Page 10 of Pink Poison (The Butchers MC #1)

Chapter six

Kash

My brothers leave the bar after Stone shares a few words with the cute chick behind the bar.

I can’t stop the smile that unfolds over my face at his inability to give a single shit about her.

It’s not like I could blame him after his earlier encounter with the sexy blonde from Mo’s.

Stevie. The guys have mentioned her a few times, mostly when Mack is trashed or simply not around, but I don’t know the full story behind why she’s a problem for us.

I mean, I could just ask—but where’s the fun in that when my imagination is so much better?

“A-Am I f-free to go?” Darien whimpers pathetically.

Turning back to him, I scrunch my nose at the sweat covering his oily skin. Fucking disgusting. “Shut up,” I growl as I sit on the chair Graves vacated. “I’m here to make sure you do what we agreed to.”

He blinks. “Now? ”

Rolling my eyes, I discreetly pull my favorite switchblade from my cut and lay it on top of the table. “Yeah, shithead. Now.”

His swampy, green eyes widen at the impending threat as his face pales further. “O-Okay. I just n-need to make a call.”

“Make the call.”

Slowly, he rises from the booth, as if to walk away from the table. Wrapping my fingers around the cobalt handle, I flick it open and point it in his direction like a conductor’s baton. “Sit the fuck down, Darien.”

“I-I can’t h-hear in here,” he whines like the bitch he is.

“Gentlemen, what seems to be the problem?” I damn near jump out of my seat as the bartender who spoke to Stone approaches the table.

Jesus. She may as well be a damn cat with stealth like that.

Her hazel eyes flit between us before she glances at the knife in my hand.

“No weapons on display in the establishment, Mister…”

Mister? Jesus, I’m only twenty-fuckin’-eight. The day I let someone call me Mister, I’ll be too damn old to hear ‘em.

“Kash.” I offer my blade-free hand. “I’m not old enough to be called Mister anything.”

She grips my palm a helluva lot harder than I anticipate—squeezing until my knuckles pop. “Kash it is. No weapons here. Put that shit away.”

Yanking my hand away, I shake it to restore proper blood flow before tucking the switchblade back inside my cut. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Gross, don’t fucking call me ma’am,” she snorts. “I’m Delilah, but customers who listen to the rules get to call me Del.”

“Delilah, huh? You don’t look like a Delilah to me.” I smirk. “You look like you’d be an Emily—tough as fuck.”

Her eyebrow lifts at my off-the-wall statement.

It doesn’t take rocket science to see that she isn’t interested in hearing about what I think her name should be.

I still meant it, though. Blowing out a hasty breath, I give her a genuine smile.

“Sorry, Del. It was just a misunderstanding. Isn’t that right, Darien? ”

The man in question gags, triggering both Del and me to look at him in disgust. “R-Right. Excuse me,” he groans while climbing over the booth. His lanky legs shake as he runs toward the garbage can next to the bar.

“Jesus.” I laugh.

“Must have been some misunderstanding, huh?” Del muses, crossing her arms over her chest.

A flash of color catches my attention, drawing me to her arm. Intricately designed dahlias, colored in a vivid watercolor style decorate the majority of her skin. It’s a work of damn art, that’s for sure. “Sick ink, Del.”

She nods in agreement while rotating her arm for me to get a better look. “Hurt like a bitch, but it was worth it.”

“Badass Del.” I laugh. “Hope you like nicknames, ‘cause that’s stickin’ with the club if I have anything to say about it.”

“Fantastic,” she drawls. I chuckle at her sarcastic tone as she strides towards Darien, whose head remains planted firmly inside the trash bin. “Quit puking by the bar. Use the toilet like a civilized human.”

Darien groans, waving his hand in acknowledgment before pulling himself out. He stumbles over his feet, nearly landing head first on the corner of the bar. Jesus. “Come on, Darien. We’ll take the rest of our meeting outside,” I chide, slapping the man’s back in a faux friendly nature.

His body tenses under my hand briefly before he summons what I’m sure he thinks is courage. We walk towards the bar door, my hand still on his back, ready to pull him if he tries to take off running. “P-Please, I just need to make the c-call,” he whimpers as we walk through the propped open door.

“You act like I’m gonna off you or something, Darien.” I push him forward, hard enough to make him stumble again. “Make the call. Just know that if you try to run, I will hunt you down. ”

Another wet gag escapes him while he fumbles around his pockets for his phone. Crossing my arms, I hear the beeping sound of dialing numbers before an automatically recorded voice relays the menu options. I listen to him choose his selection, opting to transfer the funds directly. Smart choice.

Kicking my boot against the dirty asphalt, I wait until I hear the confirmation that the transfer has gone through. Darien slowly turns, his face ashen to the point I’m convinced he’s a fucking ghost. He gasps, his words a wheeze between breaths. “It’s d-done.”

“Damn, Darien. You don’t look so good, buddy,” I mock. “You should probably get outta here before you pass out.”

He mumbles something under his breath before stumbling towards his car.

The poor idiot doesn’t know that he was slipped anything tonight per Mack’s doing, or that I’ve rigged his souped-up piece of shit to blow whether or not he crashes.

Although, it would be ideal if he crashes.

The less amount of attention on a hit, the better—but the MC will handle it either way.

Backing away from the entrance of Memento, I take my time getting to my bike, ensuring that Mr. Crawford at least attempts to leave the parking lot before I head back to The Deli.

A roaring engine startles me, sending a wave of adrenaline through my heart.

I focus on the blacked-out vehicle as it jerks from the parking space before speeding out of the lot.

Biting my bottom lip, I fight to keep my reaction under control before slapping on my helmet.

My fingers turn the small silver key in the ignition, firing up my Electra quickly.

I twist the throttle twice, releasing a loud purr from the engine.

“‘Bouts time yous made it b-back, Kash,” Mack slurs, tripping over his feet towards me. “Yer ready to drink?”

Scrunching my nose, I waft my hand in front of my face. “Not tonight, brother. I’ve got some sleep to catch up on.”

He wobbles on his heels, nearly tipping backwards. “Fuckin’ buzzkill.”

“Sleep it off, Mack.” I pat his shoulder before walking away.

I head towards my bunk in the back of the clubhouse. A light shines from my room, alerting me that someone has been inside. Fuckers. I stomp down the hall and drive my shoulder into the door, slamming it open. Graves and Stone sit on my futon, eyes wide, like I caught them by surprise.

“Seriously, guys?” I toss the door shut behind me. “Give a man some warning. I thought one of the prospects was in here.”

Graves scrubs his palm down his face with a tired sigh. “We have to talk.”

His tone raises the hairs on my neck, followed by an uncomfortable twist in my gut. Something is wrong, or is about to go wrong. “What’s going on, Graves?”

He swallows harshly. Fuck. “We have another meeting tomorrow night. Some big wig wants to talk with us on behalf of Atticus Lennon.”

“Ho-ly shit,” I breathe. “This is huge, guys.”

I glance at Stone, who nods his head slowly.

Atticus Lennon is a big fish in our little pond—the head of the whole operation we’ve been working to hunt down.

Word on the street is he does more than just dabble in the sex trade.

We’ve been biding our time with him, hoping he would slip and law enforcement would get involved.

A lot of good that did us.

“This meeting will be delicate, to say the least,” Stone gruffs. “It’ll just be us and Mack meeting at Memento.”

Rolling my neck, I relax as the muscles lose a fraction of their tension. “Good. I made nice with the bartender tonight while dealing with dipshit Darien.”

“Smart,” Graves grunts. “After we deal with this meeting, we need to figure out what to do with the blonde thorn in my side.”

Stone’s mouth tugs upwards on one side at the mention of the stripper. “She’s pretty hellbent on staying around here, Prez.”

“She was exiled once, she can be exiled again,” Graves snaps.

My tongue traces the front of my teeth as I contemplate how far I want to push my brothers in this situation.

That woman was a fucking goddess on the stage, decked out in all pink like it was her personal armor.

Goddamn. I can’t deny that she got my dick hard.

She one thousand percent did. Who the hell could blame me?

I witnessed her leash Stone with a single move, baiting him to come after her.

I doubt she knows it, but Stone doesn’t chase pussy—pussy chases him.

It was majestic as fuck, and I’d blow my paycheck to see it happen again.

“What’s the deal with Blondie, anyway?” I ask, curiosity winning out against keeping my mouth shut.

“Nosy fuck,” Graves groans, throwing his arm over his eyes.

“Long story short, Mack has hated his stepsister for a long time. She was the pride of the family or some shit. We were goin’ to Mo’s on the regular, so I went one night alone and saw this sexy as sin dancer working the stage like she owned it.

Dicked her down for a few months before realizing it was Stephanie, Mack’s sister. ”

“That ain’t all of it,” Stone says, kicking his boot against Graves’ leg. “This dumbass didn’t tell Mack flat out, so we went to Mo’s to celebrate my win and patch into the MC. Guess who was on the stage?”

A smile cracks my face, knowing damn well who it was. “Blondie.” I laugh. “Mack must have lost his mind seeing her.”

“He recorded her on the stage and sent the video to their parents,” Graves snorts. “I convinced her to leave. Drove her to the bus station myself.”

Stone shakes his head. “Not before dicking her down again.”

“I’m not gonna sit here and say that I didn’t feel shit for her,” Graves admits. “She deserved better than what was comin’ her way. Mack let his hate for his father bleed into his opinions of Stephanie and her mother.”

Blowing heavily, I step over the guys’ feet towards my bed. I flop down on the firm mattress and toe off my worn-down boots. “So, what? She took off and that was it?”

“I came back to The Deli, and Mack saw evidence that I was with her again,” Graves groans, as if the confession physically hurts to say aloud. “He said something that made me realize the line between love and hate is pretty damn thin.”

“He loves her?” I mumble, feeling the weight of exhaustion pulling me under.

Stone drawls, “He loves to hate her.”

“And he hates to love her.” Graves sighs.

Their voices meld together, blending into a gentle hum as a wave of darkness crashes over my consciousness.

An image of a blonde woman, dancing provocatively in pink lingerie teases me.

She beckons me to chase her further into the dark—taunting me with a salacious smirk.

Excitement thrums through my veins at the opportunity to hunt, even in my dreams. Stone may not chase pussy, but I live for it.

Ready or not, here I come.