2. Cameron
CAMERON
Rounding the bar, Cameron let out an exhausted breath as he placed the case of beer onto the polished bartop.
“Jesus, that’s heavy,” Cameron huffed, opening the top of the case and pulling out each bottle one after the other.
“Don’t complain. It’s a great way to work out those massive pipes of yours,” Alexis joked.
Cameron looked down at his arm and groaned.
He knew he wasn’t the strongest chap in the bar, and his muscles could be classified as “under development” if they had to be categorized, but he wouldn’t say he lacked muscle by any means. He was a… work in progress, if anyone asked.
“We can’t all be massive beasts like Marcus and Nikolai. Some of us need to be cute and fun,” Cameron explained.
“Hey, I’m cute and fun,” Nikolai noted as he walked around the bar, carrying two cases in his massive arms. His Russian accent only added to the impression that he was built to break things.
“Yeah, in that ‘I bite the heads off puppies’ sort of way,” Cameron added, breaking down the empty box and passing it to Nikolai so he could take it with him when he went into the back to grab more cases of beer.
“You’re just jealous because my muscles can eat your muscles for breakfast,” Nikolai responded.
Well, he wasn’t wrong there.
“That they could,” Cameron muttered.
They watched as Nikolai disappeared into the back with the empty boxes, then returned to their preopening bar prep. Alexis wiped down the bar while Cameron put away the clean glasses.
The front door opened, flooding the bar with light before plunging it back into its usual smoky darkness.
“Oh, sorry, we’re still closed,” Cameron hollered, turning toward the man who had just walked into their bar. “We open in about an hour.”
His breath caught in his chest the moment he laid eyes on the sexy beast of a man standing in front of him.
The man was tall, at least six foot two, with a shaved head and a beard that gave him a rough and dangerous look.
He was wearing a black, sleeveless, button-up denim shirt, with the first three buttons undone, showing off his massive chest and heavily tattooed arms. To top it all off, the man had a tribal design tattooed on the side of his skull that extended down his neck and disappeared under his shirt.
“I’m looking for Marcus. I’m Basher,” the man said in a deep, growly voice that went straight to Cameron’s dick.
He placed his right hand on the bar, showing off the large rose tattoo he had inked on the back of his hand as he waited for Cameron to answer his question.
Jesus, the man was smoking hot in that ex-convict sort of way.
Cameron immediately felt his dick begin to swell and his throat go dry.
He had a thing for heavily tattooed bad boys, especially those who disrespected their partners. What could he say? He liked toxic men.
That was one of the reasons he had taken a job working as a bartender in a biker bar. Loads of hot and sexy men.
Some gay… some questioning—all toxic as fuck.
“You’re the new guy, right?” Alexis asked, tossing a small towel over her shoulder. “He’s in the back.”
Nodding, Basher turned and headed toward the back without another word.
They both watched until the growly stranger disappeared behind the swinging door.
“Holy shit. I think I just creamed my shorts.” Cameron moaned, turning and leaning against the bar. “Was that not the hottest man you’ve ever seen?”
Alexis laughed, pulling up the straps that held her shirt firmly in place against her massive boobs.
“Yeah, he’s definitely carrying a loaded weapon.”
Cameron’s pupils dilated. He wondered what it would feel like, having a man like that plow into him. The sex was probably rough and violent. Lots of slapping of his ass as he held his face down into the mattress.
Men like Basher needed to be in control. They took what they wanted and never said thank you.
Fuck. Cameron’s cock was now at full mast. Any more fantasizing, and he was bound to shoot his load right there behind the bar.
He needed a distraction. Time to get back to focusing on the bar.
Twenty minutes later, Marcus, their boss and the fearless leader of the Shadow Vipers, emerged from the back, with Basher following close behind.
Nikolai, Caden, and the rest of the guys followed them out and took seats at the tables and booths around them.
The bar was still closed for another thirty minutes, so the place was quiet and empty.
Cameron placed the rag he was holding down on the bar and turned his attention to his boss and the group gathering around them.
“Listen up, everyone. We got a new guy joining our crew today. This is Basher,” Marcus said, gesturing toward the man standing a few feet away from him, arms crossed tightly against his chest. “He just got out of the joint for drug-related offenses and aggravated assault. He’s going to be working security with Nikolai and Caden. Make the man feel welcome.”
Basher stood there, jaw tight, looking like an angry pit bull waiting for its master to let it attack.
“Welcome,” the guys around him greeted, some slapping his shoulders, others holding up open beers.
The man silently acknowledged them, his eyes slowly moving around the room until they landed on Cameron.
Cameron’s heart stopped in his chest.
Their eyes locked together.
Neither of them moved. Neither of them looked away.
It was as if all the forces in the universe were working to draw the two of them together.
It was the strangest thing.
He felt excited and terrified at the same time.
Eyes stuck on Basher, Cameron wasn’t sure he could pull his gaze away even if he wanted to.
He imagined this was what prey must feel like when caught in the gaze of a predator moments before it strikes. Deep down, it knows that drawing the predator’s attention can only end badly, yet no matter how desperately it wants to escape, it cannot pull away from its captor’s embrace.
Was Basher the predator, and he the prey?
There was something about those pale-gray eyes that held Cameron captive. He couldn’t look away. How could one man feel so intensely aroused and deeply afraid all at once?
He felt drawn to the mystery man—a desire to get to know him and service him and be whatever the man needed him to be.
And hey, if the man ever wanted to murder his hole, Cameron doubted he’d put up much of a fight.
It was in that moment that Cameron realized he was still staring at the guy. Talk about creeping out the straight ex-con.
What was wrong with him?
Shaking off all the hot and sweaty scenarios bombarding his brain, Cameron forced himself to give Basher a friendly smile.
It was in that moment that the spell was broken. Basher’s eyes came back to life. He swallowed hard, then quickly looked away.
Was Cameron seeing that right?
It almost looked like Cameron saw a hint of interest in those pale and dangerous eyes.
Or perhaps that was merely wishful thinking on his part.
Judging by the way the man’s jeans bulged around his crotch, it was clear that the beast was packing more than just a mouthful.
Basher folded his arms across his chest, his biceps bulging as the fabric of his shirt strained against them. The hostile scowl he'd worn when he first entered the bar was back, settling over his features like a storm cloud with no sign of passing.
Licking his lower lip, Cameron tried to keep his eyes off Basher’s swollen body. How one man could be so built was a mystery to him.
Behind his jeans, Cameron felt his cock begin to thicken once again.
Jesus, this man was going to be the death of him.