Thunder (Hell's Handlers MC 10)

A chaotic place, as she discovered an hour and a half later. The Handlers’ clubhouse was booming, dark, sensory-overloading madness. Music with a deep base vibrated the walls, alcohol flowed, and men and women danced in ways she’d never been privy to before. Makenna didn’t consider herself innocent; she’d been married for crying out loud, but she was finding out just how sheltered her life had been when it came to socializing.

“You’re rocking this so far,” Monty said as he popped the top off a beer, flipping the cap into a bin. He was around her age, bald with muscles galore, a light goatee, and teasing fair blue eyes. Thankfully, she’d studied about fifty YouTube videos on bartending, which gave her a leg up. Learning on the fly would have been impossible, given all the commotion around her. There were far too many distractions to focus solely on Monty’s instructions.

Like the couple going at it against the wall, who kept drawing Mak’s attention.

There they were, plastered against a wall in the clubhouse, just as Kristy had suggested. Right out in the open with their friends and strangers partying their asses off mere feet away.

Are they having sex?

“No, not yet. But give ’em a few minutes.” Monty laughed near her ear.

Makenna jumped. Whoops, she’d meant the thought to stay in her head.

Monty seemed to get a kick out of the way she gawked and gaped at every lewd act. He stepped up next to her and slung an arm around her shoulders. “That’s Maverick and his ol’ lady, Stephanie. They’re always going at it in one place or another. You’ll get used to it.”

Get used to the live sex show? “Yeah, I don’t think so.” As she’d learned from working with the girls at the diner, ol’ lady was not, in fact, a term used to describe an elderly woman, but a term used to describe a biker’s girlfriend or wife. It was used to denote a committed relationship within the club, or so they claimed.

“They’re hot, huh?” Monty asked, still with his heavy arm across her shoulders.

“Huh?” Was it her imagination, or had his voice dropped a few octaves? It was then she realized she was still watching the couple, and her face heated. Hot? She was the one feeling hot. Didn’t they have some air conditioning in the place? “Uh…I don’t know. It’s not like I’m staring at them or anything.”

“Liar.” He laughed. “Don’t worry about it, babe. We’ve all been caught gawking at them a time or two. It’s why they do it.” His warm breath wafted over her ear, tickling the sensitive skin as he spoke. Instead of enjoying the feeling, she wanted to swat him away as she would a buzzing fly.

Why was he so close? He kept finding little ways to touch her and had been all night.

Oh, no. Her stomach flipped and not in a good way. Was Monty hitting on her? The guy was sweet and undoubtedly handsome, but she wasn’t attracted to him in that way. In any way. Even if she was, she wouldn’t have a clue how to handle one of these men. Plus, she didn’t have the time or energy to learn—too many real-world problems to solve. Too many mouths to feed and bodies to clothe. Too many bad experiences with men to risk being anyone’s possession ever again. Though none of the Handlers’ women acted in the demure, beaten-down, dead-eyed way women in the community did. These men may be large, possessive, and growly, but the women with them appeared to revel in it instead of fear it, which led her to believe their experiences differed greatly from Mak’s past.

His voice dropped low, seductive. “They like to be watched. Why do you think they don’t just go upstairs to Mav’s room?” He kissed her cheek, something she wasn’t used to, but he often did, then said, “I’ll grab the next few drinks. You enjoy the show.”

“What? No. I’m not gonna do that,” she said, tearing her gaze from the happy couple. But he was gone, and she’d already turned back to the pair who were so lost in each other, Mak had a feeling they’d forgotten they were in public.

As she watched, one of Maverick’s hands crept its way up his ol’ lady’s denim skirt. He licked and sucked her neck as he did whatever he was doing under that skirt.

Beneath her new bra, her nipples tightened, becoming uncomfortable. Mak had the insane urge to press her palms to them and find some relief. She squirmed a pulsing feeling of…need throbbed between her legs. What the hell was happening to her? Was she getting turned on?

Oh, my God.

Mak glanced around, suddenly hyper-aware of being in public. To her relief, not a single person paid her any attention. Still, she needed to get herself under control.