It’s not the handsome face described by a hero in a love story. But it’s breathtaking, nonetheless. His nose is slightly crooked, and there is a bump near the bridge. It must have been broken a few times. His jaw is square, and his face a deep tan. Several small scars tell only some of his story. His eyebrows are two thick slashes over large hazel eyes. I feel the smirk before I can stop it. His lashes are long, the tips a light gold.
Angel eyes on a badass biker.
“What?”
“Your face.”
“What about it?”
“It’s a contradiction.”
He moves close, blocking everything in my line of sight but him. He shakes his head. “You have no idea who you are fucking with?”
“You’re right, and you know what? I don’t care. Thank you for the ride.” I turn, but he grabs my elbow jerking me around.
“Nothing about me is angelic sweetheart and you best remember that. You owe the Bloody Scorpions now.”
I shrug, lifting my chin. “All I have is my dead car and a trunk load of size six jeans and knick-knacks. My skinny, chicken ass isn’t worth a dime according to you, remember?”
The corners of his full mouth tilt as he reaches into the back pocket of his jeans for a pack of cigarettes. Taking one out, he puts it between his lips, “I’m sure you must be good for something, sweetheart.”
I shrug. “I’m the most non-descript woman you’ll ever meet.”
“Somehow, I doubt that, sugar. You might be as pale as a ghost with zero tits and ass from what I can see, but you’ve got a backbone. Be careful who you show it to.”
My parched lips shut, tasting nothing but dust and bitterness. “Do they at least have anything good on tap in there?” I gesture toward the TripleXXX. But I don’t wait for his answer. He cups his cigarette to light it and I have no interest in having my lungs freak out again.
Squaring my shoulders, I push open the heavy red door, entering the dimly lit room. Five feet in, I’m stopped by a bear of a man. “There is a twenty-buck cover charge.” He opens a palm.
“Are you serious? If I wanted to see tits and ass, all I’d have to do is look in the mirror.”
“She’s with me.”
Over my shoulder, I see my monster. I suck in my breath because he has a bad habit of stealing them. When he laughs, it transforms his savage face. His white teeth gleam, laugh lines make his hazel eyes even more of a focal point. A grin makes his rough-cut face almost boyish. Almost.
The bouncer shrugs, letting me pass.
The men from the Bloody Scorpions take up almost every table by the stage. Strippers bend over, showing the shaved prize between their legs. Disgusted, I turn to the empty bar and take a seat.
“What’s your poison?”
“Tito’s on the rocks, extra salt, and two limes.”
The bartender grins and gets busy making my drink. From the corner of my eye, I see my monster take a seat with his men. “… and get him,” I point over, “something sweet. He sure as hell needs something besides the vinegar in his mouth.”
“Ain’t you cute? Where you from?”
“Florida.”
“Florida? What in the hell are you doing here in the desert?”
“I needed a change.”
“From paradise? Girl, let me give you some advice. Woman to woman and all—run! Run back as fast as you can.”
I shrug, “It’s not that bad so far. The mountains are beautiful. I’m not staying outside of Albuquerque anyway. My destination is Santa Fe.”
She raises her eyebrows. “That’s Royal Bastard territory.”
“Royal, who?”
She mutters something under her breath since the men are shouting at her to get busy and make their drinks, but she makes mine first.
“Thanks,” I smile, then quickly bring it to my lips. A shudder runs through me at the icy burn as it travels down my throat.
Drink in hand, I turn on my barstool and from the safety of the only lonely corner in the entire strip joint, I survey the room finding my “savior” with a topless blonde. She’s sitting on him. His meaty palms cup both her breasts. From the look on the girl’s face, she’s very much enjoying his attention. Her lips are parted; her ass grinds down on his lap. He uses his thumbs to flick her nipples as his mouth finds the back of her neck.
I shake my head, muttering, “Just who is tipping who tonight?”
The bartender smirks. “Right? These girls would pay him for it, not the other way around. He touches them sure, but I’ve never heard of him taking his dick out for any of them.”
“What a pity,” I smirk.
“Where’s the ladies’?”
She points down a hallway and I grimace. Great, I’d have to pass right by his table.
“Who is he anyway?”
“Edge.”
“Edge?”
“That’s his MC name and that’s all I know.”
Raising a brow, I hop down off my seat. “Do you mind watching my drink?”
“Girl, no one would slip a pill in your drink…no offense.”
“None taken.” I grimace. There’s nothing like being in a strip joint to remind me just how lacking I am in the tits, ass, tan, and hair slash make up department.
My long, dark hair fell out of its bun two hundred miles ago. My skin has a light coat of dust and sweat instead of perfumed shimmer powder.
“Here. Could you please take these over?”
She sees the incredulous look on my face.
“Please? I’m slammed.” She nods over to the fifty-plus parched bikers.
“Sure.”
Balancing the tray on one flattened palm with the edge tucked against my elbow, I carefully walk over.
It kills me to meet his eyes. He reaches for his drink, never breaking eye contact from me as his other hand moves low, rubbing the stripper’s mound over her bikini bottoms.
She moans, throwing her head back and thrusts her hips forward into his hand. He cups her sex; I can’t look away. His eyes. Those damn angel eyes are talking to me, asking me if I wish I were her…if it was me, those hands were on.
Truthfully, I don’t know. I’ve had long-term boyfriends in a previous life that seems so long ago. And even then, I never burned for any of them. Sex was cuddly; warm, but never a burning fire. I feel the small smirk on my face; no one’s ever made me bite my lip and moan the way the stripper is for Edge.
He notices my smirk and makes one of his own. “I am that good.”
“Please. Every guy thinks that.”
In his eyes, is the appreciation for my sass. That’s the one thing I have in spades. Placing the empty drink tray down on a chair, I keep moving past the smokey haze to the dimly lit hall. The door swings wide open and I squint as my pupils adjust to the light streaming in. A trio of heavy-set trucker drivers walk in—their rigs parked behind the rows of bikes. I lower my eyes, not wanting their type of attention and quickly move away, pushing the door to the bathroom open.
I cup cold water in my hands to rinse my face. I take more to rinse my mouth.
“Damn, Amber, no wonder why everyone looks right through you.” Meeting my eyes in the mirror, I inspect my face. Despite being from Florida, I’m pale as a ghost. I guess almost dying will do that to you, though. My clothes hang on my body. Despite the fast-food I grabbed on the road between Florida and here, I’m still too thin. My trunk filled with size six jeans don’t even fit on my new chicken ass. I need some meat on my bones. I need some health back.