Clubwhore (Devil's Renegade MC #1)(18)

“So what’s your reason?” He’s intrigued. Nobody has ever found me interesting before. I kinda like that he does.

“I light it for the opposite effect. I’m giving it the power to kill me. That way, I’m taking the power away from anyone else.”

“I don’t follow.”

I hold up the cigarette between us like it’s some sort of magical object. “If someone were to kill me today, whether it be by accident or intentional, they would be doing me a favor. Statistics say if I smoke, I have a sixty percent chance of dying from complications related to smoking. So if someone accidentally kills me, they should view it as doing me a favor. If someone intentionally kills me, I refuse to give them the glory. Because chances are, I’d have suffered a much more horrible death.”

Taking another drag, I patiently wait for him to reflect on his recent knowledge of me. Just when I think he isn’t going to say anything, he speaks.

“That’s the craziest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever heard.” The humor in his voice is a first for me, and I can’t help but look at him. He seems playful, fun and very similar to the other guys. He’s nothing like the brooding, demanding man he usually is. It’s…refreshing. And maybe just a little disappointing.

“What in the hell have you been doing with your time to find the opportunity to even think about this shit?” He lets out a laugh--standing and grabbing my cup before walking around the bar and refilling both our mugs with fresh coffee.

“I do a lot of deep thinking,” I say in my defense. He laughs harder. The sound is deep, throaty and way too foreign on his lips. But I like this softer, more normal side of him.

“You need a hobby.” He hands me my coffee, still shaking his head at my ridiculous way of thinking.

“I have plenty to do around here, trust me.” I take a gulp of the hot coffee, cringing when it burns my tongue. I feel his eyes on me and turn to find them narrowed. He looks like he wants to chastise me, or some shit, but he says nothing.

“And I have a hobby,” I say in hopes of lightening the mood. It works. He smirks up at me, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes.

“I’m dying to hear it.” Taking the cigarette from my fingers, he puts it between his lips and winks. It looks even smaller on his lips and I find it funny. So funny, I snort. Like an idiot.

“I’m practicing to be a trampoline gymnast.” He looks at me like I’ve grown an extra nose.

“A what?”

“You know, one of those people who do tricks on a trampoline.”

“Show me.” There’s a dare in his eyes. He doesn’t believe me.

“Well, I don’t have a trampoline or I would.”

Rolling his eyes, another move that doesn’t match his personality at all, he stubs out the cigarette. “You can’t be a trampoline gymnast and not have a trampoline, babe.”

“Shit,” he mutters, suddenly standing and pulling his phone from his cut. He checks it, then mumbles something about being late. “Gotta run. I’ll see you next week.”

A sudden wave of sadness crashes over me. A whole week without him? I mean, I’m not attached or anything, but I kinda like having him around. “K, bye.” I give him a small wave, but he pushes my hand aside and grabs my chin in his massive fingers.

“Be good.” Two words. One demand. And a set of lips that’s merely centimeters from mine. He’s going to kiss me. And he does. On my fucking forehead. Then he’s gone.

And he still has my phone…

Great.





“Morning, girl.” I look up from my now cold coffee to see Linda sauntering in the room. From the hall. She didn’t go home…

“Did you fuck Bryce?” I ask, knowing good and damn well I don’t have the right to. She stops in her tracks and wrinkles her face up at me.

“Um, no. I tried, but he wasn’t having it.” She dismisses the issue with a wave of her hand. “To hell with him,” she says, walking behind the bar. I spin on the counter to face her. “Any man who doesn’t want pussy or head first thing in the morning is gay in my book.”

On the outside, my face is impassive as I give a bored nod. On the inside, I’m fist punching the air and grinning ear to ear.

“Maddie’s coming home tomorrow.” Linda rolls her eyes at the news and I groan.

“I don’t like her,” I mumble, poking my lip out on a pout. “I feel like we have to walk on eggshells when she’s here.”

“Yeah, I don’t like her either. But she’s family.” Linda uses her best Luke impersonation which always makes me laugh.

Maddie is like an ol’ lady, but she doesn’t have a man. Her and one of the guys had a thing for a while, but that shit ended soon after he got his patch. But Maddie is like Luke’s little sister. She’s been raised by the club and is held to the same high standard as all the other ol’ ladies. But for some reason, she’s worse than the others. The best way to get along with her is to just keep my distance. Which isn’t a difficult task.

“They’re going out of town to get her.” Linda raises her eyebrows suggestively at me. “I say we take the night off and do something fun.”

“Work is fun,” I remind her. It’s a party here all day and all night. Who the hell wants to do that shit on their day off?

“I mean real fun. The kind that involves us being catered to, not the other way around.” Thinking harder, I could use some strange cock. And maybe even a strange woman--if she appeals to me. I wouldn’t mind being wined and dined for a night.

“Okay. What time we leaving?”

“As soon as you get your cute little ass dressed.”

I like it.





Normally I wouldn’t be dressing to go out at eight o’clock in the morning. But when we go out, we go away—meaning if we’re hitting a club, it damn sure won’t be in Hattiesburg. Linda scored us a free night at The Roosevelt in New Orleans, thanks to her cousin’s friend’s dog walker’s some shit, who works there. Bottomless Hurricanes, jazz music and hundreds of weird people are just what I need.

Jealous yet? Well, you should be. Keep in mind that it’s Tuesday—some claim it’s the most productive work day of the week. I’ll be partying in The Big Easy…eating beignets at the world-renowned Café Du Monde…shopping for art in The French Quarter…listening to small children make music with random shit like beer cans and buckets.

My bag is packed. I’m dressed—not in my going-out clothes, but still stylishly sexy. You never know who you’ll meet on the journey. I lock my bedroom door, not that it’ll do any damn good, and slip out the window. Linda is ready and waiting by my car when I round the corner.

“Tonight is gonna be epic!” She’s way too damn excited.

“You sound like an ol’ lady.” At my words, she frowns then shudders.

“Ugh.”

We don’t hate the ol’ ladies. Sure we talk shit behind their backs, but it’s nothing we wouldn’t say to their annoying little faces.

Tonight their heads will be held high while they sit around some bar, drink cheap beer and force themselves to behave so they don’t bring any unwanted attention to their man. They’ll wear their patches proudly, and walk with a little more confidence to the bathroom knowing they’re untouchable.

Me? Tonight I’ll be sitting in some bar, drinking expensive wine and not giving two shits about my behavior. I’ll do what I want and who I want without feeling guilty or ashamed. Nobody will be claiming any territory on me tonight, because I belong to nobody. Hell, without my cell phone, they won’t even be able to contact me.

Maybe Linda is right about our epic night. Maybe she doesn’t sound like an ol’ lady at all. Maybe she sounds like who she is—who I am. Who everyone should want to be.

A clubwhore.

****



“Where have you been?” Linda yells over the music. At this point, the two hours she spent on her hair and makeup seems like a waste. Her mascara is running, her lipstick is smeared and her hair is sweaty, and sticking to the side of her head. She looks like she’s having a blast. “I’ve been calling and texting you all night!”

Once we left the room, we went our separate ways—neither of us needing the company of the other. Or the competition. “I’ve been in Hustler. I forgot my phone at home,” I yell back, leaving out the details about Bryce having it. But she doesn’t care. She’s pointing to the ass on the man next to her and giving me a thumbs up. I return it. “I’m going to Esther’s.”

“Where?”

“Esther’s!” She nods and I turn to leave, anxious to get the hell out of this place before I become sweaty and gross and mess my two-hour face up.

I stumble onto the crowded, cracked sidewalk filled with people celebrating the fact that it’s Tuesday. Some are dressed like me—super high heels that are uncomfortable as hell and a mini dress that looks more like a tube top. Some are dressed more casual—jeans and T-shirts. Some are in costume. So far, I’ve seen about a gazillion Day of the Dead faces, a few pirates, a silver man, gold man, blue man and green man, a couple brides and even Barney—the big purple dinosaur.