Page 9 of Desert King

“Club business is always complicated.”

“I’ll bet. I did watch Son’s on FX.”

“I fucked up.”

“So? Fix it.”

She bites her lip. “I don’t know how. These boys’ tempers flare hotter than the desert in July.”

“So? Dump ice on it? Douse that shit.”

“Yeah, I doubt that will work.”

“Boys!” Viv stands on the bar, cupping her hands to her mouth. “Please! The nights on me. Free lap dances, extras, beer—I just can’t have the cops here again or file another insurance claim if my place gets trashed. If you can’t settle this now please go out back, okay?”

“Please, as if I’d even stay for free to see her strip.”

All eyes move to me since I’m the only woman left in the place besides Viv. Tarak’s gaze falls on me, roaming over my tank, undressing me. His lip curls as if he’s sucked a lemon.

My chin lifts. “You strip. I’d like to see you get up on that stage so we can all see if your dick’s as big as you pretend it is.”

“Burn!” Hoots and hollers erupt. There’s a proud glint in Edge’s eyes.

“You tell ‘em, mouse.”

The muscle in Tarak’s jaw moves. “I don’t take my dick out for sweetbutts. Especially, Bloody Scorpion sweetbutt whores.”

Anger seethes through me. I dump the bucket of beers on the floor, lift a glass long neck and bust it against a table—beer foams over broken glass. Marching up to him, I wield it like a weapon. “I’m no one’s whore. Got that? Get the fuck out. You obviously don’t belong here.”

Something flashes in his dark gaze, but it’s gone before I can decipher it. “I think you’re the one who’s lost, pale skin. Dead eyes.” His words cut to the bone. How can one look destroy a person? He’s a judging god as he sneers down at me.

Edge lunges forward. But his men hold him back.

“Ah, this brown mouse belongs to you? Shall I take your toy just because I can?”

“I’m no one’s toy!” I get ready to lift the jagged glass to his skin.What the fuck am I doing? Who am I?

“Easy now,” Roger steps in, taking the broken bottle from my shaking hands. He must see the crazy in me, how I’m about to snap. Being called a whore is a hot button of mine. My very first boyfriend my sophomore year, broke my trust when he told his friends how he popped my cherry. I was in high school hell after that. The joke was that me, the mouse, was a closet whore. Made no sense but then again high school bullying never does.

“Let’s go.” Rog gestures to his group.

“No.”

My eyes shift to the biker with the letter’s F.O.C.U.S. embroidered in his leather cut. “What’s that stand for?”

“My name.”

I shake my head. “You all are weird as fuck. I’m out.”

But I don’t get far. Edge grabs my elbow. “Not so fast, mouse.”

“Look. I’m over this bullying bullshit. I have real problems that don’t involve strippers and bikers, okay? I need to get my car towed and get to my job. Someone’s depending on me.”

“You already have a job lined up?”

“I do.”

“Doing what? Cataloguing library books?”

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