Page 17 of Pink Poison (The Butchers MC #1)

Chapter ten

Kash

“Come on, blondie,” I huff a laugh at her buzzed state. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Her delicate hand briefly grips my forearm before falling away.

The hairs on my arms rise from the sudden rush of cool air that replaced her delicious heat.

Fuck. One touch, one innocent touch already has me going.

Granted, I was already wired hot when I saw Mack with her at the table, and again when I listened to Stone pound into her in the bathroom.

That shit was without a doubt the hottest experiences of my life, and that’s saying something.

“I can’t le-leave with you ,” she hiccups, pointing to her sexy as sin dress and platform heels.

A groan of appreciation vibrates through my chest. If the seed of obsession wasn’t already planted, it sure as fuck would be now. Nothing is more attractive than a woman who knows what attire is safe for riding.

Swiping my hand over my mouth, I wipe away the goofy smirk that slipped through. “We’ll get a cab, sweetheart.”

“He’s cute and smart,” she snorts as she walks towards the exit. “A little bit of a creeper, but we can’t all be perfect.”

Creeper? What the hell happened to being a cutie?

“Butcher,” Del snaps.

With an irritated sigh, I flick my stare in her direction. “Yeah?”

“I don’t know what you’re planning with her, but I’m telling you now—if you so much as breathe wrong in her direction,” she seethes. “I. Will. Ruin. You.”

In place of the mostly friendly bartender persona is a stone-faced soldier. There is not a shred of human emotion left in her eyes, nothing that would suggest that she even recognizes me. For some reason, Del feels Stevie is at risk near me…and I just can’t find it in me to accept that.

“If I ever hurt her, I’ll give you the knife to gut me.”

Her eyes soften a fraction before a slight smirk tugs at the corners of her mouth. “I believe you; I’m not sure why, though.”

Shaking my head, I turn from the bar towards the exit. “You’re scary as hell when you want to be, Del.”

“You have no idea.” She laughs.

Pushing the door open, my eyes adjust to the darkness cloaking the parking lot. My heart clenches as I scour for a head of blonde hair and come up empty. Where the fuck did she go?

“Looking for me?” she shouts.

I drag my feet to her voice, nearing where I parked my bike. Slowly, my eyes catch a wisp of her brightly colored hair as she struts around my bike. “I was.” I track every part of my bike that her hands graze as if they were an extension of myself. “Are you ready to head home?”

“Who said I was going home?” She giggles in that fake as fuck tone that had Mack ready to snap someone’s neck earlier.

Scuffing my boot across the pavement, I blow out a sharp breath. “We need to get you home. It’s late.”

She pops her hip to the side and rolls her eyes. “What are you, my dad? Oh wait, I don’t have one of those.”

“Blondie.” I sigh.

Her tongue clicks against her teeth, as if she’s irritated with me . “I need to go to work. I told Atticus I’d dance tonight.”

Damnit. I pocket that information to pass to the club. Atticus Lennon just became a bigger damn problem now that Stevie is on the line. “Let’s call that cab and get you to the club.”

A sharp honk catches my attention as a yellow taxi cab pulls into the parking lot, blinding me with its obnoxiously bright headlights. Holding out my hand, I smirk. “Come on, sweetheart.”

Her hand threads through mine with ease— maybe too much. Sucking in a shallow breath, I guide her away from my bike to the cab. “Where y’all headed?” the driver asks through his window.

“Le Papillon,” I grumble. Opening the door, I pull her forward to slide in first. Mama raised a gentleman, after all. “Scoot over for me, blondie.”

She shuffles her body over cautiously, refusing to part her legs. I fall into the back seat before slamming the door closed. The cab driver grunts as he jerks the vehicle from park, parting from the lot of Memento.

The ride into the city is quiet, painfully quiet. I watch her out of the corner of my eye, hoping to catch a glimpse of her face again. Sparkling city lights come into view quickly as the driver speeds around traffic, jostling my body into Stevie’s.

“Jesus,” she huffs, “I’m gonna end up falling over and flashing y’all if he keeps this up.”

“Blondie, are you wearing anything under that dress?” I ask, fighting the urge to stare at her clenched legs.

“No-pe. Stone took a trophy—or two, technically. ”

My eyebrows raise at her candidness and the fact that Stone managed to pull his head out of his ass long enough to make a real move. “Two trophies…”

“Spank bank material and my thong.” She laughs, shaking her head.

“Lucky bastard,” I mumble, turning my head to peer out of the window.

A quiet snickering erupts beside me, bringing a subtle heat to my cheeks. “Are you jealous, Kash?”

“Yep,” I admit. “It’s okay, though. I’m a patient man.”

“What the hell does that mean?” she sobers.

Turning back, I take in the fire burning in her striking, blue eyes. I watch her lips move, but sound ceases to exist as she pulls me deeper into her orbit. If infatuation is wrong, then I don’t want to be right. “I said what I said, sweetheart,” I rasp.

“You have a lot of fucking nerve,” she snarks, sliding away from me. “I’m not a damn merry-go-round.”

Oh, hell no.

My nostrils flare as I grab her arm to pull her back to me. “Let’s get one thing straight. I do not see you as an object, much less a damn carnival ride.”

As enticing as she is to ogle—and God, is she—she is, however, more than just her looks.

She has fire—a passion in her. It takes a strong woman to pull herself off the ground and come back to make a point.

I also happen to appreciate the finesse of a woman scorned.

Not to mention, there’s nothing wrong with being a sex worker—stripper, escort, or otherwise.

One would think that we as an MC would appreciate the nature of that line of work a little more than others.

“I see a sexy woman with a helluva lot of fight in her. I see someone who isn’t afraid to own her body even if it’s a means to secure a bag—you feel me?” My words come out in a slow, purposeful drawl. One that’s undoubtedly meant for her to sear into her memory.

Her pink, glossy lips part with a staggered breath. “I-I feel you. ”

“I know when I’m interested in someone.” I pinch her chin between my fingers, forcing her to look me in the eyes. “And this is me telling you that I’m interested.”

She melts into my grip, like putty in my hands. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re intense?” she whispers.

If she thinks this is intense, then she's not ready for all of me.

Unlike my brothers, I have no problems admitting my peculiar tendencies.

I obsess, unhealthily. I don't need a rhyme or reason, either.

I latch on to an idea, a place, a person.

Although, I've never latched myself to a woman before.

Being in an MC, I never had a reason to.

Sex was always just sex, practically transactional.

On rare occasions, a patch bunny would press her luck, but it never ended well.

The guys had an agreement long before I joined their ranks—they weren't settling down until club business was handled.

Thankfully, that list of business is over a mile long, and I was more than happy to agree to those terms.

Leaning forward, I brush my nose along her jawline until I reach her ear. “This isn’t even the half of it, sweetheart,” I breathe.

The cab driver coughs, abruptly breaking the tension between me and Stevie. “We’re here.”

Stevie pulls herself away from me, moving towards the door closest to her.

“Blondie, if you touch that door, you and I will have problems,” I warn, pulling a crisp fifty from my pocket before tossing it through the cab partition.

The driver mumbles a brisk thanks as I exit the vehicle.

Jogging around to Stevie’s door, I open it for her.

Her pink platforms clack against the asphalt before she drags herself from the seat.

I offer my arm, pleasantly surprised when she links hers through mine as I slam the door closed. “So he’s cute, smart, and a gentleman,” she teases. “Still a bit of a creeper though.”

“You’re going to give a man a complex if you keep calling me cute,” I grunt .

We fall in stride as we make our way towards the entrance of Le Papillon. “What’s wrong with being cute?”

I halt my steps, forcing her to stop with me. “What if I called you cute instead of sexy?”

She hums, almost like she's pretending to be in deep thought. “I don’t see why you would call me cute when I don't have a baby face like you.”

“ Baby face !” I feign shock by placing my hand over my heart. “You wound me, sweetheart.”

Our steps pick back up as we make our way to the dark brick building lit with neon blue lights peeking through the doors and windows. Patrons loiter around the doors, some with remarkably familiar faces that I've seen posted on billboards as representatives of the great people of the state.

Disgusting.

“Kash, you don’t have to come inside with me.” Stevie laughs, drawing my attention back to her. “Honestly, I don’t even know if you’re allowed here.”

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart.” I smirk.

“Okay, then,” she drawls. “I guess I’ll see you in there.”

Laughing, I wink before she walks away. “You bet your sweet ass you will.”

She shakes her head as she turns on her heel, strutting her way through the front doors like she owns the damn place. I wait a few minutes before approaching the hulk of a bouncer letting people through the doors, hoping he recognizes my cut and lets me through without hassle.

“Head to the back of the line,” he grunts, not bothering to look in my direction.

Clearing my throat, the man twists his neck sharply with a concerning cracking sound that follows. His eyes hone in on my leather vest, taking in the Enforcer patch immediately. “Affiliation?” he asks, locking his beady eyes to mine .

“The Butchers.” He jerks his head to the side, giving me the seal of approval to enter the establishment. “Thanks, man,” I say, quickly moving on from the line of leering men and women. The last thing I need is one of them trying to leech themselves onto me to get inside.

Walking through the doors, a dim, neon blue low light greets me.

I shuffle through a scantily dressed crowd gathered in the lobby.

Men and women scatter in waves as I push past them, lost in their carnal desire for each other and themselves.

Stray hands linger over me, groping at my chest and back in weak attempts to drag me into their budding depravity.

I brush them away without thought, pushing my way down the steps toward the nearest hallway with fewer deviants roaming around.

I’m not here for personal entertainment, especially not with these twisted fucks.

The less I see, the better it will be for all of us.

“ Petit papillon, ” a low voice lulls from behind the door next to me. I don't know what it is about the voice, but I pause mid-step. “Have you learned your lesson?”

A woman sniffles, far too loud to convince me that this is part of some sort of kinky roleplay. "Y-Yes."

A knot twists in my stomach. I’m not oblivious to kinks or what this club offers, but something about this sounds wrong. Groaning, I knock my fist against the door. I doubt whoever is on the other side will even let me in, but it doesn’t hurt to check.

“Come in.”

Furrowing my brow, I twist the brassy knob and reveal a dark-lit office.

Taking a step forward, the heady scent of sex washes over me.

“Sorry to interrupt,” I start when I notice a woman facing me on her knees beside a desk.

Tears fall in rivulets down her cheek, dripping from her chin.

Rage wraps its claws around my heart as I look into her eyes and see nothing staring back at me.

It’s as if she doesn’t even see me standing here.

“Can I help you, Mr. Reid? ”

Glancing up, I see none other than Atticus Lennon perched on the ledge of his desk just above the woman on the floor. “Lennon,” I nod. “I didn’t realize this was your office.”

“So it seems,” he drawls monotonously. “What brings you to Le Papillon? Creed seemed pleased with how the meeting went, and I trust his word.”

Well, this just got fucking awkward.

“I escorted a dancer back from Memento,” I explain.

A wicked smile crosses his face, making the man appear more monster than not. “Creed did mention he left without Stevie tonight. It’s a shame, really. He could have gotten more out of her. Though, he has always been more of a voyeur.”

Not that I needed the confirmation when Creed all but jacked himself off at the booth while Mack had his fingers buried in Stevie's cunt.

I may not have been there for the full show, but it wasn't difficult to see what he was doing to her even from afar.

Shaking the thought off, I grunt, “We all have our preferences.”

“Yes, we do.” He laughs coldly. “Isn’t that right, mon papillon ?” His question spurs a semblance of life in the woman, who bows her head to hide her face. Clicking his tongue against his teeth, he waves my attention away from her. “Don’t mind her. She’s still learning the ropes of this lifestyle.”

“Right,” I drag out before throwing a thumb over my shoulder. “I should probably get out of here and let you handle your business.”

The brunette snaps her teary eyes to mine with a look of pleading that breaks my heart.

I can’t afford to make waves with Atticus Lennon, no matter how badly I want to help her out of this twisted ass situation.

Her bottom lip trembles as I step back, chipping away at my composure.

I try to convey my remorse through my stare—but we both know that it won't do any good .

“Do stay awhile,” Atticus charms. “I heard there’s a joli papillon due on stage any minute.”

Acid burns through my muscles at his casual use of a pet name for Stevie.

Papillon . She’ll never be one of his…anything—not if I have anything to say about it.

Stevie Waters has too much fight to be locked in a cage and put on display.

“I plan on it,” I grunt. Turning on my heel, I break my stare from the woman on the floor and walk back out the door I came in from.