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"Should have made those prospects stay longer," he grumbled to himself as he walked away, heading into the kitchen.
I entered the mop closet, pulled the rolling mop bucket over to the sink. I used the cut-off hose attached to the spigot to fill it with steaming water before dumping a dose of cleaning solution into it. I pulled the bucket with me and started at the pool table end of the bar and slowly, methodically, made my way from one end to the other.
When I was finally done, my arms felt like limp noodles, and my back was protesting, but I was proud of the job I had completed. I was sure my arms were getting stronger, and I would earn myself defined muscles before long. I started to push the bucket back toward the mop room and stopped short, making dirty, soapy water slosh over the side.
I stared up at the man leaning against the end of the bar, watching me with his deep, black eyes. I swallowed hard, jerking my gaze away and squatting down with the bar towel I had tucked into the side of my shorts. I started nervously wiping up the spill, hoping he wouldn't see the way he made me tremble.
I heard his footsteps before I saw his huge black biker boots stop inches from my hands. I paused, fighting the urge to look up at him, to see what expression he might have on his face, and terrified that I wouldn't see any at all. I couldn't read the man, and somehow, that scared me more than anything.
The bucket started to roll away from me, and I jerked my head up to see his back, the large sinister reaper staring back at me from the vest he was wearing, Devil's Nightmares, printed above, and Pumpkin Patch, Utah, below. It took me several seconds of staring with my mouth hanging open before jumping up, dripping rag in hand, and following him. By the time I turned the corner, he was already pouring the dirty water down the drain.
He didn't even look at me. He just turned around and walked down the hallway until I heard a door close with a thud. I looked down at the mop before dropping the wet rag in the basket for dirty linens. With just a shake of my head, I turned on the water so I could rinse the mop and bucket. And men complained that they couldn't understand women.
ChapterFive
THE NIGHTMARE KING
Isat on my Harley, watching Barrel run his fingers through his thick green hair, trying to tame the wildness from the wind. Of course, that was about all he did as he strutted like a fucking peacock through the door being held open by one of the prospects. I couldn't help the shiver of revulsion that slithered up my back at knowing he was about to rut the first pussy he came to.
"One day, Prez, you're going to find a pussy that doesn't turn your stomach!" The quiet laughter from my Vice President, Lock, had me turning my dead stare his way. He just held up his hands as he backed away, that stupid fucking creepy smile pasted to his face. He, too, turned around and walked through the doors.
Nearly all of my men had shoved their way in through the doors of the bar that the Nightmares owned, ready to start celebrating their triumphant return to their home turf. As if they hadn't just spent the last two weeks fighting, fucking, and drinking. There were some days I couldn't understand the needs that seemed to ride them.
I sat on my bike, smoking a cigarette, debating starting up my engine, and heading to the house I owned on the club compound. I wasn't in the fucking mood for all the noise and press of bodies. The music was already turned up loud enough that I could still make out the song playing even through the now closed doors. And I was sure my dog, Zero, was anxious to see me.
After a while of sitting in the near black night by myself, I was done. The club could go on without my presence for the night. I was just done already. Just as I reached for the key hanging from the ignition, the door opened, gaining my attention. Lock stood just inside the door and gestured with his head, a clear indication that I was needed. If he was calling on me to handle shit, it was because the President of the club was needed.
I let out a frustrated sigh that nobody but me would hear. Once I got to the door, I grunted at Lock. "This better be fucking important." I fingered the blade at my side, long and wickedly sharp. Lock glanced down at it, then back up to meet my eyes without flinching. There was a reason why he was my VP.
He gave me his stupid grin. "I think you're going to want to handle this one yourself, Bones."
Most people thought I had earned my road name due to the tattoo that covered me from my neck down to my toes, but they'd be wrong. I had an affinity for blades. And my favorite thing to do with them was to slice flesh down to the bone.
I stepped over the threshold, holding in my wince at the thumping music. I started to ask Lock what the fuck the problem was since all I saw was the usual bullshit that came with a Nightmare's party. There was drinking and fucking everywhere I looked, until I saw it. Until I sawher.
The waitress Mac had told me he hired the day we left for the rally was on her back on the bar. Her dark red hair was spread over the wood, looking like spilled blood. Something moved through my veins at the sight. My back went straight, and my muscles tightened.
Heat curled through me, urging me to go to the goddess, to spread her legs and feast in a way I never had before. I'd never felt my heart pounding so hard for any reason, and I clenched my jaw, willing myself to get back in control. I would never allow myself to be weakened by a woman. Then I saw the man over her, and the heat in my veins turned molten.
I had never in my life been jealous over anything before. Unquestionably, never over a woman. To feel the darkness crawling up my spine, telling me to cut off the dick that was inside of what was mine, had me ready to turn around and walk the fuck out. I didn't want a woman. I didn't need a cunt to get off on; I had my hand for that. It was the only way to ensure no one could get close to me.
I took a step back, not caring that I was essentially running away. I started to turn around, but then her eyes met mine, and my feet started moving of their own accord. As I took in more of the woman, the fire in my veins turned instantly into ice-cold fury. She wasn't being fucked. She was trying to fight off a fucking prospect that wasn't taking no for a motherfucking answer. My blade was in my hand before I had taken two steps. The tears that filled her eyes as she struggled made me want to gut every motherfucker in the room.
As I grew nearer, I took in the rest of her. Her face was as pale as her stomach, but there was something more. Thin pink lines became more visible in the dim lighting with each step I made that took me closer. She was covered in what looked like knife marks. Her soft looking belly, exposed by the ridiculous outfits that came with being a server at the Devil's Bar, was crisscrossed with more healed knife wounds than I could easily count. Looking down at her legs, I realized there were just as many. I felt a raw hunger to peel off her clothes so I could trace every line.
I was usually cold as ice, ready to extract a pound of flesh with nothing more than a cold detachment. I had never felt the need to bathe in anyone's blood before, but the prospect holding her down with a hand to the center of her chest had me aching to cut it off and then feed it to him. A red haze had steadily filled my vision as I moved forward.
I reached out, seeing the stark white of the bones covering my hand against the pitch black, reminding me that I was a monster. One that could do whatever the fuck he wanted. I had the prospect's hand pinned to the bar within my next steady breath.
As he screamed like a bitch I met the eyes of the girl. I watched as the bright blue irises cleared of fear. She stared back into my cold, dead black eyes without flinching or cowering away. I studied her, wondering why she would be the only one in my life who could hold my stare without flinching.
Lock said something, causing her to turn her head to look at him, breaking whatever fucking spell she'd had me under. I watched as her eyes went soft, and a look of gratitude swept over her features. It had me taking several steps back and then turning away. I looked toward the door, back to where my bike waited, the keys still in the ignition, but turned to head toward the back of the bar instead.
I kicked the door to my office open and headed straight for my desk. As I sat there, I wondered why the fuck I wasn't just leaving the way I had planned. The way I wanted to. I didn't want to be in the bar. But the girl…
I shook my head and pulled open the bottom drawer, pulling out a bottle of whiskey. Before I could raise it to my lips, I saw blood-red hair going past my door. She was likely going to change out of the wet shirt she was wearing. I hadn't missed how she had been soaked in beer while lying there. My hand tightened on the bottle. The fucker was going to pay for what he had done. He had broken one of the only rules I had laid out when I took over the club. No forcing women. Ever.
A minute later, one of the other waitresses hurried past my door. She glanced inside as she passed, flinching when she saw me sitting there but tried to cover it with a small, forced smile. Fuck her, too. I was grateful, though. Because I knew she was one of the good ones. She would help the other girl without being a bitch about it.
