Page 8 of Vapor

Dad eyes her before smiling.“Are you late?”

“Daddy!”

“Just wondering.”

“You’ll be the first to know when I get her pregnant,” Xavier says, chuckling.“I’m a patient man, but after five years, I’m sure it will be soon.”

It sounds too much like a warning. Dad completely ignores his undertone.

“We’ll celebrate with the finest Cuban cigars.”

“Not around the baby, you won’t,” Lacy says.

“Darling, of course not.” He gives her a placating look as if he’s talking to a child.

Dinner is served. I dump the entire side of sauce over my fish. Dad’s jaw clenches but he doesn’t stop me. These little defiances keep me from completely losing my mind.

As I eat, my thoughts drift back to Vapor. I’ve rarely met anyone so tall. I’m five feet, ten inches, and he towered over me. He must be at least six feet, five inches.

With slicked-back hair as black as a raven’s, darkness hung around him, but not in the way it lingers around my father and his associates. No, the aura around him was one of caged violence, as if he could explode at any moment.

Based on what I know, he’s the president of a local motorcycle club. Rumor has it that they’re involved in ending human trafficking in the area. I don’t know the details, but they had something to do with getting Lulu’s, a thinly veiled house of prostitution, temporarily shut down.

I’m counting on him in a way I’ve never counted on anyone before. Maybe I shouldn’t have trusted him with what I gave him, but who else could I tell? He’s the only hope I have.

Waiting for news is going to be hard. I don’t know how I’ll manage it, but I’ll need to find a way to talk to him at the gala. We’ll need to be alone, which is almost impossible. Between my father and his guards, I’m never without someone watching my every move. Hopefully I’ll find a way to be alone with him.

A thrill of desire thrums through me. I’ve never met a man as muscular and sexy as Vapor. He’s got enough muscle on him to be his own football team. And those jeans! Tight in all the right places.

The man’s huge hands gave me something else to obsess about. I couldn’t help but glance at the bulge in his pants. Anytime I wear that dress on stage, every man in the audience gets a hard-on for me. Normally, I’m disgusted by it. But not with him.

I wonder what it would be like to be touched with those big, strong, ultra-masculine hands. He has scars on his knuckles that indicate a history of violence. But somehow, I trust those hands to do the right thing.

Something in his eyes gave me the confidence to take such a huge risk. It had nothing to do with the desire in his gaze and everything to do with the intelligence behind those eyes. I don’t see that trait in many people. He’s different from other men. I sense it, not just because he’s the most attractive man I’ve ever met. No. There’s more to it, and I’m counting on that.

I just hope I didn’t make the biggest mistake of my life.

Chapter 3: Vapor

The clubhouse is less than five minutes by bike from the heart of the French Quarter. The narrow, shotgun-style house is typical of the area. Tonight, it’s alive with the roar of engines and the heavy bass of rock music. Motorcycles line the street, their chrome gleaming under the moonlight.

The house, painted a faded shade of blue with a weathered front porch, is packed with members of the club, their leather vests adorned with Underground Vengeance MC patches and other emblems commemorating past rides.

A couple of guys jerk their heads in acknowledgement as I pass. Several men can’t see past the tits in their faces, so they don’t respond to my presence. Can’t really blame them. All that pussy makes it hard to concentrate on anything else.

Vicki the Hickey’s grinding on Tank’s lap, putting on a show for all the other club girls who want to bag a patched member. She’s a smokin’hot piece of ass, but no one but Tank fucks with her. She’s his, even if he doesn’t know it yet. One day he’ll figure it out.

Tank’s our newest patched member. At twenty-two years old, he’s the youngest, but he knows his way around bikes. He’s the best goddamn mechanic I’ve ever seen. The kid’s got a gift, which is why we let him prospect as soon as he was old enough.

A couple of girls glance my way before grinning. Most of the club girls aspire to becoming someone’s old lady, but none of us have fallen for any of them. They may be fun to fuck, but I’d never wife one. I’m not looking to be tied down, unless one of the kinkier bitches wants to get crazy. That’s when we get those Japanese sex ropes involved.

I park my bike behind the clubhouse in my designated spot. Being president of the club has more than a few benefits. Front row parking’s one of them.

The back porch is teaming with club members and more pussy. Everyone’s gathered around the grill where Bones, our Sergeant at Arms, holds court. He’s a tall dude, towering over most of the guys and all the bitches. His skin’s a deep shade of bronze from being outside all the time. Chicks dig his rugged, angular features as well as his thick dark hair, or so I’ve overheard. These bitches talk about that shit all the time. Apparently, they can’t get enough of his dick.

“Vapor! Git yer ass over here! Burgers ’bout ready,” Bones calls in a thick, Louisiana drawl.

“In a minute. Got to have a quick word with Ice.” The smell of sizzling meat mixes with the steamy summer air, wafting into the house behind me.

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