Royal Blood
One
Mercy
Kill or be killed.
Fuck or be fucked.
The Gambler's Inn was the kind of establishment you went to when you wanted to disappear. It was also the kind of place you went to work if you didn't want anyone to ask questions. Good girls didn't get jobs behind the bar here. Good thing I was far from prim and proper.
Mercy Reid was a mistake that had happened the day she was born into this world, screaming and covered in gunk. Mercy Reid wanted to disappear from a lot of things.
I wiped down the bar, tracking the cloth around the old musty dude who was sitting on a stool, nursing his pint of beer. That there, was just another way of trying to disappear. The mind was a powerful thing. It never actually forgot anything, no matter how hard you tried. The bad things always stuck and got you when you weren't looking.
“What's a pretty girl like you doing in a shit hole like this?” Musty Old Guy asked through a wheeze.
“Hard times call for desperate measures,” I replied. No cash, no place to stay. I'd take any job I was offered. My mind went back to that bar job I applied for at the strip joint a few blocks over. Yeah, I'll take that back and amend it to almost any job.
Working at The Gambler's Inn wasn't much better, but it was better and the boss was slightly less of an ass. It was exactly the low kind of place I was looking to get lost in. They didn’t want any trouble and neither did I.
The front door opened with a bang that reverberated through the loud garage rock that was blaring out of the speakers above the bar. The old guy in front of me glanced up at the commotion and his eyes widened. He chucked a bill by his half-full pint and scurried away like a startled rat.
Narrowing my gaze at the fiver he'd tossed at me, I snorted at the ridiculously insignificant tip. Thanks a lot asshole.
That's when I realized a figure was looming in front of me. Glancing up, my gaze collided with a set of the strangest green eyes I'd ever seen. They were almost clear, only a tinge of color threaded its way from the outside in.
Shit, and the rest of him. Messy hair just the right length that you could bury your fingers into and tug in the middle of a rip roaring orgasm, a strong chiseled jaw coated with dark stubble and what looked like a hard ripped chest. He wore a black leather biker jacket, the tiniest hint of a tattoo peeking out from the collar of his black T-shirt. He oozed sex. The kind of sex that was sweaty and dirty. All animalistic grunting from behind.
“Who are you?” he snapped and I realized that the old guy had known what was good for him when he'd bolted. The hottie had a reputation. He was purely fuckable, but even I could tell a dangerous man from a mile off. Didn't stop my pussy from convulsing all on its own though. You couldn't have a body without a mind, but it didn't stop either of them wandering off on their own tangents.
“Well?”
My gaze snapped back up to his and it was cold.
Snorting, I snatched up the fiver and the glass. “Mercy,” I bit right back, dumping the beer down the sink.
“Mercy, who?”
“Mercy, none of your business.” I glared at him as my nipples began to ache at the sound of my name on his suckable lips. “Do you want to order?”
The man leaned over the bar, closing the space between us and I swallowed the urge to lean right back and give him a lick.
“Weiss hire bitches now?” he growled.
Holding back the urge to slap the guy and bend him over the bar at the same time, I said, “Listen, buddy. I don't know what kind of asshole you are, maybe you're the dominating prick who likes to own women and put them back into the fuckin' kitchen, but I'm not her. Either you want a drink or you get the fuck out of my face.”
His fingers curled over the edge of the bar, knuckles turning white, expression unreadable. I was going to take a stab at pissed off. Yeah, well that made two of us.
His lip curled into a sneer and he straightened up, squaring his wide shoulders. Without a word, he turned on his heel and began striding across the pub. That's when I saw the logo on the back of his jacket and paused. A skull wearing a crown was stitched there in white, with the lettering Royal Blood MC emblazoning the top and bottom.
Shit. Another motherfucking biker.
It stunk of trouble with a capital t and it was the thing I needed the least. I couldn't ditch this job. I needed the money too bad. I was totally skint.
The hottie opened the door to the owner, Weiss', office and slammed it closed behind him with a loud bang.
Fuck. He had a grabbable ass, too.
Two
X
I was already riled up, but the black haired stunner behind the bar had jacked it up even further.
Xavier “X” Blood. License to do whatever the fuck I wanted.
Slamming the door to Weiss' office closed, he stared up at me, raising his eyebrows.