Dirty Girl (Going All the Way, 2)

by Jenika Snow

  Dirty Girl

  Going All the Way, 2

  Jenika Snow

  DIRTY GIRL (GOING ALL THE WAY, 2)

  By Jenika Snow

  www.JenikaSnow.com

  Jenika_Snow@Yahoo.com

  Copyright © October 2020 by Jenika Snow

  First E-book Publication: 2014

  Photo provided by: Adobe Stock

  Cover Designer: Designs by Dana

  Editor: Kayla Robichaux

  Proof Editor: All Encompassing Books

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: The unauthorized reproduction, transmission, or distribution of any part of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  This literary work is fiction. Any name, places, characters and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or establishments is solely coincidental. Please respect the author and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials that would violate the author’s rights.

  Contents

  Synopsis

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Booshie, VP of the Vicious Bastards MC, wanted Naggie in the filthiest of ways, but he knew she was off-limits. Yet his obsession only grew for her with each day he was denied her body.

  Naggie Conner was wild, spoke her mind, and was covered in ink. She was too much to handle for most, but she didn’t care. This was who she was, and it made her happy.

  But when betrayal had her world caving in around her, she really let loose and enjoyed a girls’ night out. It seemed like the perfect therapy to put her troubles behind her.

  But that night of drunken abandon ended up with her going home with Booshie.

  Being with the alpha biker was exactly what she envisioned: untamed, explosive, and addictive. She wanted more, even if it wasn’t the best idea.

  But denying Booshie wasn’t an option. He didn't want just one night with Naggie, and he was not the type of man to be refused.

  Reader note: This story was previously published under the same title. It has since been revised and reedited. Material may be sensitive to some readers.

  1

  The sound of the tattoo gun buzzing and the sight of the ink going into skin, permanently marking a person, had a kind of calming sensation moving through Naggie. She pulled the gun away and ran the paper towel over the skin, wiping off the excess ink. The memorial tattoo she was giving this burly Marine was a tribute to his late wife.

  The stories she heard while marking people up were both heartbreaking and uplifting. This particular session was in the heartbreaking category though, hearing Kel tell her about how on his last tour with the Marines, he learned of his wife’s sudden and tragic death in a car accident. Their two-year-old daughter hadn’t been in the car—which he said he was thankful for tenfold—but it was so horrible to hear the pain in his voice.

  Life was short, that was for sure, and she never took any of it for granted. Naggie might’ve only been twenty-eight, but she knew life could be taken away before it really began, and that was thanks to a deadbeat mother and a father who had liked to practice his right hooks when he was drunk.

  “I think we’re almost done here, Kel.” She added a little more shading around the eyes and leaned back to look at the image. The tattoo was of his wife, Marlene. She had a set of angel wings and looked over their daughter who slept. It was a powerful image, and it was moments like these—when she wasn’t giving her hundredth butterfly tramp stamp of the week or another koi fish on a hip—that made all this worth it.

  Not to misunderstand, she loved working on each and every one of her clients, but it was these personal tributes, like the one that split her heart right open, that made all this worth it.

  Kel stood and walked over to the full-length mirror hanging on the wall across from her station. He turned to the side and took in the tattoo on his left shoulder blade. For several seconds, he didn’t say anything and just stared at the ink.

  “It’s good?” Naggie had been doing this for as long as she could remember. It had first started with her drawing on cantaloupes and then moved to drawing on herself with markers, and soon she was interning at a tattoo parlor in the next town over. It was only when her boss, Cadeon Morris, had moved to Reckless, Colorado, and opened up his tattoo shop, Ipseity, that she had started working professionally as a tattoo artist.

  Cadeon was a typical bad boy in their small community, what with his ink and riding around on a Harley, but he wasn’t the only person known as “trouble” in town. The biker gang, the Vicious Bastards MC, also had a pretty hellacious reputation, but now that Cadeon was with the daughter of the president of said MC, she saw more of the outlaws.

  “Shit, Naggie.”

  She looked at Kel’s reflection again and smiled when he started to tear up. “Good?” God, she was going to start crying.

  The big Marine turned and embraced her, and she felt her full five-foot-two height at that moment. Then again, everyone was pretty much taller than she was. He pulled away, and she actually saw that he was crying.

  “Thank you.”

  “You are so welcome.” God, she was going to start blubbering like a fucking baby. He turned, and she glanced at herself in the mirror. Her hair was a little longer now but still had the pixie-cut style. She had naturally blonde hair but liked to dye it a platinum color, or at least she had for the past several months. Maybe it was time for another change. Maybe she should just try her honey-blonde color for a while.

  She turned away from the mirror and met Kel at the counter. After going over the aftercare instructions, she said bye to him but couldn’t keep the goofy smile off her face.

  “You know now you get like that every time you do a personal piece?”

  She glanced over at Ziggy and flipped him off good-naturedly. “Yeah, I know, but I can’t help it.” Naggie smiled wider at him. His mohawk was blue this month, and as he turned his head to look at the door when the bell rang with a customer entering, she could see right through the plug in his ear.

  “Hey, Booshie.” Ziggy stood straighter, and she glanced over to see the man in question walking up to the counter.

  Booshie, the VP of the motorcycle club in Reckless, grinned down at her. The Vicious Bastards MC was a force to be reckoned with in their small town, lethal, and often had people crossing the street just to avoid walking past them.

  “Hey, man.” Booshie and Ziggy clapped hands and did that half-hug thing guys normally do. Ziggy wasn’t a small guy by any means, but compared to Booshie, he looked so tiny. Then again, she supposed anyone looked small in front of Booshie—well, aside from other Vicious Bastards members, or even Cadeon.

  “Hey.” Booshie grinned and did one of those chin lift things that, once again, guys tended to do in greeting.

  “Hi.” Naggie was nervous, and she hated that feeling. There was just something about the way this man looked at people, or maybe it was just the way he looked at her. Over the past six months since Cadeon had gotten together with the daughter of Scars, the Vicious Bastards’ President, a lot of the bikers from the club had been coming to the parlor more frequently. Cadeon used to do a lot of
ink for the bikers at their clubhouse, but since he was practically family now dating Stella, a lot of the guys just came to the shop after hours.

  “Cadeon isn’t here today.”

  Booshie nodded. “Yeah, I spoke with him. He’s getting ready for a week away with Stella, but I was kind of hoping to get some ink done while he’s out.” Booshie lifted a dark eyebrow. “If you’re game? Cadeon said you can do some wicked shit.”

  Naggie felt her cheeks heat, actually felt herself blush. Cadeon had always complimented her work, but for some reason hearing Booshie say it made her belly do this little flip. This was bad, given the fact that she was with Rob, and had been for the past year, but never had she felt anything like this.

  “Well,” She cleared her throat and willed her face to stop feeling like fire licked across it. “I can probably do it later this week, as I am booked for the next few days.” God, just thinking about being alone and so close with him had her face getting even hotter. This was bad, really fucking bad, but she just needed to get her shit together and keep calm.

  Booshie grinned, and for such a rugged-looking man, his smile totally transformed his face. He wore a dark-colored bandana around his head, and his dark hair brushed along his chin. Naggie had never been the kind of woman who was attracted to men who looked like Booshie, but she also wasn’t going to deny that every time she saw him in the last six months, she realized he was all man.

  Rob was a good-looking guy, the type she always went after. He wasn’t clean-cut in the least, sported tattoos and piercings, and was not much bigger than she was, but he was safe. But Booshie… God, here she was staring at him as he shot the shit with Ziggy, and she couldn’t help comparing everything about the two. Booshie had full-sleeve tattoos on both his arms, and she could even see some ink peeking out from under the collar of his shirt. So, he was different from what she normally went for, but then again, not too much.

  “So, how ‘bout Wednesday?”

  Naggie blinked a few times and realized the guys had stopped talking to each other, and Booshie was now speaking to her. “Yeah, sounds good.” She got her composure back in line and knew she needed to act like a professional. This guy had to be almost twice her age, and she knew that with him being in the Vicious Bastards, he didn’t have high-standing morals when it came to making money, but yeah, she felt this raw desire for him.

  He turned and left, and she stood there watching out the front window as he straddled his bike and put his skull cap helmet on. And then there was that roar of life from his bike she could hear over the pounding bass of the music overhead.

  “You got a thing for him or something?”

  She turned and glared at Ziggy, who wore this goofy-ass smile on his face. “Fuck you. I have a boyfriend.”

  “Doesn’t mean you can’t look.” He winked and headed toward the front door to lock up.

  No, it didn’t mean she couldn’t look, but the thoughts she had were totally inappropriate, so she told herself from that moment on she was going to put any and all thoughts concerning that big-ass biker out of her head.

  2

  Booshie took the winding backroads of Steel Corner, and although he should be focusing on the road, all he could think about was Naggie looking fine as hell back at the shop. He wasn’t ashamed to say just looking at her in that tank top that showed off her arms that were covered in ink, tattoos that were of flowers, skulls, and even birds thrown in the mix, gave him a hard-on that rivaled all others.

  She was small, in stature and age compared to him, but she was hot as fuck. The problem was he knew she had a guy, had even asked Cadeon about her. But Booshie didn’t mess with taken women, because even if he could take on any guy if he really wanted something—and he really wanted Naggie—he wasn’t about to go there.

  She wasn’t even what he normally went for, not with her pixie-cut blonde hair, thin frame, tattoos, and even the eyebrow piercing, but there was something about her that got his engine going. The bad thing was he had even jerked off to her. It was wrong and dirty on every damn level.

  He had been seeing more of her due to Cadeon being with Stella and working more out of his shop, and Booshie had gotten this fixation on Naggie. Hell, he had even wanted her to give him some ink just so he could look at her more and talk to her. But he wasn’t a bastard, despite his club’s name, and would never overstep his bounds. Naggie seemed like a wild child with a fierce temper, but she was also honest and decent.

  Booshie pulled into the driveway of the Vicious Bastards’ clubhouse. There were a few members hanging around right outside the front door. Little had one of the club pussy girls hanging off his arm, and Ranger, one of the original Vicious Bastards, was leaning against the brick wall smoking a cigar. Scars, the president of their MC, was on his cell a few feet away, and just by the way he paced, Booshie knew he was pissed.

  He cut the engine, climbed off his bike, and removed his helmet. Tilting his chin in greeting toward Tank, the sergeant at arms and whose reputation matched his nickname, Booshie moved toward the rest of the guys. He kept his eyes on Scars, trying to gauge his president’s emotions. Shit was obviously going down, especially when he heard Scars raise his voice and throw out some choice words.

  Little whistled out low when Booshie stopped in front of them. They were all now watching Scars, and when the president got off the phone and headed their way, there was a draft that followed in his wake.

  “Hey, what’s up?” Booshie asked while getting a cigarette out of his cut. He really needed to quit smoking, but it was hard when everyone around him did it, and when the nicotine helped to calm him when he was feeling especially homicidal. Not literally, of course, but close enough when shit went down, or if he was sitting around bullshitting with the guys.

  “That motherfucker over at O’Henry’s is trying to get out of paying their weekly dues. John said he doesn’t need our protection any longer, and that some other pricks are taking over that area.”

  Booshie lit the end of the cigarette and inhaled deeply. “John doesn’t have anyone else, and there aren’t any other dumb assholes who would dare come onto our territory and try to collect on shit that isn’t theirs.”

  “Yeah, John just knows those punk-ass bitches who started shit with him, and the ones we have been keeping in check have moved on and therefore aren’t a threat to his douche bar,” Tank said, but the hard tone in the biker’s voice was filled with menace.

  Booshie thought about what Scars said and then looked at Little and Tank. “You want us to go over there and give him a little heart-to-heart?” He grinned around his smoke, and Little and Tank grunted in amusement beside him.

  Scars sighed and turned to the side. It was still early enough in the day that the sun hadn’t set yet, and when the light slashed across the side of Scars’s face, his scar became even more prominent. It might have been twenty-plus years since he had gotten that scar, but the reasoning on how it happened and what he lost was still as fresh and painful as if it happened yesterday.

  Scars might have been the one to bear the mark, but they were one big family, and when one member hurt, they all fucking did. Scars didn’t say anything for a few minutes, and neither did the rest of the guys. Their president got a joint out of the inside of his cut, lit the end, and stared at the mountains that were in the distance.

  “That motherfucker has been coming up with excuses on why he doesn’t need our muscle anymore and why he wants to stop paying the fees,” Little said right before he spanked the club pussy on the ass and sent her on her way. “But when Tank starts cracking his knuckles and rolling his head around on his neck, that little prick John nearly pisses his pants.” Little started laughing and elbowed Tank in the chest, and the sergeant at arms grinned and nodded.

  “Yeah, good fucking times, but John is either high as fuck or has something else set up if he thinks he isn’t going to pay us.”

  John O’Henry was a second-generation Irish bar owner in Steel Corner. His old man came over from Ir
eland back in the day, started O’Henry’s, and the bar had been passed down to John and his younger brother, Stevie. But a year back, there had been a pansy-ass gang of college kids who had broken into John’s bar, trashed the place, and stole a bunch of shit.

  The Vicious Bastards had set those fuckers straight who had vandalized the bar and helped John get his place up and running again, but in return, he would pay them a weekly fee to not only make sure no one messed with him again, but to also add some cash to the Bastards’ pockets. It had been going good for the last year, but now it looked like John was trying to get out of the deal just because the original threat was now gone.

  “We did a lot for that asshole,” Tank said again. “Those pussy-ass punks may have left Reckless months ago, but we put a lot of money and muscle into helping John rebuild that place and making it known that he wasn’t to be touched.”

  Scars sighed and inhaled from his joint. “It’s a damn shame.” He turned and looked at them, but he took two more hits before speaking again. “I liked John and his family, but we had an agreement that he’d keep the cash flowing. It isn’t like he’s hurting for money, since he gets a shitload of people coming in from River Run and Steel Corner that want the rare and imported beer and liquor he supplies.”

  Scars took one more hit and then flicked the roach into the trashcan by the front door. He looked at the ground, and Booshie knew he was thinking of what to do. If it was up to him, Booshie would have gone over there right now and beaten the shit out of John for thinking he could screw them over.