One

Today was my first day to work the back room at Tops. I didn't want to make a big deal about it this morning when Max left to handle club business, but I was pretty stoked. Okay, I was fucking terrified, but whatever.

I'd worked there long enough to establish a great rapport with everyone. Would they accept the fact I was no longer merely a waitress? I was a stripper–one who'd work the back rooms. And The Dungeon. Did they all know about it?

I entered from the side with the key Ray gave me. I didn't want to handle whatever bug crawled up Manny's ass. He'd called me six times since last night, and I figured he'd be pretty pissed I hadn't called him back. The little shit was waiting for me.

“You're working a pole now?” His gaze slithered across me, pausing at my tits. “I decide the lineup, you know. And who you work in the back. That means you're nice to me, I'm great to you. You hear what I'm saying?”

Oh, I heard. I just didn't give one fucking shit. What can I say? I was high on the fact I'd gotten my brains fucked out of my head last night, and I'm pretty sure I was okay with that. Muscles ached, certain body parts were a bit sore. But I couldn't wait to see what awaited me.

Today had been quiet. Ray and Max called a church with the other Penetrators. Apparently, church was a meeting. Why the fuck they didn't just call it that was probably along the lines of why they had stupid road names like Killer, Squirrel, Fist and whoever. What can I say? Badass dudes on motorcycles probably scrambled their noggins so much those things made sense to them.

I'd arrived a couple hours early so I could settle my nerves and figure out what the heck I was going to wear. Did I need a routine? I was twenty-two. I didn't have much experience watching the strippers do their thing. I could dance. I figured anything beyond flashing my tits and shaking my ass was gravy.

This was Pecan Grove, aka The Grove, not Los Angeles or New York City. I didn't need fancy. I needed naked, hot and willing. My pulse quickened despite the chaos in my thoughts. I checked my phone for the billionth time. No messages.

Dumb ass men.

All those hard dicks, hot ass bikes and not a single brain cell focused on sending a message to let me know things were cool. My pussy clenched when I wondered what they'd have me doing tonight. I kind of hoped Fist worked me over some more. Our play the first time got cut short, and now that I'd had some time to think it over, I really wanted to keep training myself to take his fist.

By the time I spritzed and glitzed myself, I was ready for the night to start. A knock on the door activated my pulse. Manny walked in. Ugh.

“Someone's here to see you. VIP.”

VIPs were a big thing at Tops, especially those with special access to not only the backroom, but The Dungeon below. The trouble was Ray and Max hadn't filled me in on protocol with the VIPs yet. How did I know they were legit? Was there a secret handshake? A pass phrase?

“I'm not sure they want me seeing VIPs yet,” I commented.

“I decide who you see, bitch. You're Top ass until you punch out, which means you do what I say.” He adjusted his crotch like there was really something there and sneered. “You hear what I'm saying?

Oh, I heard. I just, again, didn't give one fucking shit.

“Fine, your funeral.”

“You threatening me, bitch?”

“Nope.” I squeezed some lotion into my palm and went to work lathering myself up.

“Look at me when I'm talking to you, slut.”

“Okay, Manny, here's the thing. I don't like you calling me bitch, but whatever. If it gets your rocks off, go for it.” I stood and put my foot on my chair. I rubbed my calf, slathering the lotion into my skin.

What can I say? He called me a bitch and a slut. I figured he deserved to get cock-teased just a little bit. I waited until I heard his breathing and stopped.

“I'm not your slut, Manny. I'm not Top ass. Honestly, I don't think Ray and them would take too kindly to you thinking any of their girls working here were yours to boss around. You hear what I'm saying?” I parroted the phrase to piss him off. “You call me a slut again, and you won't enjoy the consequences.”

“Fucking cunt!” He turned and slammed the door as he left.

I finished getting ready and froze as the door opened again. I kept my back to the door, but glanced in the mirror. Three Hispanic guys in baggy jeans and oversized button-down shirts over white t-shirts walked in. Well, two and a half. The leader was a couple feet shorter than the others and about half their weight. I suspected he suffered from little dick syndrome since he wore more gold than a jewelry store mannequin and enough cologne to drown a third world country.

Breathing through my mouth, I forced a smile and activated bimbo brain. I'd learned a long time ago misogynistic pigs like these expected me to be stupid. As long as I played the part, I walked away richer and breathing. “Hi there. You lost?”

“Depends. I hear you're Harmony Griggs. That true?” The little leader slid his black gaze down me, pausing at my barely covered tits. He wiped his thin lips with his fingers, then ran his tongue along the bottom one.

Gross.

“Friends call me Harmony,” I lied as I tapped my phone's home key to unlock the screen.

“We're looking for your mom.” Anyone looking for my mom was bad business, and no one I wanted to be around. Translation—this man was danger.

“Me, too.” I sighed. “I wish I could just call.” I emphasized the last word. The Bluetooth headset beeped in my ear. Thank fuck I used a small version, one that my long hair hid if I was careful.

“Max,” I shouted. “Max says they're handling it, looking for her. They know she left me in a bind. It's why I'm working here.”

“Can't talk now, babe. Gotta call you back.” Max's voice, gravelly and rough, rumbled in my ear.

“Anyway, I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name. Who did you say you were? I'm afraid I don't know the Tops’ VIPs yet.”

“Well, we’re going to get to know one another real well.” He licked his lips and took a step forward.

I moved closer to the vanity mirror, jostled everything on the small preparation area. I palmed a cigarette lighter one of the girls left behind with their pack of smokes. A plan formed in my mind. Hitting a jerk like him with attitude hadn’t gone well so far. I’d try frightened, a way easier emotion to draw on seeing how I was terrified. Then I’d run like hell when he gave me an opening.

I remained locked in place.

“What? Babe, talk to me. What's going on?” Max's voice rose.

“I-I'm s-sorry.” I halted, forcing gasps. A tremble settled in my hands, all too real. I had a plan.

Get Max's attention so he'd get help to me. Fake a panic attack. Get the hell out of the room and run.

“What the hell are you doing, puta?”

“Pa-Panic attack.” I settled my head in my lap and forced shallow breaths as I palmed the lighter. The three men closed the distance. “D-don't get any closer.”

“I'm not playing games with you. You're coming with us.”

I shook my head. “No. The Penetrators are taking care of this.” My voice rose. “Talk to them.”

“Fuck!” Max's rage kept me focused. He'd get someone here. All I had to do was fight, bide time. Run. “We're riding there now, babe.”

Where the hell was Manny?

Suddenly, the attack I'd faked felt all too real. Sweat dampened my brow. Labored breaths sawed in and out of my lungs. The three men stood, looming over me. I rolled my chair back a couple feet and kicked out with both feet, aiming for groins as my arm shot out, snagged a hairspray bottle and lit it with the lighter.

Thank God for aerosol cans. Fire spewed from the makeshift weapon. The two tall guys doubled over. The little guy screamed as fire licked his face. I activated a second can and blasted the three men as I ran backward out of the dressing room.

Terror kept me running in my heels. I'd run a hundred miles in those damn shoes if it got me away from them. I didn't know who they were, but they were looking for Mom. Last night Max warned me the Mexican Mafia was sniffing around. I didn't want to stereotype, but the chances were pretty high the men I'd just flambéed were Mafia.

I hit the side door and sprinted through the parking lot like hell hounds were after my ass, because they totally were. How long would Max and Ray take to get there? I had zero clue and no time to waste. I headed down Main Street, wishing a car–any car–would appear. I'd flash down Satan if he'd give me a ride.

Rumbling pipes.

I froze. Listened closely. There. To the right.

I stooped down, ripped off my slut shoes and ran like hell toward the distinctive sound. Pain shot up my feet. I didn't care. Each brutal strike of bare foot to filthy, hot asphalt got me closer to the Penetrators. They'd keep me safe. I hoped.

I was their property, their slave.

My tits jiggled. Each step stretched the laws of physics until I knew for certain I was flashing my business all over The Grove. Momma would be proud. Headlights greeted me down the flat, long stretch of Pecan Street. I dared a peek over my shoulder and freaked the fuck out.

Headlights. Way, way closer.

I vaulted to the right, dodged a mailbox and headed down the narrow sidewalk. A couple of the bikes jumped onto the sidewalk in front of me. The others growled louder, as if ramping up. Booms erupted beside me.

Bullets.

Fuck.

I screamed my shock and lunged for Naomi Merriweather's prized begonias. Okay, I lunged for the massive bathtub she planted them in.

Better her precious flowers took a bullet than I bleed out on the street. I didn't think the county coroner would appreciate hauling my dead carcass over to the funeral home.

Hands grabbed my shoulders. I screamed and punched.

“Puta!” He punched back.

He probably expected me to cry, pass out or cower.

Fuck that.

I'd gotten hit a lot harder by way scarier pricks than the little leader. I clawed, kicked, kneed and squirmed. My hand wrapped around a handle. No, a hilt. I yanked, then plunged. I shoved him away, kicked his crotch and ran my ass toward the Penetrators.

Motorcycles formed a semi-circle around me as I plowed into the first man I reached. I didn't give a single shit who it was. My heart thudded so hard in my chest, I swear it punched its way out. I'd left my lungs somewhere back on Main, at Naomi's. I was a naked, terrified mess.

I wrapped myself, arms and legs, snot and all, around the massive body, not even stopping to see who it was. I was twenty-two. I didn't have a lifetime of experiences to help me handle this shit. Maybe I should've stayed calm, cowered back at the flowerbed.

They. Shot. At. Me.

Fear gave way to anger.

Mom. My fucking, fucking mother.

“Easy, Harm. I've got you.” Ray's arms wrapped around me. He sat on the steps going into what was once the local hardware store. He rocked back and forth as he stroked my back.

“She need a bus?” someone asked.

“No, thank fuck. Give Stitch a call, get him to the compound,” Ray ordered.

Warm fingers settled on my face and turned until I looked at Max. “Max.”

He reached over and removed my headset. “Smart thinking, babe. Open up for me.”

I didn't question. I needed them in control, telling me what to do. Keeping me safe. He settled a pill under my tongue and gently closed my mouth.

“Xanax, to take the edge off. That's what you were on before, right?”

I nodded. How'd he know?

“You need another, you let me know. Okay?”

I nodded again as he removed his jacket.

“Put this on, babe.”

The leather engulfed me. I breathed in his scent and rested against Ray. He had shit to do. Mexican Mafia to kill. I didn't want to let go. Letting go meant they'd leave, tend to club shit and I'd be alone, picking up the pieces to yet another mess created by Mom.

“Keep your legs around me, Harm. We'll get you tucked into the compound.”

I didn't know where I'd get tucked in. I didn't care. The compound sounded loads more secure than at home, Tops or in the middle of the street.

“When you're ready, babe, we need to know what happened,” Max said.

I wasn't ready. A tremble rattled my insides. Ray carried me to a van, where Squirrel and Tag uncoiled me from him. I didn't want to leave the warm safety he offered, but I did. Curled in the backseat, hands around my knees, head to my knees, I closed my eyes and thanked whatever twisted fate brought the Penetrator MC into my world.

As long as I was their property, I wasn't alone. I was important enough to rescue. Help.

Protect.

“Fuck.”

I startled awake at Max's curse. A floodlight clicked on behind him. I curled my knees tighter to my body. My girlie bits were probably showing, but he'd seen them already. I didn't care.

“Come here,” he ordered.

I went. What can I say? I get off on hot men ordering me around. More motorcycles than I'd ever seen lined the largest building. Music rattled the windows. Bass thumped from inside. The fear snapped, giving away to anger. They were partying.

I'd been running my naked, terrified ass down Main and they'd been partying. Scantily clad women teetered on high heels. Their laughter pealed through the raucous bikers crowded around the entrance. Strangers.

I didn't profess to know every Penetrator, but I was good with faces. It was a talent. I didn't know these dudes. Somehow, the strangers made me okay with the women strutting their anorexic asses around. My arms tightened around Max's neck when one of them stroked his back.

I’d had a horrible day. I needed Max more than she did. Okay, when I really set all the drama from the day aside, I was left with a sinking realization the men meant way more to me than I’d realized and the idea of them being with other women was starting to bother me.

Yeah, I was a hypocrite. I was sleeping with more than one of them. It seemed only fair they could do the same. Yet the thought made this ugly, angry monster in me wake.

Was I jealous?

I shoved the thought aside. I’d deal with that another day, when someone wasn’t after me.

Fortunately Max moved away and the bleach rotting her brain cells away must've infused her with enough smarts to back the hell off. My gaze tracked the compound's interior.

Penetrators clustered with strangers in groups within the large, open area. A few played pool. Most drank beers. My eyes watered in the smoky room. More pot, less cigarettes must've been the day's motto. Clutch and Fist stood behind Max. Ray sauntered in, a paper bag in the crook of one arm.

“You done glaring at everyone, babe?” Max asked.

I pinned him with my anger. He chuckled and headed toward the back. I maneuvered so I could watch behind him, make sure no sluts messed with Ray, Fist or Clutch. Wait, where was Dawg? A couple men stood beside the door at the end of the hall like tall, menacing bookends. Since I didn't know either one, I kept quiet. The one on the left opened the door while the one on the right swept his gaze across me with raised eyebrows.

Fortunately for him, Max moved into the room. Ray kicked the door shut behind him. Music filtered into the room, but an awkward tension hung in the air. Max settled me on a leather sofa.

“She okay?” The stranger's voice was scratchy like sandpaper but a softer boom than I'd expected. He stepped around Ray.

Taller than Clutch, muscled like Max with the same feral darkness of Fist. Tattoos roped along his thick arms and across his chest. I chased an intricate vine as it sneaked out from beneath his Penetrator cut and darted between his pecs to arrow down a washboard stomach. My mouth dried as I noted the way it arrowed beneath his belt like a silent invitation.

“Mexican trash fucking shot at her, chased her down Main. I'm thinking no,” Ray replied. He sat beside me and settled the bag in my lap. My stomach clutched when I reached in.

Ice cream.

A sly smirk settled on his handsome face as he offered a spoon. The man was a fucking saint.

I attacked. The ice cream, not Ray–though I was very tempted to show my gratitude. Three delicious spoonfuls into my pecan praline goodness, I halted and peered up at the sexy stranger. His ocean blue eyes glinted in amusement. Arms crossed, he watched.

Whatever.

Max settled on my other side. Warmth seeped in, purging the bitter cold and the last dregs of fear. They'd kept me safe. The door opened. A fresh wave of raucous revelry echoed from outside. My body tightened. Who were these strangers and why was one of them looking at me so…

Okay, I'm a slut and he was sexier than hell. I was okay with him watching me. I embraced my inner exhibitionist a long time ago. I got off on getting guys off.

“Harmony.” My gut soured. I glanced at Chief as he dragged a chair toward me and sat. What the hell was he doing here? “You ready to talk about what happened?”

No. No, I wasn't ever going to be ready. As if sensing my darkening thoughts, Ray snatched the ice cream away and gave it over to someone. He settled a protective arm around me and forced my gaze.

“He needs to file a report, keep it on record. This is club business though. They went after you. They'll pay,” Ray promised. “Tell us what went down.”

Max took my hand, settling it between his. I should've held my shit together better. Self-doubt kept me silent a few moments and I battled the memories back. But they rammed against my denial, flooding my brain with what-if scenarios I didn't want to consider. What if the guys hadn't showed up?

A fresh stream of tears sprang. The dam burst and I spewed whatever entered my thoughts, an unconscious stream of memories, fears and doubts. The stranger listened to the nonsense spewing from me like a broken sprinkler. Chief scrawled in a notepad. Was anything I said making sense?

I sighed heavily when I'd purged the last of my thoughts. Max squeezed my hand. Ray kissed my temple.

“Get Manny,” the stranger barked.

Chief shut the notepad and put it away. “I didn't hear that.”

Didn't hear what? I looked around, confused. Ray grasped my chin and captured my gaze. “They shouldn't have gotten to you. Manny fucked up.”

“What you did with the phone was smart,” Chief said. “I'll take care of this, Harmony.”

“This is ours.” Max tugged me to him. I settled my head on his shoulder. “File whatever, but stay the fuck out of our way.”

Chief's jaw twitched, but he nodded. The stranger settled before us. Too close. I shrank against Max.

“You said their shit was under control.” Anger mottled Ray's words as he rose and closed in on the stranger. “They got to her.”

“I'll handle it.” The man raked his gaze over me once more. “She works The Dungeon?”

“Yes, she does,” I spat out. I didn't like being talked about like I wasn't there. I glared up at him. He grasped my hair and smirked down at me.

Awareness tingled beneath my skin. My pulse quickened. He pulled the jacket covering me open with his other hand and cupped my breast. Shock and arousal flared, crawling through me like an out-of-control brush fire. Was I pissed or turned on? Confusion kept me still. That and the fact none of the men moved to stop him.

His thumb scraped my nipple, back and forth until it hardened into an achy nub. I latched onto his steady blue gaze and held on. I stared him down. He pinched. Pain ignited pleasure in me. A soft gasp escaped my parted lips.

He chuckled and released me. I blinked in confusion. Who the fuck are you?

I must've blurted the thought because everyone in the room laughed. He leaned down, his hot breath danced along my cheek. “Blade.”

The name rippled through me–revulsion, curiosity. Anticipation. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out where the man got his name, especially since a massive knife was strapped to his thick thigh. I gulped as he backed away and did a weird chin lift toward Ray, then Max. He grazed my cheek with his finger, then left.

Silence hung in the room when he departed. A slight tremble settled in my bones, but I couldn't figure out whether it was fear or need. I ached, so raw from the emotional thunderstorm ripping through me I didn't know what to do.

“Who's Blade?” Chief asked. Thank fuck for nosy cops.

“Penetrator President,” Fist replied.

“Thought you were President,” Chief commented.

“National President,” Ray said. “Thinking you can see yourself out. We're gonna take care of Harm.”