Packing Double: A Bedlam Butchers MC Romance (The Motorcycle Clubs Book 5) (2 page)

Intent on my tray of drinks, I cross the busy bar over to the table of women. Instead of happy drunks, they’ve gotten quiet, pretty faces unhappy. Oh no. I’d definitely left them for too long. “Sorry about the wait, ladies,” I tell them in a singsong voice and bend over to set down drinks in front of them. “This one’s on me, all right?”

No one says a word. Huh, that’s odd. Why so quiet?

A moment later, I feel a breeze on my backside. “Well, looky there. Someone’s wearing red panties.” A chorus of male laughs echo in the room, and I see the women at the table visibly flinch.

I jerk and turn around, my hand flying to the back of my skirt, which had been raised up by a pair of unfamiliar hands. Three men sit at the table which had been empty a few minutes ago. For a moment, I think the Bedlam Butchers have arrived, and if so, all the fuss is for nothing. These men are...well, they are gross. One is fat and bearded, another is skinny with a hollow, ugly face, and the third just looks plain mean. They also look a good deal older than I am, and older than the women populating the bar. But as I give them my best waitress smile, I falter a little.

Each man has a tattoo under his right eye in a small figure eight. I know that tattoo — it’s particular to the more dangerous members of the Eighty-Eight Henchmen. The Eighty-Eight are a notorious gang of 1%ers that like to fuck over the law and anyone else that gets in their way. White supremacists, meth running, you name it, they’ve done it. What they’re doing here tonight, I don’t know. A warning shiver of fear trickles down my spine, and I remember Cindy’s gesture under her eye. I know what the figure-eight under the eye means. It means they’ve killed someone for their club.

Each one of these men were killers. And as I tuck the tray under my arm and try to remain calm, the one closest to me—Skinny—tries to flip up my skirt again.

I sidestep him carefully. “Can I get you guys an order?”

“Yeah, I’d like a shot o’ pussy to go with a bit of snatch and follow it up with a bit of clam,” Bearded says. The other two guffaw as if this is hilarious.

It’s tough, but my smile remains in place even as they continue to creep me out. “How about a few whiskeys?”

“How about you park that sweetbutt in my lap?” Skinny says, trying to grab me.

Oh hell no. Even I know what ‘sweetbutt’ is—public pussy for the Motorcycle Club. And I am not about to become
their
property. I wriggle out of Skinny’s grasp. “I’m just here to fill drinks, gentlemen.”

“Not according to them panties, you’re not,” says Scary. “You’re looking to get fucked. Well, Sideswipe here has a dick a mile long.”

Skinny—Sideswipe, I suppose—just grins and tries to pull me against him again. “That’s right, baby. And it’s all for you.” His hand goes back to the hem of my skirt.

“I’ll be right back,” I tell them, sidling out of the man’s grasp. I give them a quick, fake smile, and then head toward the back of the bar, desperate to escape. If I can get to the back locker room, I’ll change my panties, put on jeans, declare myself off limits, and count myself lucky—

“Where you going, sweetbutt?” A horrible voice says in my ear, just as a hand clamps down on the back of my skirt and drags me backward.

“Please, just leave me alone,” I tell him, trying to wriggle out of his grasp.

“No, girlie. You came here wanting sex. One patch is just as good as another, isn’t it?” He grabs the crotch of his jeans and leers at me.

“Get away from me,” I cry out, pushing at him with my hands. His long limbs seem to be everywhere, and so I use the drink tray as a shield and shove him aside. The force of my reaction makes me fly backwards, off balance.

Strong hands catch me before I can tumble to the bar floor. My back hits a strong chest, and then arms encircle me. Strong arms. I catch the scent of leather a moment before a voice rumbles in her ear. “You all right, sugar?”

I stare up in awe at the man holding me. Dark hair tumbles over his brow, and his strong, handsome face is tanned. He’s got gorgeous cheekbones and a straight, perfect nose. He’s downright pretty, really, almost too pretty if it wasn’t for the chiseled jaw and five o’clock shadow that roughs him up a little. And it helps that he’s tall and muscular and has a friendly smile with perfect white teeth.

“H-hi,” I breathe, startled. I slide out of his grip, and panic sets in at the sight of his patch-covered cut. More bikers? But this one has a different club logo—a joker’s hat with a pair of machetes. He’s not wearing the Henchmen’s logo like the other men.

Different club. This has to be the Bedlam Butchers.

The door to Chrome opens up again, and then the room fills with more bikers, all of them wearing the distinctive cut of their club. These men are not as grizzled looking as the Henchmen and overall they’re younger...and far more attractive. I suddenly see the reason why so many women have turned out for the ‘panty raid’ tonight.

“You okay, sugar?” The man who caught me asks.

I nod, dazed, and then glance around the bar to see if the Henchman are still around. My harasser has slunk back to his table, and I see him leaning toward another guy, whispering something. Holding my tray protectively, I step closer to the newcomer. “There’s three of the Eighty-Eight Henchmen here,” I murmur, knowing my voice will be barely audible over the pounding classic rock coming from the jukebox. “I’m guessing they’re here to cause trouble. They’re bothering some of the girls.”

One of those dark brows goes up, and he glances around the room. “Thanks for the warning.” He pats me on the shoulder, and for a moment, I feel like preening. “We’ve got it handled, though.”

I nod and head back out to check on my tables, because even though I’m freaking out a little, I still work for tips. I have to keep showing my face if I want to make my customers happy. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch as the Butchers flood into the bar. There are at least twenty of them, I count, which is probably good because there are at least double that many women in the bar, looking to hook up. I notice with a hint of jealousy that several of the Butchers head straight to the bar itself, and a few others sit in Kimmy’s section. Mine is still full of thirsty women....well, and three jerks. For the next few minutes, I catch up on drink orders, rushing back and forth between the bar and my tables. Everyone seems to need a refill at once, and I can barely keep up with things. The tables begin to mix a bit more, and men show up in my section. Women and men pair off, but no one touches me or flirts with me. No one even hits on me, which is kind of disappointing.

Yet...even as I rush about, I could swear that someone is watching me. The few times I’ve had a chance to stop and look around, I see my dark and handsome rescuer murmuring something to someone else at the bar—a tall, scary someone with dark blond hair, a goatee, and a fierce look on his face.

And then I think they’re both watching me, which makes me blush...and also makes me a little wet with excitement. I could definitely use these men for my quick overnight fuck.

One of the henchmen waves me over for a drink refill—they’ve settled on whiskey after all—and I head to their table. “Refills?” I ask, keeping my voice cheerful. They’ve been drinking quite a bit tonight, and running up a huge tab. I’m pretty sure they’re skunked at this point, and that concerns me.

“Yeah,” the bearded one across the table says, and nudged his glass toward me, indicating I should take it from him. The other two have their chairs kicked out a bit, and due to the crowd, I’d be unable to maneuver around the table to get to his glass. Without thinking, I automatically lean over the table and reach for the empty tumbler.

Suddenly, someone shoves me forward onto the table. I sprawl ungracefully, my breasts pressing against the wood even as hands clamp on my thighs and push them apart. “You’ve been teasing us with this sweetbutt all night, haven’t you?”

Panic pushes through me and I try to rise off of the table, but another pair of hands clamps on my arms, pinning me down. “Let me go!”

“What’s that you say?” One calls out. “You want some cock? Happy to oblige.” A rough pair of hands part my thighs even wider.

Oh, my God. Am I going to be raped on this table in front of everyone? I stare in horror at the face leering at me from across the table, pinning my arms down.

“You assholes bothering my woman?” A gruff voice says, just as I’m gathering the air in my lungs to scream. I freeze and look over in the direction of the speaker. It’s the tough looking blond man with the goatee. He’s crossed his arms over his chest and is glaring at the Henchmen. Behind him stands the dark-haired man, and a few other men are rising from their tables, displacing the women in their laps.

“Your woman?” Skinny sneers. “You haven’t touched her.”

“That’s because she’s working, fucknut. And she’s fucking busy as hell trying to run drinks. Didn’t mean she’s not claimed.”

“That so?”

“Just ask her,” the blond man says. His gaze moved to me, still pinned on the table. “You with me tonight, sugar?”

Funny how he calls me ‘sugar’ just like the man behind him. I don’t even have to think twice about whether or not I’m with this guy. “Absolutely.”

His hard mouth curls in a hint of a smile. “There. See? Now, you going to take your fucking hands off my property or are we gonna get ugly?”

The room goes silent, the only sound that of the jukebox. Not a glass clinks. Eventually, the hands on my thighs ease. “Didn’t know she’d been claimed by the Butcher’s prez.”

“Now you know,” the blond man says, his voice flat and unfriendly.

Oh, no. My new ‘guy’ is the president of the Butchers? My fuck-and-leave? My eyes widen even as I scurry backward off of the table, my hands running over my skirt to ensure that everything is covered. Should I say thank you? The two men are still hovering, though the darker haired one has moved closer to me. A second later, he throws an arm around my shoulders, which is confusing.

If the blond guy is claiming me, why is this one getting touchy feely? Not that I mind, of course. He’s gorgeous...and looking out for me. But it’s still strange.

“They want their check,” the blond man says, not looking over at me. “I imagine they need to hit the road.”

“I’ll get it,” I murmur.

“Before you do,” the guy with his arm around my waist says, “We should make sure that everyone else knows who you belong to tonight.”

And he tilts my face toward him and kisses me.

Stunned, I’m scarcely able to breathe as his mouth presses against my own in a bold claim. His tongue slicks inside my mouth, hinting at other talents, and then he releases me. Wham, bam, done. As I stand there, dazed, he grins down at me. “You were getting their bill?”

“I was,” I agree, and wobble my way back to the bar, knees weak. I cash out the Henchmen and briefly contemplate just paying the tab myself—just to get them out of the bar. But it’s over a hundred dollars and I probably won’t make that in tips tonight. So, lips pursed, I bring the bill back to the table, despite every instinct screaming to avoid.

The three men are still in a stare-down with the president of the Butchers, his friend behind him. The other Butchers have stood down, but there’s a watchfulness in the room that tells me no one is relaxed. I present the check, waiting for someone to reach for it.

“I got it,” the blond Butcher tells me. “Present for visitors in our territory.”

“Oh,” I say, taking the ticket back. “Okay.”

“Seeing as how they were just leaving.”

The men at the table grimace. The president hands me a wad of money, and not sure what else to do with it, I head to the bar to cash it out. When I return to the table, the Henchmen are gone and now the dark haired Butcher sits there, the blond president seated across from him.

Both of them watch me move with avid eyes.

Their interest puts a little swing into my hips as I approach their table. “Thank you for taking care of things. I...suppose I should introduce myself. I’m Tamra, but everyone calls me Kitty, and I really appreciate you running those guys off. I had no idea they were going to be so much trouble.”

“They just came here looking to stir up shit and score a little pussy,” the blond man says. He points across the table at the dark haired hunk. “Domino.” Then he points back at himself. “Gemini.”

“Hi,” I tell them, smiling. The tension has left the room. It’s weird, but I feel safe with these guys. They’re pretty darn sexy, too. The dark haired one—Domino—is just the kind of guy I normally fall for, and there’s something about Gemini’s quiet control that makes me shiver with attraction. “Can I get you boys a drink? It’s on me. Just a thank you for fixing things.”

Both men eye me. “Beer for me, whatever microbrew you have on hand,” Gemini says.

“Jack and Coke,” says Domino.

“Coming right up,” I tell them, and put in the order at the bar. Then, I make the rounds at my tables again. By the time the drinks are up, I’ve relaxed a bit and I smile broadly at them when I set the drinks down. “Can I get you boys anything else?”

They exchange a look. “What time do you get off, sugar?” Domino asks.

Is that the invitation I think it is? I blink, glance back at the blond—Gemini. But he’s just gazing at me, easy as could be. As if his buddy isn’t picking me up right after Gemini’s declared his intentions to the entire room. I’m flustered and not sure how to respond. Is this a test? Should I turn Domino down? “I, um, I don’t know. Later, whenever the bar clears out a bit.”

“I don’t think she knows anything about the Butchers, Gem,” says Domino. There is an amused grin on his face. “Look at how scared she is of pissin’ one of us off.”

A lazy smile crosses Gemini’s face and he tilts his head, then crooked a finger at me.

I move toward the big blond man, curious. He indicates I should come closer, and I do, though it means I need to step between his knees. But there’s something about these two men that doesn’t frighten me like the Henchmen did. Actually, their attention is pretty damn exciting, if I’m being honest with myself.

“So,” Gemini says in a low voice, and I have to lean in even closer to hear him. “You know what tonight is?”