Clubwhore (Devil's Renegade MC #1)(51)

“Of course I remember you!” I beam, flashing him my best smile. “Congratulations.” I gesture to his patch, noticing his chest swell with pride. “How is everything going?” I put my phone under the counter, giving him my undivided attention.

“It’s good. Different.” He bites his lip, dropping his gaze to my exposed cleavage. Obviously, he’s not in the mood for small talk. “So you wanna fool around?”

I bite my cheek to keep from laughing. Fool around? That’s almost as bad as “taking a roll in the hay.” Ugh. I’d heard that one before.

“Don’t think you wanna do that, Drake.” We both look toward the direction of the voice coming from across the room. Crash doesn’t look up as he chalks his pool stick before lining up his next shot. “I don’t think our SA would like that very much.”

SA?

“My bad,” Drake says, getting up from his seat. “See you around, Delilah.” I manage a smile, but it doesn’t reach my eyes.

I’m not confused. I know this “SA” Crash speaks of. He’s talking about Bryce. And as much as it pleases me that he wants me all to himself, it pisses me off just the same. I’m not his property. This is my job. He has no right telling me who I can and can’t fuck.

It’s not that I wanted to have sex with Drake. Actually, the thought of having sex with anyone other than Bryce leaves a bad taste in my mouth. Why buy a glass of milk when you can have the whole cow? Is that how the saying goes?

Doesn’t matter. What matters is that he opened his big mouth, staked some weird claim on me and not once thought to ask me how I felt. Just like a man…

“Babe?” Crash twirls his empty beer bottle in his hand. “Can I get another?” I snatch it from his fingers. He smirks—enjoying this. “By the way, Bryce didn’t say anything. I just noticed y’all been spending a lot of time together.” That dirty little shit…

I can barely contain my relief, though. Grabbing a beer from the cooler, I pop the top and slide it across the bar to him. “Well, I think that’s for me to decide, Crash.”

He shrugs. “I could give two shits what you do. But I don’t want Bryce rippin’ off my head because I didn’t try. Now I can say I did.”

“Well, thank you.”

“For what?”

“For not giving two shits. I take my independence and my job very seriously.”

“I do what I can.” He winks at me and takes a pull from his beer. He glances over his shoulder before turning back to me. “So,” he says, leaning in close. “You wanna fool around?”

I smack him with my dish towel. He laughs and walks away, holding the beer above his head. “Thanks, babe. It always tastes better when you get it.” Sure it does.





Sleeping sucks without Bryce. Having him next to me three nights in a row has spoiled my body. Now I’m too cold. Feel too light. Smell too much like me and not enough like him.

I somehow manage to make it through Monday night without him. Granted, I only got about two hours of sleep, but it’s Tuesday morning, and the knowledge that he’s coming back tomorrow lifts my spirits.

The day is long and monotonous. Everyone but me seems to have shit to do. I notice that both Crash and Scratch, who live at the clubhouse, have taken up company with two of the other girls here—Reese and Katy. In witnessing this, I can’t keep Crash’s words out of my head.

I don’t think our SA would like that very much.

When they look at me, I see a softness in their eyes. Almost as if they’re happy I’m no longer available to them. I am, but apparently they don’t see it that way. They’re loyal to Bryce. And even though Crash claimed Bryce hadn’t said anything to him, the club was respectful enough to keep their distance until they were sure.

Once again, I go to bed alone and missing him. I hadn’t realized his absence would have this kind of effect on me. I long for him to return. Ache for him deep in my chest. But it’s nothing like the anxiety I used to feel. This is different…sorrowful.

I’m lying in my too-big bed when my phone buzzes with a notification. I nearly break my neck to get it—knowing it’s Bryce. I’d wanted so badly to contact him, but didn’t want to bother him. Or seem desperate…

Bryce: Hello, Love.

Me: Hello, yourself.

My cheeks hurt and I realize it’s from the wide smile on my face. Good grief. How lame am I? All he said was hello. Love.

Bryce: Am I interrupting anything?

Me: Kinda. I’m giving head…to my PILLOW!

I laugh at my own joke. I wanted to wait for his reply before I added the punch line, but I chickened out. Besides, I’m no fool. I’m well aware that he knew damn well I wasn’t doing anything. He just wanted to hear me say it.

Bryce: You’re funny. How was your day?

Me: Boring. Yours?

Bryce: Shitty.

My smile drops. I feel my chest tighten. I don’t know why it hurts me that he had a shitty day, but it does.

Me: I’m sorry. If I were there, I’d make it better.

Damn how I want to be there with him. I’m calculating how long it would take me to drive to Lake Charles. Then I remember I don’t have a car. I’m contemplating stealing one when he texts back.

Bryce: You already have. Goodnight, Love.

I don’t text back, because what do you say to that? Nothing. So I curl under the covers and try to process these feelings in my chest—feelings he once said weren’t real…only an idea.

Now I’m not so sure.





I’m up early awaiting his return. I put on full makeup, curl my hair and even wear the uncomfortable, hip-hugging jeans that fit so snug across my ass.

The minutes turn to hours, and I begin to regret my decision to wake up so early. Unable to stomach one more second without knowing, I ask Crash what time “the guys” will be back. He gives me a knowing smirk, but doesn’t call me out.

“Late. They have church today.” He pinches my chin. “We got shit to do too, so relax. You got the place to yourself until tonight.”

I pout all the way to my room. It’s a little after noon when I lie down to take a quick nap. I set my alarm for thirty minutes, and drift peacefully with the knowledge that I won’t be seeing him anytime soon.





It’s a damn good thing I got that nap. The clubhouse might have been dead today, but it’s packed tonight. Myself along with the other girls are either behind the bar or serving beer on the floor. When the place is this crowded, there’s too much going right now for the men to request any private company.

It’s unusually busy for a Tuesday, and when I ask what in the hell is going on, all I’m told is someone’s getting a patch. There are too many chapters, too many different clubs and way too many patches for me to keep up with who’s in line to get what. It could be a full patch given to a Prospect, a new officer patch, a special patch for those that do special things, a territory patch…

Could it be?

It is. This is Bryce’s patch party. Tonight, they’re celebrating his transfer. He’ll get his Mississippi bottom rocker. I’ve been awaiting his arrival since early this morning. Every time the door opens I look to see if it’s him who walks through it.

And he just did.

He’s dirty and tired. His leather looks worn and weathered. But the moment he sees me, a fire ignites in his eyes. I feel the same scorching flames licking at the inside of my thighs.

“Hello, stranger,” I greet, somehow managing to control my urge to fist pump the air at the sight of him. Giving him a wicked smile, I slide a shot of Jack across the bar to him.

“Hello, yourself.” He shoots me a wink and throws back the shot. Signaling me for another, I pour it as he turns to greet the men who’ve formed a line behind him.

“Ain’t he the sexiest thing ever?” Reese, another clubwhore, says as she rapes him with her eyes. Throwing back the shot I poured for him, I give her a possessive glare.

“He’s unavailable.” There’s a warning in my voice—a warning I have no right to give.

She huffs out a breath and rolls her eyes. “Says who? His wife? Unlike you, Delilah, I have no problem fucking married men.”

“I didn’t say he was married. I said he’s unavailable.” I must have growled or something, because this time I got her attention.

“Ohhhh.” Um…yeah, bitch. Move the fuck along.

“How tired are you?” I ask Bryce, once he’s facing me and the line along with Reese has dispersed.

He quirks an eyebrow at me. “I guess that depends.”

“On?”

“On what you’re really asking.”

Returning the bottle of whiskey to its rightful place, I let my lips part and the hunger in my eyes tell him exactly what it is I want.

He doesn’t acknowledge the gathering crowd ready to toast his transfer. He doesn’t care that this is his party, and people have come from miles away just to congratulate him. It doesn’t bother him to abandon his brothers or club affiliates, because right now, he wants the same thing I do.

Throwing back one last shot, he jerks his head toward the hall. “Waiting on you, Love.”





“Motherfucker!” I scream. I forgot how good it felt to be ravaged by this man. OMG.