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And you’d think Right Hand would have learned from that mistake, that a life lesson like that would have knocked some sense into his crazy ass. But nope. Fucker was still sleeping with said stepbrother’s ex on occasion all these years later.
Must have been some damn good pussy to risk having a motherfucker come after you with a butcher knife again and go for another part of the body.
“I’m not pulling anyone’s dick but my own,” Right Hand said and grinned, flashing a silver cap on one of his side teeth.
“I know you don’t got anything, asshole. So fold already, so I can go home and crash. I’m fucking beat.”
He exhaled and threw down his cards, face-up. The other three guys followed suit.
“Too fucking rich for my broke-ass blood,” Boss said.
“I think you bastards like pulling each other’s dicks with this pissing contest.” Nitro was the next one to speak.
And then there was Scorpion, a patch who I even wondered if he spoke English, given the fact that most of his communication was in grunts and nods.
“That’s what I thought,” I said and tossed mine down, showing a pair of twos.
“What the hell? You don’t even have shit.” Right Hand’s face was turning a nice shade of red as his anger rose to the surface.
“Had a shit hand… yet here I am, taking all you motherfuckers’ money.” I grinned and reached for the center of the table, pulling the cash toward me.
“Fuck,” Right Hand muttered. “I’m getting drunk and getting laid. Fuck this shit.”
The rest of the guys started talking shit.
“Go lick your wounds, you fucking crybabies.” I flipped them off and reached for my beer, finishing it off before I left. I had a long-ass day tomorrow, and it wasn’t even doing fun shit, just paperwork and legal bullshit for our legit businesses.
We might be outlaws, but hell, we weren’t stupid. Having on-the-books businesses kept us on the up-and-up. It made sure we looked like law-abiding citizens, even if we sure as hell weren’t.
I was nearly done with my beer—just set down the bottle on the scarred table—when movement out of the corner of my eye had me turning and looking in the other direction.
She walked out of the back room, carrying a tray. She was tiny as she leaned against the bar and waited as Richie made up her drinks. Her jeans were tight, too tight, because they showed off her slender frame and the way her ass popped out.
It looked juicy... like a fucking peach.
Her cropped top wasn’t obscene, didn’t show skin, but it was tight enough I could see how small she was all around.
Fuck, I bet my hands would wrap fully around her waist.
She was young, too fucking young to be working in a place like this.
She was too fucking young for me to be looking at her the way I was, thinking about the things I was.
Her long blonde hair was pulled into a ponytail, and the first thing that came to mind was how I wanted those strands wrapped around my hand as I took her from behind while I yanked her head back and bared her throat.
I tracked her movements through the bar as she set down the orders at different tables. Her cheeks were pink as if she were blushing. Fuck, she was innocent-looking. I didn’t stop myself from lowering my gaze to her chest. Her tits were small, maybe not even a handful. But they looked perfect. The little nipples were poking through the material, making my dick instantly hard and press against the zipper of my jeans.
The men who frequented this bar were lowdown criminals, outlaws like myself. They took what they wanted and asked questions after the fact. And a girl like her sure as fuck shouldn’t be in a place like this.
I didn’t like it.
I called Richie over, the manager of our establishment. He came over with a towel slung over his shoulder, a worried expression on his face. He wasn’t like us, like the MC. In fact, he’d been the original owner of the bar before we took over, before we gave him an ultimatum, no choice but to go into business with us.
That’s what kind of bastards we were.
“What’s up, Butcher?” Richie asked. The older man might not be a criminal like myself, but he sure as fuck wasn’t some law-abiding citizen. That’s why it made it easy to give him the ultimatum to sell us his bar while we still allowed him to run it.
What could he do? Refuse us and end up in the back-alley dumpster?
