The dry heat will be good for me. At least that’s what I kept telling myself. I never thought about the desert dust, though. Somehow it finds a way to cling everywhere.
My hair is the only thing worth noticing. It’s thick, wavy, and dark brown. My eyes I guess, are all right—there just a medium nondescript brown. I don’t even care about looks or any of that pathetic superficial bull shit. Almost dying is the best medicine for not giving two fucks about any of that or what people think of you.
Squaring my shoulders, I lift my chin. “That’s right, Amber Walker, and you are a badass survivor. You flat-lined twice and came back to life.” My little pep talk does the trick. Fuck Edge, and his entire Bloody Scorpion MC. I’ve already been through the fires of hell. Nothing anyone can do or say can take that away from me. Spinning on my heel, I push the door back open and enter the hall. But I don’t get far.
“Well, well, what do we have here? A scrawny-ass new girl? Are you one of F.O.C.U.S’ East Coast virgins up on the auction block for later?” The trucker dude smacks his lips and moves in, forcing my back against the wall.
“I’ve never had virgin pussy,” a second guy sneers edging on to my left.
“Please,” I mutter, rolling my eyes. Despite every instinct telling me to scream and fight, I try to act tough. Because they are expecting that; me to be a screamer and them being able to get off on the fear. “Me? A Virgin? I’ve ridden more dick than Jenny J.”
The guy closest to me leans closer. “Is that right?” His hand squeezes my jaw. “Open your mouth. Let’s see how big it is.”
Tears threaten as his hand on my cheeks squeeze. My knee lifts, attempting to get him in the balls, but the second guy blocks the blow.
My head is pushed down to the floor. The sound of jeans unzippering makes me shut my eyes. I was wrong. There are worse feelings than the isolation of weeks upon weeks of the ICU hovering between worlds.
“What the fuck?!”
I open my eyes, seeing my bad angel. The head of the man hovering over me cracks into the wall. Screaming, I crawl between heavy black boots as punches and knives flash above my head.
Wide-eyed, I stay crouched in the hall corner. The brawling men block any escape. The loud music and hoots from men in the club prevent anyone from hearing the fight. I guess men do lose their minds over a good pair of tits and ass.
Edge is going wild. He is an avenging madman hammering punch after punch. It is three to one. The men gasp and heave, finally squaring off against him together as Edge stands guard in front of me. He eggs them on, gesturing with his hands for them to come at him.
But they don’t.
With a snarl, he barrels forward, kicking one in the gut while clipping the other two under the jaw. It’s a knockout.
On trembling legs, I stand. “Thank you.”
He turns and my eyes fall to the blood on his hands. His knuckles are split. Growling, he stalks forward. “Get the hell out of here. Turn around and go. New Mexico isn’t the place for a little mouse like you.”
“Why do you hate me so much?” My voice cracks.
“I hate everyone, mouse.”
“…but you saved me.”
“Nah, I like the fight. Like the blood—the sound of crushing bones.”
“I don’t believe you.”
He comes closer, the tips of his boots kiss my worn-out Vans. His finger lifts my chin. “You just added more to the debt you owe me. This is your second rescue in one day.”
“So? You’ve already said, there’s nothing I have of value.”
His full lips turn up in a sneer. “My specialty is finding things of value from broken, dumped things.”
“I’m not broken. Or dumped.”
“Now you’re just lying to yourself, mouse. You’re in the middle of nowhere, in a shithole strip joint with no car and no money.”
My chin lifts. “I have money.”
He shakes his head. “If you manage not to get jumped a second time.”
“I can handle myself just fine.”
“Maybe in a state filled with old folk and spring breakers. This is the Wild, Wild West, sugar. It won’t take much for a twig, like you to snap.”
“You know what? You’re a bit nuts, Edge. Who has a name like that anyway? Who speaks like you? Get some damn manners, a better name, and then maybe we can have a conversation.”
He picks me up like a football using only one of his arms. The door to the restroom is kicked open by his heavy boot. My ass is slammed down on the counter and Edge is there, standing between my thighs.
His eyes glitter with something I cannot define. But then his mouth is on me. A thousand lights turn on. Lights, I never knew, could even be lit. I kiss him back. He groans, opening my mouth with his tongue. As our tongues dance, it occurs to me, he had his hands on the stripper but never his mouth. This kiss is much more intimate than the bump ‘n grind he was doing before with someone else.
As warmth floods through me, I kiss him back, knowing I need to stop. I rip my mouth from his, laying a palm on his hard pecs.
“Sorry, I don’t do whores.”
He smirks. “You name-calling? Admit it, my hands were on her, but you felt them on you.”
“I don’t have to admit anything to you.”
“Edge! We got company!” Another Bloody Scorpion yells as he pushes the door open, interrupting our little scene.
“I know, I already took care of the truckers.”
“Not them. The Royal Bastards. They’re here with a few men from Creed MC.”
“What?” Edge grounds out, clenching his bloodied fists.
When he leaves, it’s like a vortex of energy disappearing. It sucks the air out of my lungs as much as anything.
Shouts and screams make their way from the main room. I should probably bolt to the end stall and hide, but curiosity gets the better of me. I crack the door open a quarter inch, just enough to peek an eye out. The truckers are tied up with zip ties and stacked against the far wall.
A few of the working girls grab their bouncing tits as they screech and hurry through the side exit, out into the parking lot. “What the heck could be going on?”
I step out gingerly and creep down the hall. Edge is squaring off with his entire MC at his back against four burly men wearing cuts. But from the body language, there’s no way they are friendly. If anything, the hate emanating between them is so thick you could choke on it. I need to get my purse and get the heck out of here. I’ve had quite the distraction and adventure, but now it’s time to move on and get myself out of this mess.
With my back to the wall, I inch forward. No one even glances my way. I’m a ghost. Just like I’ve always been. Ordinary. Invisible. Completely forgettable.
“You’ve got some nerve showing up on our turf.” Edge grits out.
The three men shrug, but only one responds. “We were invited.”
“Bullshit.” Edge crosses his massive arms.
“Tell them, Viv.”
The bartender who was kind to me grimaces. “F.O.C.U.S. offered his services.”
“What the fuck, Viv? We protect your business, your women, and you have the nerve to disrespect me by inviting the Royal Bastards to our turf?”
“South Albuquerque is no man’s land.” The man’s face is in shadow as he speaks. His voice is soft thunder. He’ s still, but I get the impression he’s a coiled whip ready to strike at a moment’s notice.