He stepped closer. “You cross Reaper, or any of us brothers, and it’ll be you who gets lynched. I don’t give a fuck how good a mechanic you are. You’re here to work. You hear anything you shouldn’t, you keep your head the fuck down and don’t repeat a word.” He paused. “And we find out anything about us gets to those Klan cunts of Landry’s, your old boys, I’ll personally cut out your tongue and mail it to your old lady so she knows you won’t be licking her pussy no more.”
“Understood.”
He moved back to the Street Glide. “Never seen work as good as this . . . not even my own.”
“That hard for you to admit?” I crossed my arms across my chest.
The Samoan raised his brow at me. “Fuck yeah.” I smirked. “Bull.” I frowned.
“I’m Bull. I run this shop. But I’m in desperate need of a mechanic who’s A, good, and B, not a fucking pussy around my brothers and the shit that goes down around here.”
I nodded my head, about to say something when a voice came from the entrance of the workshop. “He work out or do I have to send him to the boatman?” Reaper walked in. As yesterday, the fucker had the promise of a real fucking slow and painful death in his eyes. A kid walked behind him. He looked like Reaper, but younger.
The kid watched me with the same suspicious eyes as his old man.
“He’ll do,” Bull said.
“You got the job,” Reaper told me. But I could see by the disappointment on his face that he’d rather have had an excuse to kill me. Reaper looked at Bull. “His bike done?” He nudged his head to the kid behind him. Looked eighteen, nineteen. Something like that.
“Just finished.”
Bull showed Reaper the bike. The kid looked over his shoulder, looking up at me, eyes suspicious. “Nice ink,” I said. He had a picture of Hades and his old lady on his arm, like the mural I’d seen out in the yard. Two bright-as-fuck blue eyes stood out on the woman. “Been doing tattoos since I was a kid. I’m good, but that work’s better,” I added.
The kid nodded. Reaper let out a loud laugh. “Won’t get nothing from my retarded kid. Doesn’t speak.” The kid clenched his jaw. Reaper put his arm around the kid’s shoulder and put his hand on his son’s jaw. “Styx here ‘signs,’ whatever the fuck that shit is.” Reaper started moving Styx’s jaw like he was talking, like he was a fucking puppet and Reaper was the puppet master. “My name’s Styx and I’m a fucking pussy. Take after my cunt of a mamma.” Styx just stood there and let the fucker do it. Reaper laughed then pointed at me as he started walking out, Styx following behind. “Bull here tells you what the fuck to do. Do it, and I won’t have to kill you.” He shook his head. “And for fuck’s sake, cover up the fucking Nazi ink. Makes me wanna peel your skin off you when I see it, and I really don’t wanna lose a good mechanic. Try Hades shit as a cover-up.”
Reaper walked out, and Bull got the fuck to work. He glanced up from the desk he’d slipped behind. “Be here tomorrow. Eight a.m.”
Twenty minutes later I walked into the motel room we’d gotten last night. The door hadn’t even closed before Beauty was in my fucking arms, her legs around my waist as usual. Her lips crashed to mine. When she pulled back, she checked every inch of my face. “You okay?” she asked, her eyes wide. “They didn’t hurt you?”
I smiled, then, gripping her ass, lowered us to sit on the bed. “I’m good, baby.” She let out a huge breath. I palmed her tight, full ass.
“Shit, darlin’. I’ve been a wreck all day.” She laughed, but I could hear the shake in her voice. Fucking destroyed me.
I kissed her, and she kissed me back like it was the last time I’d ever see her. “I got a job,” I said. She blinked at me, then nodded. I sighed and dropped my forehead to hers. “I ain’t a good guy, baby. I know you know it. But this is who I am. I ain’t ever gonna walk the straight and narrow. Klan, Hangmen—I belong in that fucked-up world.” When I looked up at her, I said, “You and me? We’ve been living in a fucking bubble for months. But it had to burst at some point. I was always gonna be dragged into this kind of fucking life.” My stomach pulled, pains shooting inside like I was being shivved. I decided to tell her everything. My past. What I’d done. Why I’d been sent to prison. Beauty was stock still with every word I spoke.
Unable to read her, what the fuck she thought of what I’d done, I said, “You know it all. Now you gotta decide if you’re in.” I held her tighter, just in case it was the last time. “You’re good, Beauty. You can go somewhere. Get a better man. You need to decide—”
“You,” she said before I’d even finished. “I choose you. You’re not the man you used to be.” She straightened her back. “I get you ain’t ever gonna walk the straight and narrow. May do bad shit again. But I’m not a pussy, Tank. I got this. Got you. I can live this life.”
A smile tugged on my lips at the determination in her eyes. Then it fell. “If the Klan find out I got a job with the Hangmen, it could cause shit.” I paused. “Real shit.” I shook my head. “There could be a hit on me. I ain’t stupid. If the Klan think I’ve joined the Hangmen, it could put a huge fucking target on my head.” My stomach sank. “Could put one on you too.” I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to fucking breathe. “It isn’t safe to be with me. Beauty . . . I don’t think—”
“Don’t,” she snapped. She put her hands on my cheeks. “Don’t fucking try to make my decisions for me. My psycho mamma tried to do that to me. I sure as shit won’t have my man do it too.” She rolled her hips, her pussy running along my cock. Her lips went to my ear. “I’m in. And I can handle myself.” She dragged her lips along my cheek until they hit my lips. “I got you, darlin’. ’Til the end.” She crushed her lips to mine. “Now shut the hell up so I can fuck you. All that worrying has made me hungry for your cock.” I laughed when Beauty pushed me down to the bed and in a couple of seconds had my zipper down. My cock out and down the back of her throat.
Bitch wasn’t going anywhere.
Chapter Four
Beauty
Two months later . . .
The compound was massive. I clutched Tank’s waist as he rode through the gate. We came to a stop outside a building with a huge-ass picture of Hades and Persephone on a wall. I’d been doing some reading up.
I wouldn’t let Tank see my nerves as I heard the music blasting through the walls. When I turned my head, some young guy with long blond hair was fucking some girl up against the wall. Screwing her in the open where anyone could see.
Tank got off the bike and took my hand. He smiled when he followed my gaze, like it was nothing out of the ordinary. “You ready?” The guy who was fucking groaned, clearly coming, then stood off the wall and fastened his zipper.
“Tank,” he said and flicked up his chin. His blue eyes fell on me. “Sweet cheeks.”
“Ky,” Tank greeted, then pointed at me. “Beauty. My old lady.” Ky lit up a smoke and came over to us.
“Beauty.” He looked at my chest. I was wearing red leathers and my favorite black tank. “Nice tits.”
My head cocked to the side. I gestured at the wall he’d just been fucking against. “Nice technique.”
Ky fucking blinded me with a beautiful smile, then pointed at Tank. “She’s a keeper. Spots real talent when she sees it.” He strutted off back inside, but called back, “You ever get sick of our ’roided-up Nazi mechanic here, you give me a call. You’ll be creamin’ more than you’ve ever creamed in your life.”
“Good to know,” I said, and he disappeared through a door. I turned to Tank and raised an eyebrow.
“Ky Willis. VP’s kid. Resident slut.”
I stared at the door he’d just gone through. “Fuck. That kid’s prettier than me. Bastard.”
Laughing, Tank threw
his arm around my shoulders. “Stick to me tonight. I ain’t patched in. That means you’re free pussy. But I know all the brothers. They see you with me, they shouldn’t try anything.”
I nodded. Tank had told me some of the club rules. It was a different world here. I’d never been to a Saturday at the club before. But over the last couple of months Tank had grown closer to the men here. I wasn’t stupid. I knew he secretly wanted to be patched in. Knew he wanted to become a Hangmen prospect. I had no fucking idea about this club or what Reaper was looking for in a brother, but I couldn’t imagine it wouldn’t happen for Tank at some point. If they could get past the fact he was ex-Klan, that is.
Making me the old lady of a Hangman.
I knew I needed to prove myself tonight too.
Tank held me tighter as we entered the clubhouse. My feet faltered a little when the door to the bar opened and I took in the scene. The air was thick with smoke, music pounding from the speakers. Hangmen were scattered all over the room, most with their hands and mouths busy with almost-naked—and some fully naked—women writhing all over them. “You okay?” Tank asked in my ear.
I nodded. But shit . . . I wasn’t sure I was.
“Tank!” A voice cut through the noise. A mountain of a man with long black hair and tribal tattoos all over his face and body was waving us over. Bull. I knew by looking at him that this was who Tank worked with. Tank didn’t say much, but I knew he considered Bull a friend. I wasn’t sure if Bull felt the same. Wasn’t sure if any if these men could ever truly get over Tank’s Klan past.
Tank led us through the crowd. Suddenly, two men were in front of us. I despised one on sight. “Reaper,” Tank greeted. His arm tightened around my shoulders. “Big Poppa,” he said to the other guy.
“This a slut?” the one Tank called Big Poppa asked.