Page 6 of Pink Poison (The Butchers MC #1)

Chapter four

Stevie

Five Years Later…

The exhaust fumes from the cab clear, revealing Le Papillon from across the strip. The club is a helluva lot bigger than I imagined it. Honestly, it looks like something straight out of Forbes Magazine. Flashy as hell, but still has a piece of historic charm in it.

Holding my phone between my ear and shoulder, I smooth my faux, baby pink, leather mini skirt over my toned ass. “I made it, Tee,” I squeal into the device.

She giggles tiredly. “ Are you ready to make this interview your bitch?”

“I was born ready, babe.” My patent Barbie pink platforms clack along the pavement as I strut toward the front doors. “What about you? You sound like you just woke up.”

Her low groan is instantaneous. “ You’d be right. Business has picked up in the last few weeks. Lots of interesting men have been cropping up around here.”

“Y’all be safe over there,” I chide. New customers in a place like Mo’s sounds like a recipe for disaster. “Tell Mo I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

“We’ll be waiting. You’re gonna kill it, girl.”

I end the call and wrap my neon pink painted nails around the door handle.

With an easy pull, the door opens with a tinkling bell that chimes throughout the entryway.

Soft, melodic music plays overhead, growing louder with each step I take.

It’s oddly calming for a gentleman’s club.

I guess Mama Mo wasn’t lying when she said this place was bougie.

As I creep around the corner, a silky, deep Southern-laced voice takes me by surprise.

“Good afternoon, cher .” I tilt forward on my platforms, unable to correct my stance.

Shit. I’m going to fall, I’m going to fall and bust my ass…

or my face before I’ve even had my interview.

Fucking amateur move, Stevie. “No need to fall over me, now,” the man drolls as he steadies me.

A frigid burn soaks into my skin, scorching every muscle down to the nerve endings. The sensation sucks the air from my lungs, forcing a gasp from my mouth. I need to get the fuck out of here. “I’m sorry, I think I came to the wrong p-place,” I gasp, dragging my eyes to my startling savior.

His gray eyes pierce through my soul, stealing what color I have left of it in the process.

He pulls his mouth into something I’d consider a smile if it didn’t look so stiff on his sharp face.

It’s almost like he doesn’t know how to smile.

Other than that, everything about him looks fine.

Great, even. He is incredibly handsome—in a way that reminds me of a well preserved gothic novel.

He’s timeless, unaffected by the world outside of the one he’s built for himself.

Yet, I can’t shake the unsettling feelings of dread that overrides his appearance .

“Stevie, correct?” he asks. I nod, unable to speak while still tongue tied. Raking his stare down my frame, he takes in my outfit for the interview with a salacious grin. “I think you are in the perfect place, joli papillon .”

“ You’re Atticus?” I don’t know what I expected, but he sure as hell wasn’t it.

He releases my arm before offering me his eerily pale hand. “Atticus Lennon, owner and founder of this fine establishment.”

Pursing my lips, I gently grasp his palm. “Stevie Waters, thank you for having me. I’ve heard great things about this club.”

“The pleasure is mine, I assure you,” he charms as he lifts my knuckles to his icy lips.

I yank my hand from his hold, opting to fix my face to match my stage persona. With a flutter of my lashes, I purr, “So, how does this contract stuff work, Atti ?”

There’s nothing a man like him enjoys more than a stupid woman.

It makes them feel important, and stokes their already giant ego.

Bat your lashes, pop your tits out, and give them a pair of doe eyes—they’ll be eating from your palm in no time.

And Atticus Lennon won’t be any different if I have anything to say about it.

“You will certainly be a perfect addition to this club.” Less than a breath goes by before his laugh ceases, like it never even happened.

“Take your mask off, cher . I’m a reasonable man.

That, and mon papillon would have a fit if she saw you trying to throw yourself at me.

” He chuckles. Freeing his left hand from his pocket, I catch sight of a simple but notable black ring on his ring finger.

Mon papillon. “You’re married,” I state, dropping the fake persona faster than a hot shoe sale.

I have no interest in flirting with married men unless I’m getting paid to do it from the stage.

“I am a simple woman. I will work a set schedule, no more or less. Stage only. I do my job, I leave. I will not be cleaning or babysitting other dancers. ”

As the words leave my mouth, I watch his stiff smile transform into something otherworldly.

It’s as if the monster behind the man has taken over and flipped the switch.

God, save whatever desperate soul married him.

My heart skips in repetition as my fight-or-flight instincts battle for control of my body, leaving me stuck in freeze.

“You see, Stevie. I have a different proposal for you,” he says, roaming his dead eyes over my body again. “I need help repairing some damaged ties around here. You’ll double as an escort when I require it, and I’ll give you what you requested.”

The word escort hits me like a bitch slap. It sends me back to five years ago when my family, the man who I had considered a father, accused me of selling my body for money. “I don’t offer escort services,” I grit.

“I figured you’d say that.” He sighs. Pulling his phone from his inner jacket pocket, he hums. “If you’re unable to help, I don’t think you’ll be the right fit for any club.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“Blacklist, cher . Keep up now.” He presses the phone to his ear. “One call, Stevie. Are you sure you want to risk it?”

This fucker is deranged. Stomping my heel, I rein in the urge to scream loud enough for the entire building to hear. “Fine. I expect to be compensated accordingly for the additional service, and I will only work the stage during peak hours,” I snap.

If this motherfucker thinks that he can take advantage of me , he has another thing coming. I will be the biggest, most annoying pain in his stupid ass that he has ever dealt with.

“I am glad to hear that you’re a reasonable woman,” he drawls, pocketing his phone like the prop that it was. “Before I forget, what is your stage name?”

The corners of my lips quirk. I can’t wait to hear how pissed the Butchers will be once they hear my name floating around the city. “ Stevie, duh.”

“Of course it is,” he mutters under his breath. “I’ll send the contract tonight. My offer is good for twenty-four hours.”

“You got it, boss.”

With a toss of my blonde hair, I brush past the newest addition to assholes in my life . I strut my ass out of the lobby, adding an extra pop to my hip sway. We both know I’ll sign his contract, but that doesn’t mean I’ll jump like a show pony to do it.

Stomping out from the club, the muggy evening humidity engulfs me, threatening to melt off my full face of makeup.

I hasten my steps to the curb while holding my hand out for a cab to take notice.

It doesn’t take long before a line of cabs gather when the drivers realize that I’m looking for a ride.

I guess the saying is true, it pays to be pretty.

“Where to, missy?” the driver asks as he leers through his lowered passenger window.

“Mo’s, if that’s not too far for you.” I don’t bother keeping my attention on him. Instead, I thumb through my phone to find my text messages with Teegan to let her know I got the job and that I’m on my way to see her.

“Hop in,” he grunts.

I smirk at his seemingly disinterested tone now that I haven’t given him the attention he thinks he deserves.

Opening the door, I cautiously slide onto the backseat.

The last thing I want to do is flash this guy and give him a free show.

Senior had it right all those years ago when he said if I was so good at what I was doin’, I should get paid for it.

My only mistake back then was mixing business and pleasure.

Thankfully, once I got out of the city, I was introduced to people who knew how to better handle the job and their personal lives.

Dick is temporary, money is forever. Don’t confuse or conflate the two.

I learned that lesson quickly, and I’m better for it. Money is what makes the world go ‘round, and the only world that matters is mine . Maybe that makes me a bitch, but I’d rather be a rich bitch than a broke one.

“You gettin’ out?”

Glancing out the window, I take in the dirt kissed parking lot of the place that gave me sanctuary when I needed it most. The neon sign looks dimmer than it did five years ago, but it still shines bright, letting the local deviants know that it’s up and running.

“Thanks for the ride,” I mumble, digging into my bra for the fifty dollar bill I keep tucked in for emergencies.

He takes the money and quickly stuffs it in his pocket before jerking his head to the side.

“Yeah, yeah. Get out lady, I got places to be.” I step out of the cab, just as careful as I entered, before slamming the door behind me.

The taxi takes off in a rush, kicking up dirt and rocks at my ankles. Dick.

My lips curl upwards as I walk through the doors of Mo’s.

It takes a minute for my eyes to adjust to the dim neon lighting, but even with the temporary sun blindness, I can tell this place hasn’t changed at all.

Inhaling deeply, the familiar stale scent of cigarettes and cheap booze clings to my nostrils.

The last five years have been a whirlwind of different bars and clubs throughout the East Coast. While I had fun and accomplished what I set out to do, nothing could keep me from coming back here. Home .