CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
*Lace*
Ipride myself on being able to work well under pressure — to problem solve at the drop of a hat — and, most of all, to wear a believable smile while doing it. One foot in front of the other, I walked away from Brodi with an extra sway in my step, my head held high, and a fake smile gracing my painted lips.
That smile quickly faded when Vee, Bae, and Zane had to come suck out what little bit of oomph I managed to conjure.
I instantly lost my cool. My stars, I do not have my shit together. Here I thought I had everything figured out. Just one more rally. One more hefty little deposit into my nest egg. Boy was I wrong.
Get your shit together, Lacinda.
Acting out is not going to accomplish anything.
What Kal is asking me to do is so damn hard, though. The hardest thing I have ever done. Putting on a happy face and pretending is all fine and dandy to save my own ass, sure… but using that talent as a weapon to hurt others is not in my wheelhouse.
Part of me wants to fail on purpose just to piss Kal off — to make a statement that I govern what I do, where I go, and who I talk to. Not him. Not any of these men.
A larger part of me wants to succeed, though — to prove myself, to save Reece, and to show Hell for Leather that I am a force not to be fucked with and no obstacle is too challenging. Including them. They will not get in my way forever.
The pressure is intense. So intense that all the pills I took feel too small in comparison to the big battle waging inside me. So damn intense that I need another outlet. No, not need — am desperate for.
I mask the pain in my features — the frustration and hatred stemming from the knowledge that this is my life and someone is once again using me like a bullet in a loaded and cocked gun — and come to terms with the fact that to get what I want, I need these men.
Their trust.
Their hearts.
Their cocks.
The only light amid all this darkness is that I can use the latter to get the former.
Underhanded? Probably.
Do I care anymore? The verdict is still out.
Vee tugs me to a stop behind the enclosed “Leather & Lace” tent. My gaze leaves the concrete, drifts upward, and lands right on his crystal-blue eyes. “I have to start vetting bikers and we need to do the demonstration. Will you be okay just hanging out in the booth until we get done?”
Eyes heavy, I blink up at him. Just as I am about to open my mouth to respond, Chaz joins us. A black piece of material dangles from his fingertip. “One of the other dancers snagged herself an extra pair of bottoms from the stash this morning. Guess you lucked out. Put these on under” — he waves his free hand up and down my body — “that sexy piece, and get your fine ass in line.”
“In line? Th-the endo line?” I stutter. The endorphin rush of risk taking and kissing sexy men on fast bikes is definitely not a good idea for me right now. Retreating a step back, I bump into Zane. His gentle fingers stop me from going any farther, immediately wrapping around my biceps. “Management scheduled me for the saloon today not the booth.”
Vee and Chaz share a look, and Vee exits our circle, leaving Chaz to deal with me. “You think we are gonna let you just meander around on your own right now?” His lips curl into a simper and his ocean eyes twinkle dangerously.
With nowhere to run, I melt myself deeper into Zane. The safe one. The gentle one. Save me. “I can stay in the booth and wait as Vee suggested. Zane is here. He can make sure I keep on the straight and narrow.”
“Nice try.” After taking my clutch and passing it behind him to Brodi, Chaz drops into a crouch in front of me, wraps his fingers around my ankle, and guides my foot up into the air, causing me to wobble and reach for a handhold despite Zane still holding onto me. My fingers meet a leather-clad forearm and curl into a tight grip. Bae stabilizes against my hold, and his hand slips between Zane and me to rest against my lower back.
Chaz spreads open the leg hole for our required leathery booty shorts and carefully weaves my foot and platform inside. Letting the material bunch around my ankle, he places that foot down then moves onto the next foot, once again opening the leg hole nice and wide to prevent my heel from nicking the delicate fabric.
Seawater eyes holding mine hostage, he takes his time working the piece up my shins and calves, over my knees, and above my thighs, fingers dragging softly along every inch of my lace stocking tattoo and the tender bruises from the pole last night. The material is tight and form fitting, but that does not set him back at all; while one hand pushes up the delicate lace skirt attached to my corset, the other hand deftly maneuvers the faux leather material over each of my ass cheeks.
Stop looking at me like that.
Stop touching me in that way.
Stop. Stop. Stop.
Chaz swoops a finger under the inside edge of the cheeky shorts, tracing the sensitive line at the apex of my thigh. My eyes flutter shut, and my chest hitches over a shaky breath.