Twisted Steel: An MC Anthology: Second Edition by Elizabeth Knox (top 5 ebook reader txt) 📕

Bishop nodded. “’Preciate it.”

The night passed quickly, Gem and I dancing twice on the makeshift stage they’d whipped together before returning to serve drinks, a lot faster given everyone was a great deal more fucking drunk than they’d been at the beginning of the night. I was heading outside when a hand tickled my bare waist, almost earning the owner a slap in the face.

“When you’re done with these, come have a drink with me,” Hawk murmured, leaning into me, his lips barely brushing my ear.

“I’m working,” I argued, though even I knew it sounded fucking pathetic.

“And I hired you. So, I say it’s okay.” The low rasp of his voice sent another shudder through me, his fingers pinching at my waist, no doubt fucking loving the response he had on my damn body. “Come find me.”

“That an order or a request?” I teased, slipping away from him with a grin. “Because just a hint, I don’t do well with orders.”

I thought I’d won that battle, but as I turned to walk away, all I heard was, “We’ll see about that.”

And I knew I was in trouble.

So much fucking trouble.

And I hated just how much that excited me.

Eagerly, I moved through the groups of people outside, quickly trying to get rid of the drinks on my tray.

“Hey, sweet cheeks!”

Before I could even turn to find the owner of the snarky, chauvinistic taunt, a hand struck my ass—hard. Every muscle in my body tightened as I fought through the sting, knowing there was going to be a fucking mark left there, if not a bruise. I should have been used to it by now, but as the pain radiated through me, I had to grit my teeth.

“How ’bout you come sit with us for a minute?”

My free hand curled into a fist, the urge to swing almost overwhelming me even though the blur of tears that had now formed in my eyes would’ve made my aim not so fucking great.

It wouldn’t be the first time I’d leveled a guy who’d gotten too handsy.

Working at a strip club on the wrong side of town meant a lot of drunk bastards thought you were specifically there for them to fondle. Occasionally, I had to take things into my own hands before one of the few security guards could get to me.

But unfortunately, now wasn’t the time or place to be throwing my weight around. Given inside the clubhouse gates, I was an employee, and the guy whose hand was currently imprinted on my fucking ass cheek was apparently an employee of the club. Their shirts announcing they were security for the sports bar, Backroad.

I knew I didn’t have to put up with being abused or treated like shit, but I did learn a long time ago that sometimes it was better to keep my mouth shut and show some respect to people in more important positions.

Just walk away.

Clearing my throat, I turned, purposely taking a step back, trying to put some distance between Mr. Handsy and me. “Sorry, boys, I have work to do,” I purred, putting on that fake façade and forcing my voice to be a couple of octaves higher.

I leaned forward, gathering a handful of empty beer bottles off the picnic table they were sitting at, trying my best to ignore the way they were eyeing me, like coyotes looking to rip into me and tear off whatever they could sink their teeth into—including my self-respect.

A shudder rolled through me, and I stumbled back, the strange sensation not one I had received so far that night. Everyone had been polite and courteous to the other girls around the clubhouse and me. This group of guys though, had me wanting to back away slowly.

Mr. Handsy’s eyes dipped, following the curves of my body to my knee-high black boots. “What a shame,” he announced over the loud music thumping from the clubhouse speaker system and grinning as he picked up a cigar from the table and placed it between his lips, lighting the end. “I have a lot of dollar bills.”

He sucked on the cigar, the lit end coming alive with sparkling embers as he pulled the smoke into his mouth, then like the fuck boy he was, he pulled the cigar from his lips and held my gaze, blowing the fucking stream of smoke right at my damn face. It burned my eyes, and I pinched them closed, trying to let it waft away.

I should’ve walked then, especially when another shudder rippled upward through my body, sending a wave of goosebumps over my skin. His friends chortled loudly, the four of them throwing their heads back and cackling like damn hyenas.

Maybe the comment was meant to be some kind of weird fucking compliment.

Or possibly the opposite, and it was his way of making sure I knew I was below him.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t help but let him know I wasn’t.

“Maybe you could take those dollar bills down to the corner store, get yourself some lube, then head on back to your mom’s house and jerk yourself off,” I countered, aware of how I’d managed to keep my hands to myself and not break his nose for touching or choking me with his cancer stick, but also how I seemed to have forgotten to relay the message to my mouth. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

I turned to walk away, but I should’ve known better than to turn my back on a chauvinistic bastard who’s just been shot down in front of his friends.

“We aren’t done—” He reached for me. His fingers curled around my thigh, slipping between them. Whether he was trying to halt my escape, or just fucking grope me I don’t know, but he did it with his cigar still tucked between his fingers.

It took at least a second to realize what was going on, but the pain hit me like a freight train. I screamed, throwing the bottles I was holding to the ground