Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Legs
It didn’t take long for the shine to wear off. As much as I enjoyed working at Au, being around Midas was slowly killing me. I thought I could keep my feelings in check, I mean, Midas made that shit look easy. Sex was just sex, right? I know that better than anyone.
But every time Midas touched me, I craved him a little more.
He’d become my drug of choice, and even though I knew it was toxic, I couldn’t stop craving that next fix.
Being next to him day in and day out was proving to be torture, which meant, in an ironic twist of fate, I was grateful for the distance he put between us outside of work.
It was the only time I felt like I could breathe.
It also gave me the opportunity to get to know everyone else better.
I’m not sure what I was expecting when I came to Raven’s. I just knew I couldn’t stay with the Chaos Demons anymore.
Watching Kaz with Mercy had been harder than I’d thought it would be, but coming here and putting distance between us made me realize that my feelings for him weren’t real.
In my head, I’d built up a fantasy world where Kaz played the hero, and I’d hung onto that dream longer than I should have.
I know club girls don’t get happily-ever-afters with bikers of their own, but I couldn’t help holding onto a sliver of hope.
At least until now.
Now I get it. It was never about Kaz. It was always about me and the life I’ve been craving.
I don’t want to think about it right now—it’s not the time—but I know it’s coming.
I can’t be a club whore forever, and thanks to Blade’s assurance that I can leave whenever, regardless of the tattoo, that dream can one day be a reality.
I just need to figure a few things out first.
Even with all my experience, I’ve missed out on a lot of the basic stuff most people my age already know. Hell, I didn’t have a bank account until recently, and I’ve never lived alone.
Now that I’m doing more things for myself, I’m getting a crash course in survival—while having the comfort of knowing my room is guaranteed here as long as I spread my legs. And I have. I swallow my mixed feelings on the matter. I have a job to do, and I’m not talking about Au.
I’d held out for weeks in the beginning, giving Midas a chance to work through his issues.
A small part of me hoped that he’d come to me and tell me he wanted more—that he just wanted to be with me.
But then he took Lil up to his room, and something inside me shifted.
I wasn’t mad, though. He didn’t do anything wrong. He’d just reminded me who I am.
Lil had looked over her shoulder at me as he led her out, worry written all over her face. I guess I hadn’t hidden my feelings as well as I’d thought, but I’d be damned if I let history repeat itself. So I gave her a wink and a grin, holding it until she disappeared through the doors.
As soon as she was gone, I let my smile drop. I turned to the prospect behind the bar to order a drink and got drunk. It was the stark reminder I needed of my station in life.
Now, as I watch him disappear with Kiki, I ignore the pain and think about the inventory that needs doing at work tomorrow. Maybe I should turn in and get some rest. I could get to work early and finish up before Midas even rolls in. The less time I spend in that man’s company, the better.
With a plan in mind, I jump off the barstool and collide with Toot.
His mischievous eyes take in my tight tank top and denim cut-offs.
“Wanna play a game?” he asks in the creepiest voice he can muster, and I laugh.
I nod, pasting on my practiced smile once more—this is my main job, after all. “Sure. What did you have in mind?”
He points over my shoulder, and I turn to see what he’s pointing at. It’s not a what but a who. Mac. As if sensing us staring, he turns and heads our way. “You still wanna play?”
I picture Midas leaning over Kiki as he thrusts inside her and find myself nodding. “I’m game.”
“Fuck yes,” he growls, slinging his arm around my shoulders.
“My place or yours?”
I’m about to answer, thinking he’s talking to me, when Mac says, “We live together, dickhead.”
I look between them and frown. “You don’t live here? How have I never noticed that before?”
“No, we do. Just in one of the apartments you pass on the way up here.”
“Ah, okay.” I bite my lip, waiting for them to tell me what’s next.
“You sure you’re up for this?” Mac asks.
“Are you going to hurt me?”
He frowns. “No.”
“Then I’m sure.”
He studies my face, probably checking to see if I’m telling the truth. Whatever he sees must satisfy him, because he nods to Toot. “Lead the way.”
I don’t bother looking at anyone as we leave, I just follow them out and let them lead me to their apartment. I don’t get to take it in, though, because the second we step inside, their hands are all over me.
This isn’t the first time I’ve slept with two guys. Hell, I’ve slept with more than two at a time. I’ve had painful experiences and ones filled with pleasure.
Over the years, I’ve learned to compartmentalize—push some things aside, lock others away—because if I hadn’t, I’d be a basket case rocking in the corner.
.. or worse. I think it helps that I don’t know anything different.
When I watch a chick flick or a high school movie, it feels so far removed from my reality that I can’t relate to it.
My mind snaps back to the present, and I’m standing before them, naked. As they take me in, I notice that neither of them has removed a stitch of clothing, and somehow, that makes me feel more vulnerable than the fact that there are two of them.
As if sensing my unease, Toot shrugs off his cut and lays it over the back of the sofa.
“In here, we’re not bikers and bunnies. You’re just Legs.
He’s just Mac.” Toot nods toward his brother, who’s removing his cut.
“And I’m just some stupidly hot bastard ready to be your sacrificial lamb and worship at your altar. ”
I burst out laughing, and Mac groans. I look at him, my cheeks sore from smiling. “Is he always like this?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
Toot grins. “He loves me, really.” Then he looks at Mac. “Sofa or bed?”
“Bed.”
Toot salutes, then turns and squats down with his back to me. “Climb aboard.”
I look at Mac, confused. “Um… he wants to give me a piggyback ride?”
“Just go with it.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one that’s naked,” I grumble as I climb on and wrap my arms and legs around Toot, holding on tight when he stands.
Mac moves so he’s standing beside me, his fingertips trailing down my spine. “But see, if you weren’t naked, I wouldn’t be able to do this.”
Before I can take my next breath, his fingers are inside me—and they stay there as Toot carries me upstairs and into the bedroom, where they both proceed to make me forget all about Midas for the next couple of hours.
I close the front door behind me as quietly as I can, not wanting to wake either man now that they’re both asleep.
I make my way back up the hill toward the saloon, rubbing my arms to chase away the chill in the air.
The sky’s starting to get light, which isn’t surprising given the sex marathon I just survived.
Both men put me through my paces, leaving me feeling deliciously sore.
Any guilt or shame I felt had disappeared within the first hour of being with them.
They were easy to be with, and Toot––of course––made me laugh, even at the worst possible moments, like choking on his brother’s dick.
I chuckle and cross my arms, the cold making my skin break out in goosebumps. It’s quiet. Most people with an ounce of sense are still in bed, which is why I don’t think twice about walking through the saloon to get up to my room. If I had known who was inside, I would’ve taken the back entrance.
At first, I don’t see him, as I make my way through the bar. It isn’t until I hear someone clear their throat that I jump and spin around to see Midas sitting in the back of the room with his feet kicked up on a chair.
“Jesus, Midas, you scared the shit out of me.”
He doesn’t say anything. Just sits there, staring at me, making me feel uneasy.
“Anyway, I’m gonna head on up to bed. Night.”
I turn and take two steps before he speaks.
“Come here, Legs.”
I freeze. There’s something in his voice that makes my hackles rise.
I’m not sure if it’s the fight-or-flight response kicking in—because it’s been permanently disabled after taking years of damage—but something in his tone has me on edge.
I slowly turn back, ready to say no, when he leans forward, his eyes locking on mine.
“Legs,” he warns, like he can read my mind. Taking a deep breath, I blow a loose strand of hair from my face and walk toward him, my stomach knotting.
By the time I’m standing in front of him, I’m a nervous wreck. He gets to his feet and looks me up and down, but I don’t move, feeling like prey caught in a trap.
When his fingertips glide down my arm, I swallow but stay still.
Right now, the only difference between me and a mannequin is the rapid rise and fall of my chest. He circles me slowly, dragging those fingers along with him, trailing them across my shoulder blades and around to my collarbone.
He pauses at the hollow of my throat before dipping his head and breathing me in.
“I can smell them on you,” he snarls.
I fist my hands, unsure what the hell I’m supposed to do. Should I stay and brave it out, or run up to my room and lock the door behind me?
Up until now, I’d never been worried he’d hurt me, but then I’d never seen this level of anger in him before, either.
It’s not the screaming-in-your-face kind of anger, but the scary kind.
The quiet, unpredictable kind that simmers just beneath the surface, ready to explode at any moment.
And right now, I feel like I’m about to be consumed by it.