Thunder (Hell's Handlers MC 10)

“I feel ya,” Mav said. “But Viper would be the first one to tell you to hold steady and not do something rash. You charging out there and getting yourself fucking killed would only ensure Viper beats your ass in the afterlife. We’ll get our revenge, brother. Every one of us wants it bad.”

Thunder shook out his arms. Mav was right. Viper hadn’t been one to act on blind emotion. He was rational and thought through his actions, and Thunder would be disrespecting his memory if he gave into his murderous impulse. So he rolled his shoulders and said, “I’m cool.”

Women seemed to be the predominant attendees at this party. Beyond the club members, that was. Tall, short, thin, plump, blond, brunette; women of all kinds filed into the clubhouse. Some were accompanied by bikers in CDMC cuts, some solo, and some in groups with their friends. Distinguishing the difference between sweet butts and randoms from town wasn’t easy as they all had two things in common: sky-high heels and itty-bitty clothes. Lots of jiggling assets were on full display tonight.

“Hey, I know her,” Mav said about fifteen minutes later. “You worked with her, right? What’s her name?”

“Who?” Thunder asked, scanning the mob the best he could, given the poor lighting. Unable to tell exactly where Mav pointed, he narrowed his eyes and examined each face approaching the door.

“Kristy. I think that’s her name. Stripper you used to work with. Tall, long brown hair. She’s danced at our clubhouse a buncha times.”

“Oh, yeah,” Thunder said as he continued to look for her. Now that he knew who he was trying to locate, he focused on the taller women. “She dances here a lot, too. Says they pay real good but ain’t much on the word no. Think she might be fucking one of ’em. Maybe the prez, Blade.”

“Jesus, why? I heard that guy’s a sadistic fuck.”

Thunder shrugged though he knew Mav couldn’t see him well. “Job security, maybe. Who knows why she does half the shit she does? But Kristy can handle herself.” Ahh, there she was, strutting in on pointy heels with a dress barely covering her fit ass. Next to her and about six inches shorter was the one and only woman he’d noticed wearing pants. Kristy’s friend also had a wide strapped tank top that didn’t even show off her tits. With her more conservative outfit, the woman stuck out like a sore thumb.

Wait a minute…

The way she dressed and her slightly stiff posture reminded him of—

“Oh, fuck,” Thunder said on a sharp exhale as though he’d been socked in the gut. He grabbed the fence and shoved his face against the links as though it’d give him a closer view. His stomach lurched, and a red haze filled his field of vision.

What the fuck is she doing here?

“What’s wrong?” Mav asked, body tensing and readying for action.

“That’s Makenna.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“HEY, THANKS FOR riding with me, Kristy,” Mak said as she put her rattletrap of a car in park in the lot of a vast warehouse.

“No problem.” Kristy flipped the dome light on, tugged down the visor, and gave her face a good once-over. She must have decided the layers of makeup she already had on weren’t enough because she reapplied her lipstick and freshened her mascara. The innocuous and probably routine moves had Makenna squirming in her seat. She wore a tinted moisturizer, a pale pink lip gloss, a light dusting of shimmery eyeshadow, and one coat of mascara. That was all, and it felt like gallons of goop on her face. Makeup was forbidden in the community—way too likely to make girls interested in the outside world or become sluts—and by the time she was out and taking care of five siblings, learning the subtle art of dressing up her face never became a priority. Now she wished she’d taken Kristy up on her offer of help.

Same with her clothes. After her bartending gig last weekend, she’d decided to go with comfort over style this time around, pairing dark skinny jeans with a conservative black tank top and flats.

Based on the hordes of women walking into the clubhouse, she was gonna stick out like a tan crayon in a box of hot pinks.

“You’ll be okay to get yourself home without me, right?” Kristy asked before popping her pouty lips a final time in the mirror. She turned in her seat and gave Mak a dazzling smile. “I’ll be dancing for a bit, but then I’ll probably end up sticking around all night.”

“Uh, yeah, I’m good. I appreciate you riding with me since I’ve never been out this way, but I got it from here.”

“All right, girl, let’s get on in there. Don’t want you to be late.” Kristy opened the door and stepped out of the thirteen-year-old Chevy Malibu as though emerging from a stretch limousine.