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“There’s always a wiener cleaner to help ya out,” Cece taunts with a snicker.
“Okay, ladies, that’s enough,” Soul says. “Malice has been on edge for months now, and you’re not helping.”
“A wiener cle—”
Soul hauls Cece to stand between his legs and fuses his lips to hers. She moans, and he grunts, and suddenly, I feel like a voyeur.
“And that’s my cue,” Heather comments as she strolls to the other end of the bar to wipe at some invisible mess on the wooden top.
I swivel on my stool to stare across the main room of the clubhouse. Things are pretty tame, but it is the middle of the afternoon, so that’s not at all surprising. In a few hours, this place will be packed, and the music will be so loud I won’t even be able to hear myself think.
Cry me a river.
As much as I hate to admit it, Cece’s right. The club bunnies, or wiener cleaners as we affectionately call them, are here for a reason. If I can’t count on them to relieve some of my tension, then what the fuck are they doing here?
To be fair, Nikki and Bunny—No, the irony isn’t lost on me that we have a club bunny named Bunny—have made efforts tobe of serviceto me. And I’ve accepted, several times, but there isn’t a pussy in the world that could make me forget everything I’ve got going on in my head.
I thought for sure that purging would help, but Grim keeps taking the kills. Sure, he’s the enforcer, and that’s his job, but fuck. As VP, I outrank him, but that doesn’t seem to matter when he’s in the zone.
It matters. You need to stop letting him take the kills. He’d listen if given a direct order.
“Motherfucker.”
I twist to glare at Soul and see that Cece is nowhere in sight. “What?”
“I shift my attention for a few minutes, and you just dive down the rabbit hole.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“It means, brother, that you’re all in your head right now.”
I narrow my eyes. “Where’d Cece go?” I ask in an effort to change the subject, and then I snap my fingers. “Oh, that’s right. She had to brush her teeth after kissing you.”
Either Soul is stepping up his game, or I’m losing my edge because I don’t even see his fist coming at my face. His knuckles smash into my nose, and pain explodes in my skull. Blood pours from my nostrils to roll over my lips and down my chin.
I jump to my feet, cupping my chin as I bend over to minimize the damage to my cut. I just got the latest blood stain out of the leather and am in no mood to have to clean it again.
“What the ever-lovin’ fuck, Prez?!” I shout.
And Soul, the dickhead, simply shrugs. “Didn’t like what you said. And for your information, she left to go to the boutique and work for a few hours.”
“Since when do we punch each other out for talking shit?”
“Since always, Malice. It’s kinda what we do.” He leans across the bar to grab a rag before tossing it to me. “Didn’t Grim knock your ass down not that long ago?”
“Grim has a big mouth,” I mutter.
“Don’t let him hear you say that.”
I straighten, the blood having slowed to a trickle. “He can’t hear shit.”
Soul grabs my shoulders and yanks me down as he brings his knee up, nailing me in the gut. Air whooshes from my lungs, and I cough as I try and catch my breath.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Soul.”
“You’re pushing your luck, Mal,” he seethes. “Just because you’re in a shitty mood doesn’t give you the right to fucking talk like that. Grim is family. Or have you forgotten?”
Damn me and my mouth.
