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CHAPTER TWENTY
*Lace*
Zane lets go of whatever happened during his final initiation ritual and falls into me. Just like every other Hell for Leather member, he allows me to take care of him. The others, though, were not afraid of Coty. Like me, they enjoy messing with him. Chaz is the worst; even now, he still does whatever he can to push Coty’s buttons. I love it.
Unsurprisingly, as soon as Zane adds his own tongue into the kiss, tasting the warmth of a mouth for the first time no doubt, the shuffling of his club filing out of the office resounds above the music and the quiet catch of his breath. I peek an eye open. Every Hell for Leather officer except for Kal spreads throughout the building.
Lost in the gentle dance of our tongues, Zane is none the wiser — not even when the music lowers and a muffled tap, tap, tap projects through the speakers. “Saloon is officially closed for a private event. If you have a dick and you aren’t one of us, get the fuck out,” commands a male voice sounding an awful lot like Chaz. “Oh, and Coyote? Some guy has his tongue shoved down your old lady’s throat.”
Zane staggers backward, and his brown-gray eyes spring open, hands shoving into the pockets of his cargo pants to try masking his growing hard on.
Grabbing the lapels of his leather jacket, I yank him toward me, eyes resolute on Coty over his shoulder as I kiss the initiate again. Coty narrows me with a killer glare. I release Zane and drag a thumb across my bottom lip, eyes never once leaving the animalistic ones locked on mine.
Zane is slung out of the way, and Chaz’s ocean eyes pop into my sightline. “Can I get grandfathered into tonight’s exceptions?”
“Do you have a death wish?” Zane asks, stumbling against the next barstool.
“Always.” Chaz grins. His hand scoops around the back of my head, and he pulls me in for a quickie. It doesn’t last long before he goes flying backward, laughing while airborne.
Chaz throws me a wink when I steal a quick glance at him around Coty. Shoulders bowed, Coty looks like a predator hovering over his prey. As though he is completely unscathed, Chaz stands, picks up a nearby duffle bag, walks toward the center of the room, and dumps the contents out on the stage, immediately garnering the attention of every available dancer.
My attention slams into Coty. Our gazes lock as he stalks forward until he is standing in front of me again. “You guys bought the entire saloon for the day and night? I didn’t think there was a dollar amount in the world that could run Stoney out of his own building.” Renting out the private dance room or a specific girl for a while, sure, but not the entire saloon—regardless of whose name is on the paperwork.
The string of his hoodie practically vibrates from the tremor of adrenaline pumping through him. “Stoney ghosted, probably as soon as he verified we were in town. Left a new fucking prospect in his place. Guy about pissed himself. But, for future reference, money can buy anything,” he responds. “And before you say that ‘money can’t buy happiness’ bullshit, spare me. It can.” Coty reaches into his back pocket, takes out a wad of what appears to be hundreds, and places it in my hand. His gray eyes lock with mine, darkened by the shadow of his forehead under the dimmed track lighting from above the bar. “Consider your shift covered for the night. You belong to me. These fuckers have enough dancers to choose from.” Him… and Zane… he means. Even if he refuses to say the words. Coty then turns his attention toward the man of the hour. “You enjoy that?”
Zane shakes his head, nods, and shakes his head again. There is no right answer. If he says no, Coty will be offended that Zane has indicated my kissing is terrible. If he says yes, Coty will be pissed that he enjoyed kissing me.
I lick my bottom lip, suck it into my mouth, and bite down gently, trying hard not to outwardly show my amusement.
“Bathroom is that way if you need a release,” Coty instructs, jerking his head toward the restrooms.
“Ah, nope… All good,” Zane responds, sinking deep into the barstool.
Coty scans the newbie from head to toe before dismissing him and turning back toward me. “Thanks for calming him down,” he says.
“Ah, thank the xannie, not me. Guess it hit him pretty quick.”
“Not you. Right. As for it hitting him quickly, that’s probably because he hasn’t eaten much today.” He takes the money from my hand, tosses it onto the lacquered counter, and wedges between my legs. My leather-covered inner thighs slide smoothly against his thick, well-worn denim, and pulses of need ping at every point of contact. “When did Stoney give you the ecstasy?” Coty asks absently as he looks over his shoulder, finds Chaz involved with one of the new dancers, and gestures him over.
“Hmm… about an hour ago?”
The first one.
Second one should be kicking in anytime now.
I keep that detail to myself, though, and reach down to slip my hand under the waistband of his riding jeans. Unfortunately, my fingertips meet a cock as soft as Zane’s curls — all business. A small frown puffs out my bottom lip.
Head dipped down slightly, Coyote angles an upward glare at me, full-moon eyes shining mischievously as he begins to pluck off his motorcycle gloves, one leathered finger at a time before tossing each onto the counter beside my… bonus tip.
Baylor and Chaz approach the bar together. Baylor places down the folder he always carries around during Bike Week and orders a gin and tonic and a soda. Movement just past him has me peeking around his bulky frame to see who the soda is for. On his opposite side, Jess is handling a separate type of transaction with the other bartender.
Chaz joins our convo. Pushing a hand through his long hair, he gives me a sexy grin but addresses Coty. “Sup, Coyote?
As the two bartenders do their tasks, Jess side-eyes the Vice President before flashing me an inquisitive, check-in, eyebrow raise. I scarcely have time to relay a slight nod of assurance; in three quick motions, Coty steps backward, pulls his fist back, and lands a right jab directly against Chaz’s cheek.
Chaz falls backward, lifting his hand to his face and pulling his fingers away to check for blood. There’s no gash, but his cheekbone will likely swell.
Just a warning blow. Everyone knows Coty is capable of worse.
