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As I contemplated the mug of beer, I let out a small shriek of surprise as my arm was yanked hard, causing the beer to topple over. The liquid quickly spread across the surface of the bar. Only the small lip on both sides stopped it from pouring onto the floor. Instead, my small crop top was working on soaking it up since the man had yanked me off my feet and seemed determined to pull me right across the top of the bar.
"What the hell do you think you are doing?" My screech was loud enough to hear over the thumping music, but the man didn't seem to give a shit. He completely ignored my outrage, the look of anger on his ugly face becoming twisted by some sort of desire that I had no intention of delving into. I was way past done dealing with the asshole. My arm hurt where he was grabbing me, and my ribs were aching from being dragged over the hard surface.
I slapped my free hand at the man before clenching it into a fist and swinging as hard as I could. Which, admittedly, was actually not very hard at all with the awkward angle I was in. When I heard his condescending laughter, my face grew heated, and anger quickly began to override the fright that had started growing.
"Let me go, asshole! Let me go! Mac!" I screamed for Mac, but he was down at the opposite end of the bar, surrounded by other big guys wearing leather vests. If the motorcycle club was okay with a woman being abused this way, they could all rot in hell. I certainly wasn't going to spend any more time working in a place that would allow it. Mac had told me that if I was ever being harassed, I should just get his attention. A lot of good that was doing me now.
I looked around wildly, but it seemed like most of the guys had their backs turned, all holding their drinks and having a grand time. I caught the eye of the one with the dark hair who'd had a devil's grin. That same grin was on his face as he watched me struggle. He was no longer with the girl from earlier. Instead, he was leaning against the wall by the front door, his legs crossed. He held up a bottle of beer in response to the pleading in my eyes and lifted it to his lips.
I shut my eyes and screamed as my hip made it over the counter. It would be an effortless yank from there to have me onto the other side and entirely at the man's non-existent mercy. I opened my eyes one more time, hoping to get Mac or anyone else's attention as my free hand slapped around, trying to find purchase on anything that would allow me to slow his progress. Instead of seeing the devil's grin again, I saw the devil himself. Or someone the devil would shit his pants over seeing in a dark alley.
Striding toward the bar was a man unlike any I had ever seen. I wasn't even sure what I was seeing, to be honest. His dark eyes pinned on my arm where the guy gripped hard enough that I was sure I would have distinct finger bruises.
He was tall; that was obvious by how he towered over everyone he passed. His shoulders were broad, and his thighs were thick enough to fill out his jeans to the point the seams were working overtime. He was wearing the same leather vest everyone else was wearing, but his seemed to be covered in patches, whereas most of the other biker's had very few. I suddenly realized that the guy I was being manhandled by had none at all. I knew nothing about motorcycle club hierarchy, but that had to be significant.
But the thing that caught my attention and held me spellbound despite the terrifying situation I was in were the tattoos. From his neck down, going below his black T-shirt, then reappearing down both arms, was solid black tattoo ink. Except for the stark white. He was tattooed to look like a walking skeleton. Why was that so fascinating? And why did I want to see if that ink covered him in places that weren't covered with clothing? I continued to struggle, though I couldn’t take my eyes off the tattooed biker.
The man finally stopped yanking me, but instead of letting me go, he took my legs and swung them around so that my body was facing him. The fear instantly came back. I was a fucking virgin, and there was no way in hell that I had fended off all the immature cowboys back in Kentucky, and then the wannabe movie stars in California, just to end up being raped in a bar in front of at least forty people.
I opened my mouth to scream louder than I ever had before when the man froze. I looked at his face to see his eyes glued to my stomach, and I knew what he was seeing. What a strange fucking world to be saved by the scars that had ruined my life.
"What the fuck is this?" He laughed and pushed my top up, and my hands immediately covered my breasts to stop him from revealing my boobs to the room. He traced his rough fingers over my skin, not even trying to be gentle about it.
I slapped his hand away. "Don't touch me!"
"I can touch you if I want, whore. That's my right as a Devil's Nightmare." He looked down at my body, his face twisted in disgust. "I don't know why your cut-up ass is here, but pussy is pussy. So shut the fuck up and take my dick."
He had one hand pressing hard against my sternum, the pressure beginning to make my chest ache, and the other hand went to his belt buckle. My chest was heaving as my breaths came in heavy pants while I tried not to completely lose my shit while panic began to take over. I bucked my hips and fought as hard as I could, twisting my body back and forth as much as possible when the pressure was suddenly removed from my chest. The man let out his own scream, causing my eyes to widen with surprise.
In confusion, I looked down at the hand that had been holding me down to see it pinned, covered in blood, a wicked-looking blade sticking out of the top of it. With relief pouring through me, I let my eyes slowly trail up from the blood that was mixing with the beer pooling next to my hip until my eyes met deep, black, bottomless pools.
I lay there panting, trying to catch my breath and stared at the man as he stared back at me. Both of us ignored the asshole who was screaming like a little girl and holding his arm, tears and snot running down his face. As if trapped in a spell, my gaze was locked with the man who was covered in black ink and amazingly lifelike tattoos of bones.
A chuckle sounded from next to us. Reluctantly, I forced myself to drag my eyes away from the hypnotic ones that didn't seem to want to let me go. I blinked in disbelief as the man with the devil's grin smiled.
"The Devil's Nightmares don't force women." It was all he said before turning and disappearing into the crowd. I had thought he was just going to watch from the door as I was assaulted, but instead, he had left to get help. I turned back to thank the skeleton man, but when I glanced around to where he had been standing just a moment before, he was gone.
ChapterFour
SALLY
After shoving myself away from the still screaming asshole, I rolled away, but not before I used his body as leverage. I may or may not have managed to kick him in the nuts a few times. I also might have shoved my foot into his arm, which was still pinned to the bar when he tried to grab me as I moved away. The pervert predator should have thought twice about laying his hands on me again.
I quickly shoved my way through the hulking bodies of bikers until I could rush to the dressing room, practically running to get away. I dropped onto one of the hard plastic chairs and put my head in my hands as I took several deep breaths, filling my lungs to capacity before letting them back out again slowly. It didn't stop the trembling in my hands, but my racing heartbeat started to decrease gradually.
One of the girls I had enjoyed working with popped her head into the room to stare at me with wide eyes.
"Are you okay?"
I looked up and dropped my hands on my legs. "Uh, hey, Kara."
She stepped in, taking a look around before dropping to her haunches next to me. "Are you okay?" she asked again, reaching out and taking one of my trembling hands. I stared down at where she was touching me and fought back the instinct to yank my hand away. She was being nice to me, and I desperately needed to feel like someone cared.
"What the hell was that, Kara? What's going on tonight?"
She gave me a gentle squeeze and then let go of my hand, standing back up. She walked over to the large mirror on the wall by the door. "To answer your second question, The Devil's Nightmares have returned from a rally they have been at for the last two weeks," she waved a hand as she used the other to tidy up the eyeliner at the corner of her eyes. "Somewhere. I'm not sure." She turned back to me, looking over my body, and I glanced down to see the beer that had soaked into the black shirt. I groaned because I only had one uniform and hated the thought of smelling like booze for the rest of the night. Not that I wanted to go back out there at all.
"To answer your first question, that guy that grabbed you—" I snorted because I could handle being grabbed. That was almost to be expected when working at a bar full of bikers and the other kinds of men drawn to such a place. She grimaced but continued. "He was a prospect for the club. Maybe he didn't know the rules or was too drunk to care, but you don't lay a hand on the girls if they don't want you to. He will probably get kicked out of the club after this." She shrugged. "Good riddance. Nobody wants a guy like that around."
