Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 79338 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79338 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Mila doesn’t know any of us for shit, so I don’t expect her to understand, but I fucking love seeing it. Before I joined the Screaming Eagles, I checked out a few different clubs. Quite a few were nothing but a sorry excuse for a bunch of pissed off boys in men's bodies to cause trouble and not shower regularly, but when I walked through that gate outside it felt fucking right. Eagle-eye and King run this place like a fucking family. A fucked up family by most measurements, sure, but when I saw the way the blooded members treated each other and their women, it made me feel like if I gave them my loyalty, I’d never fucking regret it. And I haven’t.
“What do you think?” Reaper pulls Mila to him, swaying to the music. His hand slides across the bare strip of belly between her shirt and her jeans. “Is it what you expected?”
Her eyes go wide and she takes a nervous sip of beer. “I—I don’t know what I expected. Are all the guys here members?”
“Most of ‘em. Members, prospects when we let’em in, or guys who have someone to vouch for them. It looks laid back, but trust me, after the spring, our security’s tighter than a virgin,” Mack answers. He tugs her out of Reaper's arms and pulls her to him, chest to chest. She raises her arms and links them behind his head, the beer bottle grazing his neck.
“And the women?” she asks breathlessly, Mack’s hands sliding down to cup her ass.
I glance around, taking in the crowd. “Girlfriends, old ladies, some who are just curious and looking for a good time like you, and the sluts.”
Mila winces when I say slut. “Those are like, your groupies or something, right? It sounds so… demeaning.”
“Yo! Indie!” Reaper shouts over the music.
A pretty redhead, who’s been around for the last year or so wanders over. She’s wearing nothing but a t-shirt and boots. I’m sure if I ask if she’s wearing anything under there, she’d be more than happy to prove the answer’s no.
Indie licks her lips and slides up next to Reaper. She runs her hand up his chest and looks at Mila curiously. “You boys looking for company? Or if you want to watch, I’d be happy to get to know your girl,” she purrs. “She’s cute.”
“Nah, that wasn’t what I…” Reaper considers it for a moment and looks at Mila. “Unless you want—”
Mila’s face flushes and she shakes her head. “No! No offense, Indie.”
Indie shrugs. “So what’s up?”
“You mind being called a slut?” I ask.
She leaves Reaper’s side and comes to me. She twirls slowly to the music, showing off the moves she’s gained working the stage at the Roost. “Depends on who’s saying it. You boys? It’s tradition. I earned it. This club is home. It’s like me and my friends calling each other bitches. We can do it, but anyone else?” She grins and there’s something sharp and eager in her eyes. “I’ll make them eat their own fucking balls. So if you’re taking a fucking gender studies class or some shit, don’t worry about us. We know what and who we’re doing. Trust me, they’re worth it.”
Indie blows Mila a kiss and slips back into the crowd. It doesn’t take long before one of the brothers notices she’s free and pulls her to him. She laughs as he puts his hand up her shirt and—yep, nothing underneath. But it’s not Indie’s ass that interests me, it’s the sexy little gasp Mila does when she sees another guy do the same, both of them leaning in close to whisper something to Indie.
Me, Reaper and Mack share a silent moment of agreement. It’s pretty damn clear we’re all down to show the sexy little college student a good time. None of us mind a little healthy competition, but it’s a hell of a lot more fun when we can all cross the finish line.
I take Mila’s hand and Mack releases his hold, letting me have my turn. She tears her eyes off Indie and the others, and looks up. I slip the beer bottle from her fingers and raise it to my own lips, flicking my tongue against the lip before taking a swig.
“That’s mine,” she says in a breathy whisper.
“Sorry.” I cup her chin and lower my mouth to hers, letting her taste the bitter hops on my lips as I kiss her.
Her hands creep up my chest, the tips of her fingers nearly touching my nipple rings. “Are you?”
“Not one fucking bit.”
Reaper comes up behind her and runs a finger over the pulse point and down her neck. “Want to go somewhere a little quieter?”
She hesitates.
“We're not gonna hurt you, beautiful,” Mack murmurs. “We're gonna give you a night you’ll remember for the rest of your fucking life.”