In truth, I’d never been affected this way. When he was done with me, I was ready to go.
Fueling my need to grab all I brought with me, and run screaming from this hell, I came out to find the bar had emptied.
A few bottles were sitting in their place, a few napkins wadded around them, and some change had been strewn over the bar.
All my customer’s had taken the advice of their master and fled.
Traitors.
The tip jar had been emptied, but there was an envelope hidden under its base. Written on top of a plain white envelope was my name as Angel. I figured one of the guys felt badly and wanted to do something nice—likely Pyke, maybe Vante. As I opened it, a small white piece of paper fell to the floor.
Welcome to the family.
xxoo Sunny.
Finding this, reading it for what it was, some of the anger slipped away.
When I came down this morning, the room was mostly empty. Elevent was behind the bar, unloading bottles to a cooler. Here, I was taken back.
His hair was damp as if he’d just showered. He was wearing faded black jeans, a tee that was just as washed out, and his Saint’s cut. The stereo speaker was blasting Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “Free Bird.”
When he saw me enter, he looked up and I caught a faint smile. I took his advice, not wearing one of my dresses, but instead a pair of very nice jeans and a fitted sweater. Once satisfied I had nothing to say, he went back to doing what he was doing.
Advay and Ziah were concentrating on a game that was lighting up the big screen in the rec room. Advay turned his head, smiled small, and gave me a quiet, “Hey,” which I returned.
Ziah grinned and said only, “Mama” before turning back to hoot and holler about Advay’s virtual kill.
All was calm, as if what happened here the day before hadn’t happened at all.
For the last hour, I haven’t said a word to Elevent. I may not be as livid as I was, but that doesn’t mean I’m still not mad. Between his overzealous reaction for something as small as a tip jar, coupled with the way he spoke to embarrass, I’m fighting the urge to be infuriated all over again.
Grabbing a few of the empty glasses, I walk toward him as he stands alone, hands wet, and a white towel draped over his shoulder. He’s grinning.
Piling them at the sink’s side, I request, “I really wish you’d call me by my name.”
“I wish you’d stop fuckin’ nursing your snit,” he clips back, resting one hand on the bar, giving me his full attention.
“I’m not doing that.”
“The fuck you aren’t.”
Shaking my head, keeping my temper, I return, “I’m really not.”
“And I’m not callin’ you by any other name.”
Grr…
As I turn to help, grabbing a dirty glass and placing it inside the hot, steamy, soap-filled water, I’m startled at the heat of him at my back. His arms encircle at both sides, each of his hands resting on the bar in front of me.
I swallow hard; pushing away how raspy his voice was when laid out as he did.
I shiver, ignoring the way his lips ghosted along against my skin. And how warm his breath felt as it glided down my neck with each word.
And here I am again, feeling those same lips as he whispers, “If you’re gonna survive your time here, you’ll need thicker skin.”
Looking up, I watch Advay grab Ziah around the neck, bringing him to his chest in a headlock. My rapid breathing slows.
“I told you the way it was,” Elevent continues. “You can keep to your pout, or you can suck it the fuck up and move on.”
“I’m not pouting,” I admit, but leave out that my feelings may have been hurt.
After I’d gone back to my room, taking the time alone to think, I figured Elevent was right. Not in his barbaric delivery, but in his message.
I’m not innocent. I’m also not blind to the way of men. Even working as a secretary at the church, I knew some of the parishioners allowed their eyes to linger longer than they should have. They did the same to Myra. Married or not, I knew what those men were thinking.
While in my room, I also struggled to realize I might have done the same here. I’ve admired smiles and been fascinated by some of the members’ bodies and tattoos. I’ve stared too long at Vante and haven’t held back from admiring Advay either. I definitely haven’t minded Elevent’s attention—even with all the drama it comes with.
I’ve also been jealous of the relationships among them. Brother to brother. Even the club women have their own tight circle.
But I have never been spoken to like he spoke to me. And obviously, Elevent has no intention to apologize.
“Good,” he returns, stepping back. When I twist my neck to get a view of him, he’s smiling. Not a smile a biker gives a biker babe. But a smile meant for me.
“Why do they call you Elevent?” I question, grabbing the towel near the sink, preparing to wipe the bar. “That’s not a common name.”
“‘May not be common, Angel. But that’s what I’m called,” he returns, watching my every move.
I notice Advay’s eyes are trained on Elevent and me. His expression blank, but eyes intense.
“Was that always your name?”
Shaking his head, he gives a stern, “No.”
“What’s your given name?” I question.
Going about his work, he says, “I was born a James.”
“A James?”
Nodding to the register, gathering random slips of paper, he adds, “James Scott.”
I like his name. Not that a name as simple as that suits a man like him, but still. Learning a piece of Elevent, something as trivial as his name, humanizes him.
“Not impressed?” he asserts.
“So why did you change your name to Elevent?”
He smiles. When he does his entire face changes. He looks younger, more at ease.
“I didn’t change my name. Elevent is a road name.”
“Then why is your road name Elevent?”
Still smirking, he says, “You ask a lotta questions.”
I shrug. “I’m curious.”
Finally, he decides to give in. “Had a brother here a long time ago. The lunatic was into vampires.”
“Vampires?”
“Like I said, he was a lunatic. He called me Elevent. Name stuck.”
“Where is he now?” I prod, curious to meet a man into vampires.
“Dead. Burning in hell, I hope.”
All right then.
“So, you never wanted to change the name?”
“Once you’re christened a road name, there’s no changing anything.”
“This makes no sense,” I return.
“I’m sure to you it doesn’t, Angel.”
Damn it. I see his point. That point being Angel: the name I’m now apparently stuck with.
As he takes his gaze from mine and starts to rinse a glass, our heads turn toward the door when it opens.
The air in the room evaporates and my tried and true given name is the cause.
A strangled noise breaks from my throat, and before I have a chance to speak, Elevent clips, “What the fuck?”
Toby, my boring ex-boyfriend, who I haven’t seen in nearly a month, is here. In this club. And he’s standing next to Leglas, whose expression is clearly and unfortunately amused.
Toby’s dressed the same as he always is. Pressed, white, button-down shirt, khakis, and loafers. His hair is neatly combed to the side, product just enough to hold it in place. What doesn’t look in place is him standing here.
What in the world?
“Toby?”
Toby’s rush of relief is obvious. “Mia, thank God.”
“What are you doing here?” I query the obvious.
“College boy was insistent,” Leglas answers freely, standing two feet behind Toby, while staring expectedly at Elevent. “Found him kickin’ and screamin’ down by the gate when I roll
ed up on my bike.”
Toby doesn’t kick or scream. This doesn’t sound like him at all. However, here he is, which I’d never guess in a million years he would be.
Leglas grins, devious and cruel. “Seems he came to rescue your Angel.”
Oh no.
“What?” comes from Ziah, as he tosses the gaming remote to the ground, tears off his headset, and stands. His young face is as malevolent as one his age could be. “Who’s this guy?” he points and questions next.
“Quiet,” Advay calls to Ziah. “And sit down, little man.”
Toby’s face contorts, taking in the room and its people.
“Angel?” he repeats the name, puzzled. “I’m not here for Angel. I’m here for Mia.”
“Wasted trip, frat boy,” Elevent barks. “You can go.”
Leglas takes two steps forward, closing in behind my ex. Toby, losing his temper, takes a step in my direction, behind the bar. My body is jarred with an arm snaking forcefully around my waist. Once again, my back is pinned to Elevent’s front, his fingers digging deep into my waist.
“Don’t say a word, Angel,” Elevent whispers harshly in my ear. “Not a fuckin’ word.”
Toby’s eyes grow wide as he focuses solely on Elevent’s hand splayed around my waist. My breathing is uneven. Standing in the feel of Elevent’s strong arms adds flutters to my belly, as I look at the man I thought I once knew, and loved, but now feel nothing.
“Again,” Elevent repeats evenly. “Time to go.”
“I’ve come to take Mia home with me,” Toby politely claims, as if this is just some big misunderstanding and we’ll walk out of here together. “She doesn’t need to be here.”
The steel wall at my back turns to stone and the hold on my waist tightens. I wince and the flash of pain disappears.
“You wasted your time, preppy,” Elevent calls. “’Cause she’s not goin’ anywhere.”
“Mia?” Toby calls, expecting an answer, this time from me.
Seeing as I’m a pawn in the middle of what-the-hell-ever this is, I try to remove myself from Elevent’s hold. Maybe I can sort this. I could talk to Toby and explain, this time in person. When I broke up with him over the phone, he was furious, and I admitted I kind of liked he was. But when I make an attempt to move, my plan is thwarted.
So I change tactics.
Clearing my throat and calling on control, I lamely explain, “I’m here because I need to be.”
