Page 7 of Pink Poison (The Butchers MC #1)

“Barbie.” Mo’s signature rasp shakes me from thought. “I didn’t know you were comin’ back here so soon.”

Sitting at her usual place at the bar is the woman who took a chance on a brokenhearted kid—a fresh college drop-out with not even a single dime to her name.

Her hair is more gray than color, and a touch wirier than the last time I saw her.

Under her eyes are noticeably darker, along with the wrinkles that kiss the corners of her mouth.

Time may have stood still in this building, but it didn’t for her.

“Mama Mo.” I clumsily stumble towards her chair. “I-I’ve missed you so much.” My words come out soft, a lot softer than I meant them to as I wrap my arms around her slim frame.

“I missed you too, Barbie. Teegan’s been bitchin’ for months to have ya moonlight here,” she snorts.

“Stevie Waters, is that you?” Teegan screams from behind me.

I let go of Mo to turn around to see my best friend standing in nothing but a tiny red thong and matching heels with a worn down serving tray in her hand. “Looking as good as ever, Tee.” I smile, spreading my arms for the hug I know is coming.

Her body slams into mine, knocking a puff of air out from my chest before her arms squeeze around my neck.

“I’m so fucking happy you’re back, Stevie,” she whispers in my ear before giving me a cheeky peck on the cheek.

Quickly, she pulls back to get a good look at my outfit.

“Damn, and you upgraded your style. Living up to the Bimbo name, huh?”

“Bimbo is a way of life, not just a name.” I poke my tongue out at her. “Also, I haven’t used that name in years.”

Her cherry red lips tilt in a lopsided smirk.

“I’m so fucking proud of you, girl.” My heart settles with her praise.

Teegan is more than just my best friend, she’s the reason I am able to stand on both feet.

She is everything I want to be and more.

Honestly, I consider her my platonic soul mate.

I don’t need anyone else but her. “Are you taking our stage tonight?” she asks .

I shrug a shoulder. “If y’all have the space, I will. I don’t wanna step on anyone’s heels while I’m here.” The best lesson I’ve learned over the years is that respect goes a lot further than toppling people over.

“Shut up. Of course, we have a spot for you.” She loops her arm through mine and leads me towards the crappy locker room. “I have a ton in my locker, take your pick.”

“Thanks, Tee.” I pull our arms in closer. “Come and get me before I go on?”

She playfully bumps her hip against mine before releasing my arm. “You know I will.”

With a shake of my head, I step inside of the locker room and revel in the overpowering waft of potpourri.

If I smelled this anywhere else I’d fucking hate—but not here.

A dancer can tell a lot by how clean their stations are kept and how it smells.

Most small town strip clubs will plug an air freshener in the wall and call it a day.

Those places only care about meeting their bottom line, not about their employees.

The places that genuinely care will find ways to show their appreciation, no matter how small.

Like with Mama Mo, homemade potpourri was always her token to us.

She swore up and down with a smile on her face that it made this locker room feel like a home.

Who’s home? I have no idea, but it meant something to her, which meant it meant something to us.

I find Teegan’s locker with ease. I mean, it would be hard to miss since it’s still blinged out with her name in red rhinestones.

Yanking the door open, her perfectly color coordinated outfits are hung neatly from darkest to lightest. My lips quirk as I quickly swish through the lingerie until I reach several sets of pink outfits with tags still attached.

Tee, you sneaky bitch. Immediately, a soft pink babydoll with a matching thong catches my attention.

It reminds me of the night Max chased me out of here—the night that changed me down to my roots.

As far as revenge fits go, I’d say this one is perfect.

All that’s left is a killer set of heels, and knowing Teegan, she wouldn’t leave those up to chance.

Shuffling through her vast collection, a sleek, pink ribbon reminiscent of a ballet slipper piques my attention. I quickly pull on the fabric, knocking several shoes loose, revealing the most Barbie-esque platforms of my dreams.

I tie the pink ribbon into a perfect bow over my shin before standing from the old bench.

With a spin on my heels, I inspect my reflection through the fingerprint smudged floor-length mirror.

Goddamn, I look good. The babydoll fits snugly against my breasts, splitting down the cleavage and showing my entire abdomen.

Turning to the side, I check out my ass to ensure that the straps of my thong aren’t twisted on my hips.

Satisfied with my fit check, I pop my lips together a few times, spreading my signature pink lipstick evenly.

“Stage is ready for you, babe!” Teegan yells from the door.

My heels click loud as hell as I strut towards my best friend. Her glossy, red lips part widely as her laugh rings out over the music booming from the stage speakers. “Oh my fucking God. That—” She sweeps her hand up and down with a giggle. “Is perfect.”

“I thought you’d appreciate it.” I wink before spinning in a circle to give her a full view .

“Warning you now, I saw someone roll up on a bike. I’m pretty sure he came alone—but you know he’s gonna spread your arrival to the MC,” she says.

My lip twitches slightly at the mention of the Butchers. I wanted this, and I made damn sure to get it. Let them think I’m back workin’ at Mo’s for all I care. “Good. I hope word still travels fast around here.”

Pushing out of the locker room, I put a little extra sway in my hips as I walk toward the darkened stage.

The familiar beat of my favorite remix plays quietly while the DJ for the night spins my intro song.

Wolf whistles echo around the bar, bringing a genuine smile to my face.

“Next up, who you’ve all been waiting to return, under a new name—give it up for Stevie,” the DJ’s gravelly voice booms over the music.

Carefully, I step to the side of the pink, steel pole at the center of the stage.

Gripping it with both hands, I toss my head back and pop my chest out more than it already is.

My knees meet the floor as I slide my hands down the pole with a slight twist, like I would if I were giving a performance worthy hand job.

The music takes over in my mind, shoving my plans for revenge to the backburner while I pop back up, just enough to spin around the rod while strategically kicking my feet to give the illusion that I’m walking on air.

Dollar bills fly on the stage at every angle, encouraging me to get closer to the crowd.

Dropping to my knees, I ignore the blunt pain and follow through with my signature move—the one I adopted the night that everything went to hell in a handbasket.

Slowly, I crawl forward, tossing my hair side to side before leaning back on the thick heels of my platforms. My knees spread wide as I flash the tiny scrap of light pink satin between my legs.

Adrenaline thrums through me the moment my hand dips over my cleavage.

It’s addictive, the rush that comes with teasing a room full of men—knowing that I hold this power over them, over their money.

My hand trails low and slow until I reach my core.

Lifting my hips, I give an award winning show of faux grinding on myself before untying the bow with my free hand.

“Take it off, Stevie!” Teegan howls, shaking her bare chest with enthusiasm.

Smiling, I follow her order and pull the straps sensually from my shoulders.

An unsurprising rain of cash flows from the faceless crowd, prompting more demands.

Through the corner of my eye, a man stands close to the side of the stage.

Too close. My heart stutters with the opportunity to give someone a little attention—someone who I’d bet my savings is part of the club that kicked me when I was already down.

I throw myself forward and crawl toward him as the pink lights flash in his direction, showcasing his leather vest. Game on, boys.

Popping up to my full height, I lick my lips and toss him a wink before beckoning for him to come and get me.

He narrows his inklike eyes, likely gauging how serious I am.

Oh, honey. If you only knew. A wicked smirk pulls at the corner of my lip as I bend forward and pat my knees, as if I’m trying to get a puppy’s attention.

I am fully aware that I really shouldn’t poke the beast—but how could I resist when he’s right there?

There’s a sickening satisfaction in the way his broad chest rises and falls rapidly from my instigation.

It’s almost as addictive as dancing. Almost. He snaps forward and jumps onto the stage.

I hold my breath as I drink in the view of his dark leather vest and the patches sewn to it.

Above the black and white embroidered Sergeant-at-Arms patch sits another that reads Stone.

I grip the collar of his t-shirt and pull him back with each careful step to the center of the stage.

His spiced cologne mingles with my fruity perfume, coaxing saliva to pool over my tongue. “You’re playin’ games with the wrong one, Stevie ,” he drawls .

“I have a message that I need you to send for me.” I abruptly turn and grind against his groin. “Tell Jameson and Mack that I’m back now—for good.”