Page 8 of Lawless
Ugh, no thanks.It had been over a year since I'd gotten laid, but being used by rough, manhandling outlaws did not sound like fun. I put a birth control implant in my arm just a few months ago, so I was cleared on that front. But the nurse in me was all too aware of the rise of STIs and physical injuries from widespread rape and using sex as currency since the Collapse. At least a third of my patients had some sort of infection or physical trauma related to sex. I could only imagine what the emotional and mental impact did to them.
As I fought to ignore the public threesome and keep my feet moving, I couldn't help but notice the four best-looking members of the club were the only ones not participating in the debauchery. I pushed the thought away just as quickly as it came. Those men were probably just holding out for more attractive, expensive whores.
Not even the guy sitting closest to the door, a huge, powerfully-built man with black hair to his collar, had a woman draping off of him. Some of the hair hung over his face to cover his right eye, and I thought I got a glimpse of some scarring on his forehead. He didn't touch the beer in front of him or talk to anyone. The service girls almost seemed to purposely avoiding him, not that he appeared to care. He just ate salami, cheese, and olives with slow, methodical precision, popping each morsel into his mouth and chewing slowly. The muscles in his jaw moved under a dense, but trimmed black beard dusted with a few grey hairs. His chocolate brown, uncovered eye swept across the entire lobby in silent observation.
I caught myself staring once again—he had that ultra-rugged handsome thing going on that I was a total sucker for—and bumped my shin into the coffee table in front of him.
"Oh shit, I'm sorry!"
I pulled a dish rag from my back pocket and quickly wiped up the beer that sloshed onto the table. My heart crashed against my sternum as I kept my eyes glued to the mess I made. I had no idea if these guys liked to torture or kill their service people for making mistakes, and hoped I didn't just make my first day here my last.
Once the spill was quickly absorbed by my rag, the large man in front of me said nothing. I dared to look up at him and wished I hadn't. His scowl made Reaper's look like a joyful grin.
"Sorry about that," I repeated, praying I wasn't digging myself into a deeper hole. My eyes flickered back down to the nearly full beer pitcher in front of him. "I can take that and get you something else if you prefer?" It would save me a trip from filling up yet another empty pitcher.
He didn't answer—not with words, in any case. His lip curled with disgust, like I was a piece of dog shit on his boot, then flung his hand out toward me as if to say,get out of my sight and take this shit away.
I grabbed the pitcher's handle and made off for the next table, where another one of these animals might appreciate it more. Keeping my eyes focused on my work andnoton the threesome still happening on the next couch, I swapped the full pitcher for an empty one when a hand snapped out and grabbed my wrist.
"Como se llama?" a warm voice asked me.
I looked up. Big mistake. Now I couldn't look away from the hazel eyes so similar to mine. His fingers on my wrist were strong and calloused, but the skin along his muscular arm was smooth and the color of caramel. The smile he wore was far too charming. I had no doubt this man was not only good at breaking hearts, but treated it like a sport. In the bedroom, he probably recited takeout menus in Spanish, making women think he uttered proclamations of love and romance while in the throes of passion.
That smile and the confidence to touch me showed all the signs of a man who wanted to play with more than just a woman's body. Giving him my name like he asked would already be too much. Men didn't care about asking for names or getting to know someone anymore, not when they could just take what they wanted.
And he knew that. He touched on a pre-Collapse custom, knowing such a small gesture would make me feel a little bit like a human again. It was all part of his game, and yet I couldn't resist giving it to him.
"Mariposa," I answered.
His eyes flashed with recognition at the word as his smile grew brighter. It was a look I saw often whenever introducing myself to Spanish speakers. My name meant butterfly, but I unfortunately never got a good grasp of the language. Dad was never around enough to teach me.
"Mariposa," the biker repeated, clearly pleased. His cut read VICE PRESIDENT. "And what's a pretty little butterfly like you doing in a place like this?"
"I'm actually a medic," I said, hoping to squash any nefarious ideas he might be having. "I'm just passing through, helping out while I stay here."
"Medic?"
My eyes slid over to see Reaper's intense green gaze leveled on me again. Jesus, these men had zero qualms about unabashedly staring.
"Afemalemedic?" he repeated, eyes sliding over me like trying to figure out how a dude could crossdress so well.
I bristled at his skepticism. It wasn't that long ago that women were outlawed from medical jobs in over 80% of post-Collapse territories.
"That's right," I answered, lifting my chin slightly. "I was educated before the laws passed."
"Now, Mariposa." The vice president leaned back into the couch, pulling me forward across the coffee table like he fully expected me to tumble into his lap. He smelled like motor oil and smoke, though not entirely unappealing. "What'll you take for a full-body examination with those skilled hands of yours?"
So much for deterring him. There was a girl getting fucked on the next couch over, why would he bother with me? I snatched my hand away and was surprised at how easily he let go.
"I don't deal in sex," I hissed. "There's plenty of girls here who provide that."
"It wasn't a yes or no question," he remarked, eyes flashing playfully. "Everyone has a price. Just name yours."
Fuck you and the bike you rode in on. I am not playing your game, pig.
"The answer is still no." I grabbed the empty beer pitcher and food plate, fighting every instinct to throw them right at his smug, grinning face. "I'll bring you more food and drink."
My hands shook so hard, I nearly dropped the dishes on the counter when I made it back to the kitchen. My heart beat erratically and my feet were already sore from the constant running around. The likelihood of making it through the next two weeks seemed abysmally low. There was no avoiding these men, so I could only hope they'd be gone in the next day or two and grow bored of me during that time.
