Page 92 of Beyond the Badge: Crew

She shouldn’t have been surprised by the somewhat serious answer. She didn’t want to ask if the women were on board with being “borrowed.” The answer might piss her off.

Before she could move down the bar and end that ridiculous—and sort of scary—conversation, another biker squeezed in between Vice and the guy warming the stool next to him.

“Ain’t she a little too… baked for your taste, Vice?”

Baked? Like a fucking potato?

The yellow-toothed biker shrugged. “Bitches all look the same if you turn off the lights. All ya gotta do is find the wet spot.”

That had to be a recurring theme for these guys. Don’t like what the woman looks like? Just turn off the lights. A quick and easy solution.

In all honesty, the woman probably appreciated it, too. Who wanted to see some of these guys doing the ol’ twisted sex face while sweating and panting as they hovered over them?

Not her.

Not any woman with two eyeballs and some dignity.

She also doubted any of these “borrowed” women got wet from Vice’s romantic moves.

“Are you saying I look like a potato?” she asked the newcomer.

“Sayin’ you look like your blood ain’t pure.”

“Pure of what?” she continued despite the fact she really shouldn’t be pushing this, but it was annoying the hell out of her. “White and red blood cells?”

“Like you ain’t born here.”

She jabbed her finger into the bar top. “You mean, likerighthere? On this bar? You’re right, I wasn’t. That would’ve been a bit unsanitary.”

“You got a smart mouth,” the biker grumbled.

“I’ve been told that before.” With a tip of her head, she decided it wasn’t good to verbally spar with those fine folks and headed away from them.

As she did, she spotted the manager on the other side of the bar. He was hard to miss since he was so damn big. While she was good at self-defense, she wouldn’t want to take him on simply based on size alone.

As the next hour proceeded, she kept one eye on him as she mixed drinks and poured beers, delivering them to the customers both sitting at the bar and at the tables.

Once Bulldog was done making his rounds and socializing with various bikers, he joined her and Cap behind the bar. She sidled up to the big man. “Hey, boss.”

He dropped his gaze down to her and grunted in response.

She took that grunt as a sign he was listening. “Just wondering if I can order one of those specialty drinks that Hook’s making tonight to take home after work. My ol’ man appreciated the one I got last night.”

After running his gaze over her, he stared at her face for so long, she thought he wasn’t going to answer.

Finally, he grumbled, “Gonna cost you.”

Of course it would and she’d gladly pay with money. But nothing else. She drew the line at giving head or having sex in exchange for drugs. Just the thought of that caused bile to work its way up her throat.

Luckily, the agency frowned on that type of activity. As they should.

“Can you take it out of tonight’s pay?”

“You’re workin’ for tips,” he reminded her.

Damn.She was hoping he wouldn’t remember that fact.

“You’ve been fuckin’ hustlin’ all night, makin’ the bar more scratch than normal. Tell you what…”

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