Sweet Perdition (18 page)

The bruises around her nose had faded to a sickly yellow color and the swelling had gone way down. She’d easily been able to cover it with a some carefully crafted makeup placement. She hadn’t heard from Carl since Ryker had given him a beat down and she doubted she ever would.

Tonight, Pretty Boy bartended and he made a mean Cosmopolitan at her request, even though it made the brothers groan. Something about girly drinks ruining the macho vibe or something. She’d promptly ignored the protests and downed one and it promised to be the first of many this evening.

Shepherd sat beside her, nursing a beer and they were becoming fast friends. When Ryker shared his choice of old lady with the VP, he’d just hugged her which nearly caused Ryker to deck the blond biker.

She observed him watching Pretty Boy as he worked, particularly when he bent over to reach in the bin for ice. Not that she could blame him, Pretty Boy had a seriously cute butt. They hadn’t spoken about his affection for the young prospect yet, but she hoped Shepherd would let someone in when, hopefully her, when he felt comfortable talking about it.

She glanced over at Ryker, who hadn’t answered her question yet. “Come on. Tell me,” she prompted.

“Why does it matter?” Riker saluted her with his beer, his lips curling into a smirky smile. “The name tattooed on your ass is going to be Ryker anyway.”

“Hey! I never agreed to that.”

“You haven’t agreed to that
yet
,” he clarified. “But we both know you will.”

Damn, he was probably right. They had officially become a couple and she could see herself headed down a church aisle with him one day. But it wouldn’t be as Mrs. Ryker.

She groaned. “Tell me already!”

“Don’t you think this is late and kinda after the fact, since you are crazy about me and all?” he teased.

“All the more reason I should at least know your real name. You’re killing me!” She grabbed at his shirt, tugging it. “Out with it.”

He raised a brow. “You really want to know?”

“Yes! Stop tormenting me”

He leaned forward to whisper in her ear. “Oh, I haven’t even begun to torment you yet. Such
sweet
torment,” he murmured. She could feel herself go liquid at his words. “I’m going to make your pussy quiver tonight and before I give your first orgasm you’re gonna have to beg me for it.”

She sucked in a breath, suddenly finding it hard to think. Then, shook her head and forced herself to clear it. “Don’t try to distract me with your sexy talk.”

“I seem to recall you lovin’ my sexy talk.”

“Ryker!” she gritted out, exasperated.

“Fine. If you want to know. I’ll tell you.” He spoke very quietly. “Freddy Mercury Rollins.”

She frowned.

He took a swig of beer and shot her a sidelong glance. “And if you tell anyone? I will smack that fine ass of yours until you can’t sit for a week.”

Not much of a threat, since she considered a good, hard spanking to be foreplay now. Her lips twitched. “Did your mom have a thing for Queen, or something?”

He made a face. “I ain’t had enough to drink for that kind of conversation.”

“No wonder you went with Ryker.” She pasted on an innocent, wide-eyed expression. “Can I call you Freddy?”

“Fuck no!”

She continued to tease him. “So, have you ever sung along with his songs when they come on the radio?” She rocked back and forth on the stool. “Groove on a little
Bohemian Rhapsody
? Maybe rock out to
Another One Bites the Dust?”

He slapped her ass, hard, and she could feel herself getting wetter. “No, But I do love
Fat Bottom Girls
.” He gave her behind a squeeze. “One of my favorites, in fact.”

She pressed a hand to his crotch and she could feel his cock, thickening through the fabric. “Hmm, I can see that.”

Right then, one of the hellions Ryker had been dancing with slinked by and she winked at him before taking a stool at the very end of the bar.

He leaned over to get a better view. “You know, she’s got a nice ass too. Not as good as yours, but it’ll do. What do you say? You in the mood for a threesome?”

She murmured in his ear, “you said once I could bust your balls in private if I became your old lady.”

“Yeah, so what?” he agreed, staring down at her. He raised a wicked brow, practically daring her to say something about it. The big jerk loved making her jealous, probably just to prove she cared about him. “Where’s this headed, darlin’?”

“I’m giving you fair warning. I don’t consider ball busting a metaphor. You touch her or any other hellion ever again?” she purred. “I’ll play croquet with your balls. It’ll make what I did to Carl look like a love tap.” She couldn’t even be shocked at her own boldness anymore. She had officially become a bad ass biker babe. After all, in addition to dating an outlaw, she’d already helped beat up ex-boyfriend.

He howled with laughter, obviously pleased by her possessiveness. Then, he chucked his empty beer in the nearby trash can and got to his feet, only to sling her over his shoulder.

She yelped in protest and he slapped her ass for good measure.

“Get a room!” Shepherd called.

She shrieked with laughter and pounded on his back. “Put me down!”

“Not a chance, Pinky! I gotta have me some of that juicy ass. Right now. I picked you up here and I ain’t ever puttin’ you back down.” With that, Ryker carried her off to the boardroom.

Keep reading for a preview of the next book in the series, Hot as Hades, Four Horsemen MC #2.

Hot as Hades Blurb

Cowboy is a former rodeo star and a member of the Four Horsemen MC. He spots Daisy Weston stripping in a club owned by the Raptors, a rival club. The Raptors have taken Rose, and Daisy is determined to free her at any cost. With Cowboy acting as her bodyguard and guide to the outlaw world, she is getting closer to discovering Rose’s whereabouts, one lap dance at a time. Despite his better judgment, Cowboy finds himself falling for the pretty ex-marine and putting her in harm's way every night is becoming more and more difficult. Can they rescue Rose, before the Raptors discover they are working with the Four Horsemen?

Chapter One

I want her.

Cowboy tried to shake the mental hold the stripper had on his dick. Something about the blonde tempted him and it should have been hard to keep his interest. After all, he had just bellied up to a busty bar of options.

Far as his cock was concerned, she was the only woman in the club.

He tried to focus on his surroundings, instead of the woman dancing on stage. Not much to report. Although his twenty-something self would have loved the Pussycat Palace’s brothel vibe, Cowboy had outgrown that stupid shit for the most part.

The place left a lot to be desired. Cheetah fabric covered the booths, with cheap black acrylic tables. Fake gold stripper poles lined the stage and the long catwalk. The Palace waitresses walked around in tight white tank tops which featured a nearly naked woman in a cat costume, along with black Daisy Dukes that showed a generous amount of ass.

Well, the outfits weren’t that bad.

The music sucked though. Cowboy pressed a hand to his forehead, trying to fight off a headache as the DJ started up George Michael’s
I Want Your Sex
. He’d never really cared for 80s artists because all of the music sounded the same to him. He loved old school country, Johnny Cash in particular.

Cowboy needed to get some info and he’d hoped the dancers or the waitresses would be a bit more chatty on such a slow night. But they’d been skittish, dodging his questions and giving him a wide berth. Other than the club owner, the bouncers, and himself? No bikers. Just a passel of drunken, horny military dudes crowded around the main stage hooting and hollering at the women.

That and a man in a very expensive suit.

He kept to himself in the corner, scribbling away in some leather bound notebook. Somethin’ about Suit Guy bugged the shit out of him. All buttoned up and squared shoulders, he didn’t react to the dancers. What man comes to a strip club and ignores the main attraction? And while Cowboy glanced in his direction, the dude actually yawned. Yawned?!

Cowboy shrugged. Weird as it was, it didn’t happen to be his business and he had much more pressing concerns. Like sneaking a glance at the stripper again.

Great rack. He could get lost between those big tits.
Damn
. She had just been fucked hair, a blond tumble of curls surrounded her pretty face, like she’d left some lucky bastard’s bed moments ago and he’d been running his hands through it all night. Her tight ass cheeks peeked from beneath a tiny skirt. She’d topped off the outfit with red, fuck me heels, and black thigh highs trimmed with crimson bows.

He loved the tat on her shoulder. A lioness growling, teeth bared, and claws out. It extended down the line of her back, and then disappeared beneath a red corset. Made him wonder if she was a wild cat in bed or a sweet purring pussy.

When he tore his attention away from her, he noted the rest of her co-workers were in a daze. Sure, strippers usually regarded horny guys with bored expressions as they danced. But these girls? Lifeless. Nothing but a row of pretty painted zombies shuffling around the catwalk as George Michael crooned about gettin’ some. He supposed they could be junkies. Cowboy recognized the signs. They had red-rimmed, spaced out eyes, dull hair and skin, slowed reaction time. Not to mention they were skinny as understuffed scarecrows.

His girl didn’t look bored though.

She eyed the crowd, evaluating them, and then marched down the catwalk like a drill sergeant traipsing by the new recruits. All obey my commands and kiss my boots attitude. He had no clue why she had come to the Palace, but he’d bet his blue Harley Fat Boy, it wasn’t to strip.

When she reached the edge of the stage, she launched herself at the poll and spun on it like a wild thing. Women usually seduced the pole, treated it like a lover to be gently rubbed against. Not his girl. She attacked it and then forced it into submission, upending her body on the rod, and then clenching it with her strong thighs. Squeezing.

Holy fuckin’ shit.

Cowboy had a boner the size of Texas in his Levis. He’d love nothing more than to explore every single inch of her long, powerful legs. He couldn’t help but think of them wrapped around his waist as he fucked her.

Oh hell yes. He could back her up against a wall, drive into her while she clawed up his back, coming for him again and again.

He drained the rest of his lukewarm beer and tried to pull his shit together. He had a job to do. He’d come to question the girls since the Raptors were out on a run and he shouldn’t be sitting here getting his motor revved.

The Four Horsemen, his MC, had gotten wind that the Raptors had been trafficking in women, using them for profit. From what he’d pieced together from the night of the living dead strippers on stage, there had to be some truth to the stories. That sort of shit didn’t sit well with the Four Horsemen. He’d bring the info back to his club and they’d sort this out, preferably the hard way.

The Horsemen were something of an anomaly in the MC world. They had many ways to earn, but none of them involved using women. By far their favorite business, a very lucrative one at that, involved
karmic facilitation,
a Horsemen term for meting out some richly deserved vigilante justice. Usually for profit and hell, sometimes just for fun. In other words? What goes around comes around to bite you on the ass.

The club motto wasn’t
Think on Your Sins
for nothing.

Unfortunately, he was in a holding pattern until he conferred with his brothers. Cowboy felt naked without his Four Horsemen cut, the leather vest which marked him as a member of the MC. He wanted to shut this thing down. Tonight. He fantasized about drawing his Colt, rounding every single one of these dickheads up, and then making an example of them, all by his Lone Ranger self. But he knew it would be suicide.

And he’d gotten over his death wish a couple of years ago.

He scanned the back of the club. Two big guys served as bouncers. They both had to be pushing three hundred and fifty pounds, easily six and a half feet. Both of them wore Raptor prospect cuts, so they hadn’t been officially let into the club. Like a fraternity, potential members had to pledge before they became full members.

Down the hallway, to the left of the stage, he spied the Raptor meeting room. The club symbol, a bird of prey with talons bared, had been carved into the wooden doors. Took some balls, to put your MC’s club house in a strip joint funded by drugged women.

He couldn’t help but eye the pretty stripper again.

And damn if she didn’t look good enough to eat. From the way his dick reacted, you’d think he hadn’t seen a woman in years. Even though he’d gotten a blow job this morning from one of the hellions, naughty girls who hung around his club. Nothing special, but it had drained his balls and cleared his head. Well, until he saw the stripper.