Page 5 of Shadow’s Protection (Hurricane Heat MC #1)

Shadow

“So, Shadow, who’s the stray?” One of the club bunnies has her hand around a prospect’s cock, but she stops jerking him off to open her mouth to me as I walk past.

“Da fuck?” The kid’s eyes are glassy, and he looks helplessly from her to me.

“You look busy,” I tell her, giving her one chance to shut the fuck up and get back to her own business.

I know this one. She’s a club whore, through and through.

I’ve got nothing against the women who hang around here lapping up free drinks.

They keep their mouths shut when it matters and open them when it counts.

But this one’s always rubbed me wrong, and I hope the prospect knows where to draw the line between a hand job and a commitment.

That’s what they all want. A piece of gold on their hand that gives them claim over us. And this one won’t let it go.

“I got two hands,” she says, trying to sound coy.

I bend low to her and snake my hand underneath her hair. I tug hard enough to move her head but not to hurt her. “Why don’t you do something with that mouth other than use it to talk to me.” I grit the words against her ear, then release her.

She gives a disappointed little whimper but focuses back on the task at hand. I hear the prospect arguing with her quietly as I make my way through the crowd.

A cheer goes up so loud that for a second, I can’t hear the sounds of the wind battering the storm shutters.

I look over to Savage, who’s wearing a white wife-beater under his leather vest, his heavily tatted arms punching the air like a high school football coach.

Two prospects are playing some video game, and based on the scores on the giant screen, it looks like Savage just beat their asses.

Savage is the club’s sergeant-at-arms and is the only one of us with elite professional training in guns and weaponry. He spent a decade in the military, but he won’t talk about what went down or why he got out.

Savage knows this club, our dynamics, our rules, and how to stay under the radar like nobody else we’ve had.

He’s as all in as they come, and the only thing he’s carried over from his military days is his love of video games.

I guess hours of idle time in far-off places with a group of guys prepared him well for life in the compound.

No matter how much shit I give him about playing games, it’s the one thing he does to blow off steam.

I haven’t made it even ten paces when one of two women peels away from Hawk, who’s wearing his signature shades inside—even here, even in the middle of a fucking tropical storm.

“I saw that wet rat the storm washed in.” Penny slides a hand inside the rear pocket of my jeans and cups my ass. “Why’d you go out to the streets when you have everything you could possibly want right here?”

Fucking Penny.

I groan at the familiar touch, and for just a second, my body reacts. Penny’s one of my favorite club bitches. She comes easy and often and genuinely likes to fuck. I know she’s a little sweet on Blade. Since his old lady passed, she talks to him about his kid like she really cares. Maybe she does.

But she wants me, and that ain’t ego talking.

Savage’s going to replace him someday, I’m fairly fucking certain of that.

And I don’t give a shit. Savage has nothing but this club, just like Phantom.

I’m stable where I am, and I plan on staying in the room with the brass VP plaque for a hell of a long time.

And there’ll have to be an ice storm in hell before I put a ring on any woman’s finger. Doesn’t stop Penny from trying, though.

Being the old lady of the VP would come with status, perks. Put her high in the pecking order. Give her claim to the thing they all want more than anything—to be part of us. Of what this is.

Normally, on a night like this, I’d take Penny back to my room and let her drain me dry with her mouth, her pussy, anything and everything.

I’d probably let her bring a friend or two like we’ve done a few times in the past. But tonight, she’s got jealousy written all over her face.

Yet another reason I don’t let any of these women get too close.

I gently tug her hand out of my pocket. “Blade looks like he’s missing your company.”

She gives me a little pout, a slight twist of her lips, then cocks her chin. “At least somebody around here does.”

She tosses her long hair over her shoulder and sidles right back up to Blade, who is so immersed in talking to Jackie, I don’t think he even noticed Penny leave.

Penny eyes me dangerously while she slides herself right up under Blade’s arms, snuggles against his chest, and pulls his face down for an openmouthed kiss.

Good fucking riddance.

Penny can be a petty bitch, but that’s one of the things I actually like about her. She says what she thinks, and she takes what she wants.

As she sucks Blade’s face, I can’t help but think of Violet.

I wonder if she’s naked in my room right now.

I shake off the thoughts. She’s too fucking innocent.

That sundress, those sweet green eyes. As much as I want to see what she looks like staring up at me, her lips wrapped around my cock, I don’t go for damsels in distress.

They’re always way more trouble than they’re worth.

I shove aside any curiosity I may have. I’m done playing Boy Scout. It’s time to get fucked up.

The beer in my hand is getting warm, and I need something stronger. I head over to the bar and hand the beer to a prospect who’s three deep in line. “Drink that,” I tell him, then cut to the front of the line and lean my elbows on the bar.

“You back for a good time, baby?” The bartender, Stella, leans on her elbows too, as if expecting me to unzip my pants at the sight of her tits.

I pinch my brows between two fingers. “Gimme a whiskey.”

“Comin’ right up, Shadow.” The way Stella says my name makes my skin fucking crawl.

It’s as if the walls are closing in. The heat, the people, the noise. I’m not in the mood for any of this tonight.

Phantom is leaning against a wall by the front door, talking to Viper, our enforcer, and glaring over the crowd.

Just then, some woman slips, twisting her heel on something sticky on the floor. She squeals so loudly, I nearly jump outta my skin. She’s on the floor laughing, but a loud snap of Viper’s fingers and two prospects jump from the card game they are playing to help her up.

“Clean that shit.” Viper doesn’t need to finish the sentence before the prospects are scrambling for a mop and bucket.

Stella comes back with a glass of whiskey, and she starts in on me again. “Shadow, if I’d known you were interested in babysitting, I’d have worn my little-girl dress too.”

I grab the glass and down it in one chug, the liquor burning its way down my throat. I flare my nostrils and slam the empty glass down on the bar. “Gimme another,” I say. But before Stella can turn around to refill me, I tell her, “Fuck that. Gimme the bottle.”

“Hmmm, somebody’s looking to have a good time tonight.”

I practically wrench the bottle from her hands and turn away from her. I scan the smoky room, looking for any place to sit that doesn’t have people fucking or talking or playing or generally being shitheads.

No such luck.

The lights flicker off and on again, and I think of Violet, back in the relative quiet of my room. Helpless, terrified, innocent Violet.

I make a snap decision. Grabbing the bottle of whiskey, I head down the corridor. When I reach my room, I pound on the door.

“Violet, it’s me. Open up.”

It takes about ten seconds before I hear the dead bolt turn. She opens the door a crack and peeks out.

“Yes? Is everything all right?” She’s looking exactly the same as she did when I left her—wet, dressed, and terrified.

“That’s what I’m here to find out.” I hold up the bottle. “I brought something a little stronger than the beer.”

She looks from me to the bottle of whiskey and doesn’t say anything.

The corner of my mouth lifts. “You gonna open that door, sweetheart? I did say I’m the only one you could let in.”

“Oh God. Yes, of course. I just thought…” She yanks the door open and steps out of the way. “Of course, come back in. I just thought you’d want to…that you’d be…” She waves a hand toward the door. “Out there. With your friends.”

“In our clubhouse.” I drop the bottle on the end table next to the couch and grin.

“I forgot what you called it.” Her face is blushing hard, and I can’t help thinking how different she is from my “friends.”

“Compound,” I tell her, kicking off my boots and dropping onto the couch.

“I have so many questions,” she says quietly, a huge smile on her face. “But it seemed rude to ask.”

I uncap the whiskey and take a long drink from the bottle. I hold it out and offer her a sip.

She looks at it but then motions toward the beer. “I haven’t even finished that yet.”

I shake my head. “Don’t matter. Looks like we’re gonna be here awhile. Unless this storm does something to shock the weather people, we might be locked down into tomorrow night.”

A small frown plays on her lips, and it hits me like a fist to the gut. She’s beautiful. Maybe a little uptight, definitely still scared. But she’s fucking gorgeous. I can think of worse ways to ride out a storm.

I hold the bottle to my lips again. “The way I see it, you got two choices. You can get drunk and pass out, miss the whole damn thing. Or you can sit here and freak out every time the lights flicker.” I take another sip. “I sure as hell know what I plan to do.”

“Can I ask about this place?” she asks, holding out a tentative hand for the whiskey.

I hand it to her. “I’ll make you a deal. You got a question, you take a shot. You do that, I’ll answer anything you ask.”

“And you’ll tell me the truth?” She’s standing in front of me, looking at me with this combination of curiosity and something that makes the blood heat in my veins.