Page 7 of Desert King

“Why do you hate me so much?” My voice cracks.

“I hate everyone, mouse.”

“…but you saved me.”

“Nah, I like the fight. Like the blood‏‏—the sound of crushing bones.”

“I don’t believe you.”

He comes closer, the tips of his boots kiss my worn-out Vans. His finger lifts my chin. “You just added more to the debt you owe me. This is your second rescue in one day.”

“So? You’ve already said, there’s nothing I have of value.”

His full lips turn up in a sneer. “My specialty is finding things of value from broken, dumped things.”

“I’m not broken. Or dumped.”

“Now you’re just lying to yourself, mouse. You’re in the middle of nowhere, in a shithole strip joint with no car and no money.”

My chin lifts. “I have money.”

He shakes his head. “If you manage not to get jumped a second time.”

“I can handle myself just fine.”

“Maybe in a state filled with old folk and spring breakers. This is the Wild, Wild West, sugar. It won’t take much for a twig, like you to snap.”

“You know what? You’re a bit nuts, Edge. Who has a name like that anyway? Who speaks like you? Get some damn manners, a better name, and then maybe we can have a conversation.”

He picks me up like a football using only one of his arms. The door to the restroom is kicked open by his heavy boot. My ass is slammed down on the counter and Edge is there, standing between my thighs.

His eyes glitter with something I cannot define. But then his mouth is on me. A thousand lights turn on. Lights, I never knew, could even be lit. I kiss him back. He groans, opening my mouth with his tongue. As our tongues dance, it occurs to me, he had his hands on the stripper but never his mouth. This kiss is much more intimate than the bump ‘n grind he was doing before with someone else.

As warmth floods through me, I kiss him back, knowing I need to stop. I rip my mouth from his, laying a palm on his hard pecs.

“Sorry, I don’t do whores.”

He smirks. “You name-calling? Admit it, my hands were on her, but you felt them on you.”

“I don’t have to admit anything to you.”

“Edge! We got company!” Another Bloody Scorpion yells as he pushes the door open, interrupting our little scene.

“I know, I already took care of the truckers.”

“Not them. The Royal Bastards. They’re here with a few men from Creed MC.”

“What?” Edge grounds out, clenching his bloodied fists.

When he leaves, it’s like a vortex of energy disappearing. It sucks the air out of my lungs as much as anything.

Shouts and screams make their way from the main room. I should probably bolt to the end stall and hide, but curiosity gets the better of me. I crack the door open a quarter inch, just enough to peek an eye out. The truckers are tied up with zip ties and stacked against the far wall.

A few of the working girls grab their bouncing tits as they screech and hurry through the side exit, out into the parking lot.“What the heck could be going on?”

I step out gingerly and creep down the hall. Edge is squaring off with his entire MC at his back against four burly men wearing cuts. But from the body language, there’s no way they are friendly. If anything, the hate emanating between them is so thick you could choke on it. I need to get my purse and get the heck out of here. I’ve had quite the distraction and adventure, but now it’s time to move on and get myself out of this mess.

With my back to the wall, I inch forward. No one even glances my way. I’m a ghost. Just like I’ve always been. Ordinary. Invisible. Completely forgettable.

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