Page 3 of Pink Poison

A garble of laughter presses from my stomach, lurching out in the craziest sound I have ever made. The weight of my shitty situation lifts briefly as the club’s name echoes around my head. “Gimme Mo? You can’t be serious.”

“Serious as a pair of new stilettos, Stevie.” Turning the wheel, she takes a sharp right turn onto a dirt-filled parking lot. And to prove her truth, standing tall in front of a run-down, shoddy building is a neon sign that readsGimme Mo.

“That’s the third time you’ve called me Stevie,” I point out. I don’t hate it. Actually, I really like it. Not many people would assume that Stevie is short for Stephanie. “Most people call me Steph.”

Teegan huffs a small breath as she pushes her door open. “Come on, Stevie. Let’s give you that application and introduce you to Mo.” Following her lead, I push open the passenger door and step out onto the rust-tinted dirt, kicking up a small dust cloud in the process. I paste a friendly smile, hoping that Teegan means everything—from her morals down to the money. I really could use a friend like her in my life just as much as I could use a job that pays more than some minimum wage barista cart at the university.

Chapter one

Mack

Five Months Later…

“Hi, Junior. It’s me, Mom; Marissa. I know Dad has called you a few times, but I just wanted to reach out and remind you that Dad’s meeting is tonight—”

My finger presses the delete voicemail option as soon as my foggy brain can decipher who the fuck bothered to leave a message.

Marissa.

The woman who conned my father into moving to a podunk little town with her and her little brat of a daughter,Stephanie.The last I heard of her, she was doing well in college, being the pride of the Waters family. As if my going to a local tech school wasn’t worthy of pride.Whatever.Grabbing my beer, I take another swig, letting the bitter liquid sit on my tongue before swallowing. It’s been like this for weeks now. A phone callhere, a phone call there, always about Dad’s business bullshit and precious little Stephanie. It’s never,hey son, how are you?Call it petty, or fuck, even daddy issues—but is it so much to ask to have your only parent want to check on your wellbeing? I’m only twenty-four, for fuck’s sake. Shit gets rough for me, too.

“Hey, you sad fuck,” Jameson grunts. “What’s with the long face?”

I blow out a slow breath, raising my head to see my best friend giving me one of his classic smirks. “Same shit, different day. Where the fuck have you been?”

He shrugs. “I was at Mo’s.”

Why the hell was he at Mo’s?“We have plenty of pussy at The Deli, man,” I huff. We’ve only been patched for two years, there’s no way he’s tired of the rotation of club pussy already.

His eyes narrow, almost daring me to challenge him. “You know I like to mix it up from time to time.”

I don’t bother giving him my two cents. Instead, I ask, “Yeah, and did you get what you wanted?”

“Sort of—” His words are cut off by the remaining members of our crew shouting, rallying around our newest prospect, Stone, who looks like he just went several rounds with Muhammad Ali.

“We got ourselves a fucking champion, boys,” Prez bellows, slapping Stone’s shoulder. “How’s it feel to know you’re patching in, kid?”

Stone’s mouth moves, but nothing comes out—at least nothing that I can hear with the way everyone and their damn cousin is yelling. I look back at Jameson and watch as he moves through the crowd to greet Stone, probably welcoming him to the family.

Family.I suppose it’s fitting that this crew is more of a family than my own. We look out for each other here, Prez especially. I owe a lot to that man, more than I could ever pay back in this lifetime, but I’ll keep giving him and the crew my all.

“Let’s get the fuck outta here and celebrate!” our vice president yells, gathering the patched members from their seats. “We’re goin’ to Mo’s, fuckers.”Seems like Jameson isn’t the only one tired of club pussy tonight.

With a deep sigh, I pull my ass from the plastic chair and pocket my phone inside my cut. Slowly, I walk toward Jameson and Stone, standing by the door as the others brush past us on their way out. “You look like shit, Stone,” I snort, getting a good view of his blood-crusted face.

He grunts before giving me a look that tells me I need to get my shit together. “And somehow I still look better than your depressed looking ass.”

“Whatever, fuckstain.” I push his shoulder, knowing that I won’t move him in the slightest. “Congrats on your wins and patch, brother. Let’s go see some tits to celebrate.”

Pivoting from the guys, I stalk to my bike, well and truly ready to get shit-faced and forget about that voicemail from Marissa. Maybe, if I’m lucky, I’ll also drink out the reminder that I’m not good enough to be a fucking Waters. Jameson runs in front of me, stopping me in my tracks. “Mack, you’re not getting on that bike,” he grunts, pulling out his keys from inside of his cut. “Get in the truck, dumbass.”

“I’m not even buzzed, Graves,” I grit.

Am I lying?Yes. Do I give a single fuck right now?Not even a little bit.My focus is clear enough to ride. I mean, I think it is.

He pins me with a tired stare.Yeah, I bet he is tired. Tired of my shit.“You had five beer bottles sitting at the table. Quit being a bitch and get in the truck. I’m driving Stone, too.”

Dickwad.I kick my steel toes over the dirt towards his run-down, piece of shit truck. Jameson always has this nasty habit of acting like an older brother when I least want him to. Swinging open the passenger door, I slide into the backseat. I may be an asshole, but given that Stone is beat to all hell, I figure he earned himself shotgun. The truck shakes as Jameson fires it upbefore he leads us off the parking lot. He takes a sharp right, driving along the frontage road towards the Club’s favorite strip club,Gimme Mo. I watch the streetlights blur as we take a sharp right turn down the dirt roads, away from what minimal city life surrounded us back at the clubhouse.

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