Chapter Three
Vixen glanced around Satan’s Bar and sighed heavily.
She’d been on her feet for seven hours straight, and she hadn’t even had time to sit and have a quick coffee. With Elle and Cole at the wedding, and Scars not around as bar manager for obvious reasons, Vixen was in charge… and she was finding it all pretty overwhelming. If she wasn’t trying to handle her usual table-waiting duties, then she was watching the other waitresses who seemed to lose any sense of work ethic when the MC guys weren’t around to impress. If she wasn’t doing all of that, then she was helping the temp kitchen staff get the food out, or rushing behind the bar to pour a few drinks when the backlog of orders got too much.
In these seven hours, Vixen had decided that she wasn’t management or supervisor material. She was looking forward to the next day, when things would settle down a bit, and she could just go back to waiting tables. Scars wouldn’t be around for a couple of days since he and Zoe were taking the weekend as a mini-honeymoon, but at least Elle and Cole would be back.
And so would he .
She huffed out another sigh, an exasperated one this time, and reminded herself to just stop thinking about that asshole. OK, sure, they’d had lots of fun in the bar back rooms for the past eighteen months or so, but after what he said to her two weeks ago, that was never going to happen again. Vixen might be free and easy with her body, but she’d never felt cheap in the whole of her life – not until he’d called her a whore.
It wasn’t like it was a new word as far as she was concerned. She’d been called that for years and years: by the other high school kids, her religious parents, other women whose boyfriends or husbands made a play for her. By the other waitresses at Satan’s, the customers, sometimes the MC guys too.
But she’d never felt like one. She’d never been ashamed of her sexual desires, or her history, or her escapades. Truthfully, Vixen had always just loved sex and adored men, and she’d been blessed enough to be very naturally attractive to them, and so she’d been able to choose the hottest, sexiest bed partners and the best lovers. She didn’t really understand what was wrong with any of that… she was honest about what she wanted, she never lied or made any false promises, she never pressured anyone for a relationship, she never got involved with married men or guys in relationships that she knew about. She believed in consent, honesty, mutual respect and generously giving each other a good time. What was so wrong with that?
That was a stupid question, of course. What was wrong with all of that was that she was a woman, and women weren’t supposed to bed hop without shame or guilt; women weren’t supposed to enjoy sex with lots of different partners. A steady boyfriend, sure. A husband, definitely. But a guy that a woman just picked up at a bar during her shift because she found him sexy? No way. And an MC member or seven just because she had a things for bad-boys and was surrounded by them every minute of every work day? Nuh-uh. No goddamn way.
So Vixen was considered a whore, though if she’d been a man, she’d have been called a ‘player’, or she’d be described as ‘sowing her wild oats’, or something equally lighthearted and non-judgmental. No way anyone would think that she was trashy for enjoying consensual short-term flings. But she was a woman – a youngish, attractive one – so whore was what was flung in her face, over and over.
She’d never cared all that much, though. Vixen was a lot of things, but she wasn’t oblivious or stupid – she was very self-aware and no hypocrite. She knew what she liked and wanted, and she felt zero guilt or embarrassment about any of that. She also never thought less of a man who wanted to bed her a few times, but didn’t want a relationship. If he cared about her having a good time, and they were sexually compatible, then why would she think anything bad about him? It was illogical and it was small-minded and it was a waste of time.
So she’d had a very healthy – and by-and-large satisfying – sex life for almost fifteen years now, even since she turned seventeen. Not every guy was anything to write home about, but to be fair, a solid seventy percent of them had had their charms and their talents. She’d taken her pleasure where she thought it could be found, and that had been just how she liked it.
And then along came him .
Fucking fucking Ice .
The whole thing with him hadn’t started in an unusual way: she’d started working at Satan’s about four years ago, he’d caught her eye, she’d caught his, and as Vixen well knew, she was attractive. Having said that, though, her own physical beauty paled and flickered and died when placed beside Ice’s. God , the man was gorgeous. In an MC with hot men crawling all over the damn show, almost like being sexy-as-hell was a requirement for membership, Ice was something unbelievable. Something special.
He was tall and broad (as anyone with eyes and a single functioning brain cell could notice), and she knew full well that that astonishing body was pure power and strength, and covered in tattoos that only defined the grooves and ridges of muscle. His blond hair was always cut short – she assumed it was a holdover from his days in the military, not that he ever talked about any of that – and it accentuated sharp cheekbones and a mouth that was almost always set in a firm, set line. He looked hard and dangerous and masterful and he ticked every single box that she had when it came to a temporary bedmate.
But what really set Ice apart from every other drop-dead sexy Road Devil, at least for Vixen, were his eyes.
Oh, not their color, though they were an incredible blue, the kind of blue that could be seen clear across a dark, smoky bar. A blue that stopped you where you stood, just stole your breath as strong as jumping into a frozen lake in January. His eyes were so damn cold , so emotionless, so frightening. Even after hundreds of safe, amazing encounters alone with Ice in the bar back rooms, Vixen still shivered when those unearthly and impassive eyes rested on her, even for a few seconds, when she was just serving up drinks to a customer and happened to glance up. So the astonishing color wasn’t what made Ice’s eyes her favourite part of his impressive body… no, not at all.
What Vixen loved about them was how they looked when Ice was buried deep inside of her, fucking her up against a wall, that massive chest moving above her as he thrust faster and faster. In these moments, Ice just nailed his fierce gaze on her face, he held her eyes the whole time, he actually zoned in and watched her lose her mind as he pushed her closer to the edge of orgasm. Right then, right there, his eyes were blue fire, blazing heat, molten desire. For the past eighteen months, nobody had seen those eyes like that – nobody but her.
And now that was all over.
Fucking, fucking Ice .
“Vixen! Hey, Vixen!”
She started at the voice calling her name, then looked around Satan’s. She wondered just how long she’d been standing in one place, daydreaming about Ice’s eyes as he held her writhing body closer, remembering how his breath felt against her ear as he growled for her to come for him. And she always did, right on command, her body helpless in its response.
“ Vixen !”
She turned with a small sigh, saw that Melanie was behind the bar looking hassled and waving her over. Vixen walked across the room, felt the men’s eyes on her thighs, her ass, her breasts. Pride kept her head high and her stride confident; she might be hurting but no goddamn way she was going to announce it to the world.
“What’s up, Mel?” she asked lightly. She knew that Melanie was no fan of hers, but Vixen always tried to be polite to her fellow staff members, no matter how they spoke to her. “You want me to pour or serve?”
“Serve,” Melanie snapped, grabbing a glass and dumping ice into it. “We’ve got at least six tables waiting for their drinks, and that useless idiot Cara disappeared into the bathroom at least twenty minutes ago.”
“Really?” Vixen shot a quick look around the heaving bar, looking for the newest waitress. “Again?”
“Yeah really, and yeah again,” Melanie said in exasperation, pouring out a good three fingers of whisky into the glass. “You didn’t notice that Julianne’s been handling the whole room all alone, while you were standing there looking vacant and barely-dressed? What were you doing anyway… scoping out your fuck buddy for the night? Or two?”
Vixen looked at her sharply, considered responding in kind, but then subsided. Again, being insulted about her skimpy clothes and her sexual history was nothing new – it just hit a bit harder in this moment.
She shrugged, put several drinks on her tray. “I was just catching my breath. It’s been full-on all day, and I needed a minute.”
“Yeah, sure.” Melanie shook her dark head, started pouring a beer. “You’d know all about things being full-on, huh?”
“Where am I taking these?” Vixen hefted the tray and studiously ignored the insult. “Which tables?”
“The shots to table eleven, the beers to sixteen, the rum-and-coke to twenty-five, and the whisky on the rocks to twenty-six.”
“OK. Got it.”
Vixen made the rounds, setting down drinks with a murmur of apology for the wait, expertly evading groping hands as she gracefully pivoted with her tray. She knew this game very well, and she’d never had any trouble playing it: after all, she was a woman serving up alcohol in a biker bar, and that came with certain expectations. She knew that being ‘barely-dressed’ as Melanie had said was a basic requirement (and it’s not like Mel was wearing a snowsuit herself), as was flirting with the customers. Vixen made a decent wage, but she depended on her tips to pay her bills and still have a bit left over to save and top up her emergency fund.
So flashing a bit of thigh was mandatory, making sure to bend over so the men got an eyeful of deep cleavage was required, throwing her head back and exposing her neck when she laughed at their inane jokes was the bare minimum. Vixen got it, every woman who worked at Satan’s got it – but it was only she who was flogged and chastised for it.
Well. So be it. She’d double down, triple down… now that she knew what Ice really thought about her, she was free once again to do whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted. Despite the whispered rumors and persistent gossip and boasts made by numerous men, she hadn’t been with anybody but Ice for well over a year, and they both knew it damn good and well. They’d never declared that they were anything official, but they’d been something . Vixen still didn’t know what that might have been, but it had meant something to her and (she’d thought) to Ice too.
I was wrong about that, though, wasn’t I?
And now it was time to be with somebody else, if she chose. She was fully a free agent, right?
Right .
Bang on cue, the door opened and in walked a man that she’d never seen at Satan’s before; her mouth almost dropped open as she clocked that he was her dream man to a T. Easily a strapping six-foot-four and two-hundred-and-thirty pounds of muscle, he entered the large room like he owned the place. Dark hair framing a chiselled face, dark eyes flashing, dark tattoos appearing as he stripped off his leather jacket. Confidence and sex appeal rolled off him in a steady wave, and every woman in the bar blinked in a sort of sex haze.
“Holy Lord.” Julianne stood next to Vixen, staring as the man sat his snugly-jeaned ass at a table in her section. “Who the hell is that ?”
Vixen nodded at the man. “He’s at one of your tables. Go find out.”
“Damn right I will,” Julianne tossed her hair back, licked her full lips. “Too bad for you, huh?”
Vixen shrugged, her long blonde hair cascading over her slim shoulders. “Sure.”
Julianne sauntered over, her full hips swinging in her sprayed-on black jeans, her toned mid-riff exposing her sparkling navel ring. She was a pretty girl and she was a good ten years younger than Vixen and she got her fair share of male attention – but Vixen was a showstopper and always had been. She’d see if tall, dark and sexy would go for Julianne, and if not, Vixen would step up.
She returned to the bar now to pick up another round of drinks, and by the time she’d turned around, Julianne was standing next to her looking grumpy.
“What’s wrong?” Vixen asked her, lifting the full tray easily; working at Satan’s was better than lifting weights any day. “Is he an asshole?”
“Nope.” Julianne huffed and tossed her hair again, this time in annoyance. “He asked for you .”
Vixen raised her eyebrows. Even for her, in this place that was her official stomping ground, this was crazy-fast in terms of return, especially considering that she hadn’t even exchanged a single glance with him, let alone a word.
“Why?” she said, throwing a quick look at the man. He was sitting with his massive arms crossed, impressive biceps popping out of his tight black t-shirt, and looking over at her with a frank and open expression. “Why me?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Melanie chimed in now, pouring tequila into shot glasses. “Your reputation precedes you, huh?”
“You think?” Vixen said mildly, though her temper was starting to flare. It took quite a bit to really get her mad – she’d always had a pretty long fuse and a slow burn – but when she was angry, then she was seriously pissed . And this bitch was getting on Vixen’s last, frayed, hurt and exhausted nerve.
“I know ,” Melanie snapped, pushing her hair out of her eyes. “Jesus Christ, you’ve got to be the biggest fucking slut in the state! Then again, whores make better tips, right?”
And that was it – Vixen was done. Maybe if Mel had just called her a slut, or maybe even a ‘see you next Tuesday’, she’d have been able to keep her cool, but she’d gone and chosen that despised word. Despite having heard it a million times, it hit way differently now that it had been hurled at her from Ice’s mouth. With a crunch in the pit of her taut stomach, Vixen realized that she’d never again be able to hear the word without thinking of him.
Fucking, fucking Ice .
“Well,” she said deliberately. “Seeing as I’m the one that he wants and not you, I’ll take your table then, Julianne. I’ll swap you for one of mine. How about…” Vixen looked around her section, spotted the two creepy guys with no teeth and for some reason, both missing a couple of fingers, “…You take table eighteen. I think those boys are much more your speed, huh? Maybe you can even take one home tonight, with a bit of effort, what do you think?” She turned, glanced over her shoulder at her fellow waitresses. “Remember, whores make better tips. Right, Mel?”
Off she sailed without another look at their furious faces, making sure to hold the man’s gaze as she slowly approached, giving him plenty of time to check out and appreciate her assets as they moved closer to him. He was leaning back in his chair now, those dark eyes alight with interest and a heat that she’d normally respond to immediately, on a feral and primal level.
But for some reason, she didn’t feel anything at his wolf-like smile, or at his gorgeous face that was a normally-irresistible mixture of warrior and angel. Despite her efforts, her own dazzling smile was perfunctory, her slinky movements automatic, nothing was going on below the surface for her. And then it hit her: seeing blatant, ferocious desire in dark eyes was wrong, all wrong .
Blazing heat, molten desire, and flame in ice-cold blue eyes… that was all she wanted to see. Nothing else, nobody else, interested her or spoke to her body. Not anymore.
The thought of flirting with this man, playing coy and cute and coquette, exhausted her. The whole process of negotiating her way into some kind of sexual encounter – tacitly agreeing to terms, giving consent, getting into a back room, starting to get undressed, then having to hope that he could give her pleasure, all while getting to know a stranger’s body yet again – utterly repelled her. She didn’t want to see this man without his clothes on, she didn’t want him to see her naked; she wasn’t turned on by his muscles and tattoos, his handsome face and massive hands. It was all so boring, and it was another spin of the revolving door of how she’d lived her life for fifteen years, and she just didn’t care .
Abruptly, Vixen turned right around and headed back to the bar. She didn’t look behind her, but she imagined that the man was watching her pert ass march away from his table with an air of confusion, and no wonder, because Vixen had been doing that sexy sashay his way, up until seven seconds ago.
She reached the other waitresses, saw their puzzlement. She set her still-full tray down without any explanation, without a single word. It wasn’t until she started walking towards the staffroom that Melanie and Julianne opened their mouths.
“Hey!” Mel called after her. “Where the hell are you going?”
Vixen didn’t even break her stride. “For a break. I’m way overdue one.”
“But,” Julianne protested. “We’re getting slammed out here, and I’m on my own.”
Vixen opened the staff room door, then turned and faced them, her dark eyes narrowed. “Then go get that lazy bitch Cara out of the bathroom. Get her to do her fucking job.”
She stepped into the small room, shut the door behind her. She half expected Melanie to come charging in after her, and she braced for an escalation of the confrontation, but nobody followed her. Vixen turned on the kettle for a cup of green tea, and as it boiled away happily, she finally relaxed. She also started to reflect on what the actual hell had just happened.
Well. Not what had happened… but why it had.
Oh, Jesus. Come on, you know why .
So it was when Vixen was sitting on the sofa in the bar staffroom, sipping her tea, that she finally admitted the truth to herself:
Smiling and flirting with tall, dark and sexy out there had felt so wrong because it had felt like cheating. Vixen could be accused of being a lot of crappy things, but a cheat wasn’t one of them.
And if it had felt like cheating, then that meant that she felt committed to someone.
So, there it was… she felt like she was involved with Ice, and not just for steamy, mind-blowing sex in bar back rooms, either. She cared about Ice, and liked him, and wanted to be with him and just him, and even though they weren’t speaking, just the thought of even kissing another man felt like she was cheating on him.
No, they’d never declared anything, and they sure as hell weren’t official or formal – and somehow none of that mattered. Despite his cruelty two weeks before, she still felt tied to him, and truthfully, she was as hurt and angry as she was because she had come to have feelings for him. She’d thought well of him as a person and as a man… probably better than he deserved, based on his recent behavior.
So. In her mind and heart, Vixen was with him. Only him.
Goddammit .
Fucking, fucking Ice .