His Sloe Screw
The Cocktail Girls Series
Alexandria Hunt
Contents
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BLURB
A Nice Sloe Screw
1. Hatch
2. Kitty
3. Hatch
4. Kitty
5. Hatch
6. Kitty
7. Hatch
8. Kitty
9. Hatch
10. Kitty
11. Hatch
12. Kitty
13. Hatch
14. Kitty
15. Hatch
16. Kitty
17. Hatch
18. Kitty
19. Hatch
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Also by Alexandria Hunt
Copyright © 2018 His Sloe Screw
by Alexandria Hunt
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the publisher
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Ready to meet the rest of the crew?
His Old Fashioned by Frankie Love
His Mimosa by Jamie Schlosser
His Irish Coffee by Jessica Lake
His Whiskey Sour by Kim Loraine
His Champagne by Dori Lavelle
His Manhattan by Tracy Lorraine
His Blushing Bride by Emilia Beaumont
His Perfect Martini by Angel Devlin
His Long Island Iced Tea by Roxy Sinclaire
His Hurricane by Alexis Adaire
His Sloe Screw by Alexandria Hunt
His Vegas Bomb by Derek Masters
His Redheaded Slut by Vivian Ward
His Gin and Juice by Alexx Andria
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BLURB
BLURB
New to Vegas, Hatch Malone just wants to grow his building business, keep his head down and start his life fresh after a stint in prison for his ties with the Blood Soldiers Motorcycle Club.
Hired to install a bar at an upscale cocktail lounge, Hatch realizes his plans are going to be tougher than he thought. Not only is the owner’s sultry bartender niece seemingly hell bent on driving him crazy with her pouty mouth and her quick wit, but her father might have connections to his former MC rivals.
Kitty Donatello loves nothing more than to piss off her father. He won’t let her move away and fulfill her dreams of a higher education because of his ties to organized crime. She’s been forced to work in her uncle’s cocktail bar so the family can keep her in line. They’re over protective and absolutely certain she’s going to be a target because of her father’s deeds.
Because of this, she sets her sights on the new carpenter, Hatch, and decides to play a little under the family’s nose to get her father’s attention and upset the old man. Little does she know, her games are going to get her more than she bargained for, and all six foot six of muscled, quiet, alpha male are going to make sure she’s as serious as a heart attack when he decides she belongs to him.
***WARNING*** This is a romance but it has insta-love, filthy talk and dirty sex which means it’s best left for those 18+.
If you like it quick and dirty, this story is for you!
A Nice Sloe Screw
1 ounce sloe gin, any brand.
Orange juice, any brand.
One lazy day in the arms of a hot and muscular man.
Find yourself one sexy stud of a man to spend the night with.
Have mad, passionate sex all through the night. At first light, fall asleep in his arms.
Wake in time for brunch, share a shower and get clean after being so deliciously dirty.
Pour sloe gin into a glass filled with ice.
Tease your man, get him rock hard, and continue making your drinks.
Fill the rest of the glass with orange juice, stir well, and serve.
Drink one or two, eat, and head back to bed.
Spend the rest of your weekend having sex with the man who makes your heart flutter and your pussy purr.
1
Hatch
I blinked into the bright daylight and heard the metal doors clang shut behind me. I looked around the empty parking lot, not sure what I had been expecting, but it hadn’t been this.
Five years of my life was gone, eaten up in California’s prison system because of my ties to the Blood Soldiers Motorcycle Club. Five years for running drugs over the border to our Mexican soldiers, five years for a few pounds of cocaine and it seemed like it had all been for nothing.
Shit, here I was, free at last…and not a single one of my club brothers had bothered to show up to give me a fucking ride.
I threw my duffel bag over one shoulder and started to hoof it towards the single bus stop at the end of the lot, the heat bearing down on me and my leather jacket starting to feel a little like a prison itself.
I hadn’t changed much over the past five years, at least not outwardly. My jeans still fit me snug, my boots were dry but wearable, the shirt I’d been wearing was a little tight, but the leather club jacket still clung to me like a glove.
I was surprised the prison allowed me to have it back, part of my parole conditions were to avoid fraternizing with any organized crime, but I guess on the books we were simply a bunch of guys who shared a similar interest in tinkering on our bikes.
Which reminded me, I needed to find out what the fuck had happened to mine. I felt half naked without a rumbling Harley between my thighs.
I heard a car backfire and fought the urge to drop down, thinking it was gunfire. Life inside would do that to you though, if your cell mates weren’t trying to shank you, your fellow prisoners were trying to take you down to prove they were tough, and if that wasn’t the case then the guards were making shit up to have a chance to shoot, club or beat you down.
I heard the tell-tale sound of metal on cement as the car cruised slowly up behind me. I turned around and found a mid-seventies boat of a Ford cruiser, rusted and dented, with a tailpipe hanging off. The source of the noise.
It backfired again and sputtered to a halt next to me.
The driver’s door opened with a pained groan of dented metal and out hopped the last person I thought I’d have to deal with today.
Lenny Simone, the club’s bookie, the boss’s cousin, and basically kind of a slime ball who couldn’t be trusted as far as you could throw him.
And even though I had about a foot of height on him, I wouldn’t be throwing him far, he had a couple hundred pounds on me, all of it fat from his love of overindulging in booze and greasy food.
“Hatch Malone,” he wheezed as he limped up to me. “As I live and breathe.”
“Lenny,” I replied, looking down at him. “So you’re my welcoming committee?”
“Shit, son, you have been locked away from information, haven’t you? We have a lot to talk about, but get in…this place makes me nervous.”
I climbed into the passenger seat, watched as Lenny heaved his bulk behind the steering wheel and pressed down on the gas, making the old car lurch ahead with another loud bang and a belch of blue smoke.
“What happened to your Range Rover?” I asked as we hit the highway. It would be a couple hour’s drive and I wasn’t looking forward to it in this thing.
“Gone,” he replied and glanced over at me nervously. “It’s all gone, Hatch. All of it.”
“What do you mean? Birdie was up to see me a few months ago and said nothing.”
“It was more than a few months, dude. You must have lost track of time. The last year has been fucking brutal. We got swarmed by the Nuggets and El Toro. They joined up and have taken us down, one by one until it’s me and a couple others…that’s it. We’re it,” he said, blurting it all out in a flood of words.
“What the fuck are you talking about? Nuggets? El Toro? Those guys are bullshit, how did they get one over on us? This is a joke, isn’t it?”
“No joke, they’ve been plotting for years and finally made their move. It started with a raid on our clubhouse down in Central City.”
“The strip club?”
“Yeah, that’s the one. Those fuckers came in at closing and mowed down every damned one of us. The girls too.”
“Jesus,” I replied, my rage starting to grow at the thought of somebody gunning down my brothers and the strippers who worked for the Blood Soldiers.
“That wasn’t even the worst of it,” Lenny said, his voice choking with emotion as he kept his eyes straight ahead on the road. “They continued like that, one by one, club by club, until they hit us here. Rocky’s place.”
“The hideout? Are you fucking kidding me? Why didn’t they defend themselves?”
“They tried,” he said, taking a huge, shaky breath. “It was six months ago, Hatch. Just six months. There were so many of them, they brought up a bunch of fucks from Mexico and even more from up in Nevada. Both gangs joined up together and hit us with all they had. We didn’t stand a chance, Hatch, we lost big time.”
I took it all in, his words and what it meant. It meant I wasn’t going to be stepping back into the life I’d left behind…and that my future was suddenly uncertain.
I listened to him talk as he drove, it seemed therapeutic for him somehow, and I formulated my plan.
I would leave while I could, get out while I still had a chance. Head to another city, another state, use the skills I’d picked up in the prison woodwork shop to start a business of my own.
I would always be a Blood Soldier at heart, but until I could figure out a way to take down the bastards who had done this and revive the club, I was just a man, an ex con, and a drifter looking for a home.
2
Kitty
I tried to ignore the vapid blonde showgirl hanging off my father’s shoulder, but she insisted on making eye contact over and over.
“Could you not?” I snapped at her and watched confusion fall over her already dull eyes. She was tripping hard on something, probably a drug supplied by my pervert dad, but that wasn’t my business.
I just didn’t want her to hang around while I pleaded my case to him.
“Olga, go find something to do,” Dad said, slapping the Russian girl’s ass as she turned to slink away. “Now tell me again why you need a hundred grand?”
“It’s the most prestigious fashion school in Europe,” I explained, more than a little irritated that he hadn’t been listening. “I got in, but the tuition is pretty high and I’ll need living expenses.”
“Why can’t you stay here and go to school?” he asked, picking at the salad on his plate. My father was a meat and potatoes kind of guy, but his doctor had him on a diet which made him even crankier than usual.
“There isn’t this kind of school outside of France, let alone outside of Paris,” I replied, pursing my lips. I had a feeling he was going to make this difficult. He knew I just wanted Paris, not the school, I just wanted to get away.
“I can’t allow it,” he said, stuffing a forkful of lettuce into his mouth and chewing it almost angrily.
“Why not? I’m old enough to leave home and most of my friends moved away from their parent’s place years ago. You can’t force me to stay a child forever.”
“It’s not about you being a child, Kitty cat,” he said, putting his fork down. He had a big piece of green leaf stuck in the middle of his front two teeth and I peevishly didn’t tell him. “It’s about you being safe. You know there’s been a lot of…well, let’s say movement in my particular area of business in the past few months. I can’t have you risking your life just to learn how to sew pretty dresses.”
My dad was the head of one of the largest criminal organizations in Las Vegas and beyond, there was no sugar coating it. But lately there had been others gunning for his power and control, and they’d been taking out his employees all the way from here to the Mexican border as messages to him.
At least he was sure it was all geared towards scaring him into shutting down so somebody else could take over his trade.
That being said, I wanted nothing to do with it. I hated what he did, and after my mother had been killed six years before, he’d gone off the deep end into the darkest side of crime.
She’d been the victim of a drive by shooting, probably by one of his biggest crime gang rivals and it had turned him a little crazy. He blamed himself for bringing her danger through his chosen businesses, but he blamed the gang even more.
A year or two ago he’d apparently rooted them out in California and killed them, each and every one of them, to exact revenge for my mother’s murder.
At least that was the rumor, he wouldn’t talk to me about it. He just tried to keep me in a gilded cage, safe from the men who would murder me to make him hurt.
God forbid he withdraw from his life of crime or anything, and let me have a normal life.
“It’s not sewing school,” I snarled, “it’s fashion design. A way for me to establish myself as my own person…far from this…shit.”
I waved my hand around the penthouse suite at The Millennium, a grand hotel known only to high rollers and those with more than a few million to rub together.
It was a gorgeous private suite, but it was tacky, even by Vegas standards.
And I was tired of it. It didn’t matter how nice the suite could be, it was still a cage for me. And a gilded cage was still a cage when all you yearned for was your freedom.
“This shit,” he spat and locked me into his dark gaze and I knew I was in trouble, “is what pays for things like fancy sewing school in Paris. All of this shit is what keeps you looking so beautiful, driving your expensive cars, shopping with your friends and partying with celebrities. This shit is what makes your life easy, so don’t knock it, Kitty cat.”
It was a warning, I could hear it in his voice, but I was too angry to hold back.
“Do you think the fast car or the shopping account or the parties mean anything to me when my father earns all his money off the blood of others? It’s humiliating, being the daughter of a crime boss and drug dealer. Humiliating!”
He hated it when I called him out on his criminal activities and he hated it even more when I called him a dealer. I saw his eyes darken even more, his handsome features screwing into an angry mask and in a steady, measured voice he said, “Well since it is so difficult for you to live like this, might I suggest you earn some of your own money? Your uncle Max is looking for a new girl downstairs, you need to go down and beg him for a job.”
“I’m not going to shake my tits for cash from desperate old millionaires,” I wailed. “Never. Have you seen those uniforms?”
“If you’re lucky he’ll put you behind the bar. You can use some of your book learning to memorize a few decent cocktail recipes if you know what’s good for you.”
I stood up from the breakfast table and was shaking with anger but I knew he was done. I had been dismissed the moment he looked down at his phone and started to respond to text messages.
I was enraged but I was impotent, there was nothing I could do to fight him, so I decided to follow his advice.
If he wanted me to work for Uncle Max, I’d do the best job I could. And I would proudly wear the tiny little uniform he forced his girls into, and I would happily shake my tits and ass for cash, just to see the look on my dad’s face when he found his little girl acting like a common slut in the sleazy bar downstairs.
Then he’d listen to reason and send me away to school. Or somewhere. God only knew fashion wasn�
�t the only thing I dreamed about, my freedom was more important than what I did with it.
Besides, who knew, maybe I’d even have a good time pissing him off, not all the millionaires in there were going to be ugly old men. There had to be a few hotties. And even a girl like me liked a little male attention from time to time.
3
Hatch
Lenny was right, as we drove up the driveway to Rocky’s place in the woods I could tell something was different.
The road was overgrown and neglected, trees grew too close to the laneway and weeds grew up in the middle.
The worst of it was the former clubhouse. It wasn’t recognizable, if I didn’t know what had once stood there I wouldn’t have known it had once been so huge.
Half of the sprawling wooden structure was burned out and the blackened remains stood stark against the sky, like the rib cage of some prehistoric beast.
The part that was still standing was riddled with bullet holes, some of them blown so wide they must have been rocket launchers or grenades. The once elegant structure, it had one time looked more like a luxury chalet in the mountains of Vale, appeared on the verge of tumbling down at the slightest breeze.
“Damn,” I exhaled as we exited the car, “what the hell happened here.”
“I told you, all-out war,” Lenny wheezed and struggled to keep up with me as I strode towards the place.
His Sloe Screw: The Cocktail Girls Page 1
