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“Alright, let’s get a look at you. Since he’s already seen the goods, Eightball can get you a drink.”
I huff out a laugh as Eightball glares at Knight, but he doesn’t argue. He walks around the island, nudging me out of the way and reaching into the cupboard for a glass.
“Just water, please.”
Eightball nods and moves aside as Splinter approaches me and unfastens my vest. To be honest, I should have taken it off earlier. But being inside the clubhouse with no weapons after pissing them off, I figured it might be worth being extra cautious. Once it’s unfastened, Splinter lifts it, and Knight moves to help me pull my arms free.
Splinter stares down at the hole in the vest, rubbing his thumb over where the ballistic plates did their job. When he looks up at me, his eyes are dark with something I’m not sure I can identify. Or maybe I just don’t want to.
“Tank top next.” I raise my arms again, ignoring the ache this time, as Knight pulls my tank over my head. “Ouch, that looks fucking sore,” Knight curses. “Eightball, grab some ice from the freezer.”
I look down at my chest and see that the area above my right breast is already turning black. “I won’t lie. It feels as bad as it looks.”
“Here, let me.” Eightball turns me slightly and presses a kitchen towel filled with ice against the bruise. “You got any painkillers?”
“I’m okay. I don’t like to take anything if I don’t need to.” When it looks like he’s going to argue, I hold my hand up to him. “I’ll take some if I need to, I promise.”
It goes quiet, the kitchen suddenly feeling very overcrowded. My nipples pebble from the ice, or at least that’s what I’m going with, and my nerves have me two seconds away from climbing the walls.
Knight cocks his head. “Would it make you more comfortable if I took my clothes off?”
“I swear to God, Knight,” Eightball curses, but I laugh. He’s actually kind of endearing when he’s not being an asshole.
“Would you like some music?” I tease.
“I knew my years as a stripper would come in handy one day. Lady’s choice.” He backs up, takes his cut off, and hangs it on the hook near the door as I catch Splinter’s eye.
“Was he really a stripper?”
“Of course he was. This is Knight we’re talking about. His party trick is pulling out the inside of his pockets and lobbing his cock out. Calls himself the elephant man on account of the size of his trunk.”
I laugh so hard that I have to grab hold of Eightball for support.
“Where’s my music, woman?”
“Want to take this to the living room?” Eightball asks me quietly.
I look toward the room and nod. My sofa is calling my name. We all head that way as I call out, “Alexa, play songs you can strip to.” She takes a second to think about it as I ease myself down on the sofa. I can’t help but grin when “Pony” by Ginuwine comes on. It’s a classic for a reason.
I expect the others to sit next to me to watch the show, but they surprise me by removing their cuts and laying them over the chair in the corner. They take their places next to Knight, and in a move I know damn well has been choreographed, they begin to roll their hips to the music. Now, I like to think I’m a strong woman who leads with her brain and not her libido, but holy fuck! Channing Tatum has nothing on these three men. The only thing stopping me from screaming for them to take it all off is my lack of dollar bills.
T-shirts are slowly dragged up their chests, revealing muscular frames and toned stomachs that make my mouth water. They tug the tees over their heads one-handed in that sexy way men do before throwing them at me, making me laugh.
I feel my skin heat and my face flush, reminding me of when I snuck into the clubhouse when I was a preteen and saw more than anyone my age should have. Back then, all I had were questions. Now, I’m well aware of the mechanics of how everything works. I wonder if I’m in over my head, though, taking on all three at once.
I ignore the wave of tension that tells me to be cautious, that these men could hurt me. I might be strong, but three-on-one is never good odds. I blow out a breath and try to remind myself that not every man I meet is a dick. I should know. I spend most of my time with two men who are the best of the best. Still, the only acceptable time to ignore red flags is if you’re confident you have the upper hand.
People underestimate me all the time. Ironically, it has less to do with me being an amputee and more with me having a vagina. And yet, it seems my destiny has always been to live within a male-dominated world. MCs and bounty hunters. My mom’s hopes of me being a ballerina were snuffed out the second I punched Lacy Dorkings for telling me I couldn’t wear a leather jacket with my tutu.
My heart thuds in time to the music as boots are toed off, jean buttons are popped, and denim is slowly pushed down muscular thighs. I lick my lips, my mouth dry, as I watch them remove their clothes.
Their eyes never move from me, my face, my hair, my chest. I know they can see the flush of my skin and the rapid movement of my chest. For once, I don’t bother to hide my reactions to them. Hell, I’m not sure I could. I let them in just a little, wanting them to know I want this as much as they do.
“I think the lady needs a lap dance.” A slow smile spreading across Knight’s face as he struts forward, making me chuckle again. Still, I swallow when I look down and see his dick thickening beneath the material of his boxer shorts.
“I’m not sure my lap is big enough to accommodate the size of your ass.”
He gasps and holds his chest in mock offense before reaching down and scooping me up in his arms. I tense, but he takes the seat I was just in and settles me on his lap. I try to will my muscles to relax, but when Splinter and Eightball stalk toward me, I suddenly feel like prey, and I don’t like it.
