“We ain’t fuckin’ around. She’s got a job to do and we’re gonna make sure the bitch earns Carlos some money. Serious money,” he growled.
Great. It wasn’t like I hadn’t been expecting some kind of reaction from me informing Carlos I was quitting and then hanging up the phone, but I didn’t expect such a swift and intrusive course of action.
I figured he’d be patient and cocky and wait for me to come crawling back. Which was not going to happen. Not if I stayed clean.
Rosie raised a brow. “Sorry, she’s not here. And even if she was, I don’t think she ordered steroid Barbie. How about you go and pump some iron or take selfies of each other shirtless and pretend you don’t want to bone each other?” she suggested.
I had to put my fist in my mouth to muffle my laugh.
Tyson’s ears reddened. “We aren’t fuckin’ amused, bitch. We know she’s here. You don’t let us in—”
“What, you’ll huff and puff and blow my house down?” Rosie interrupted. “Sorry, you don’t scare me, and you don’t call me names unless you want me to make sure you can’t procreate. Which, if you ask me, would be performing a public service. Run along now and accost someone your own size.” She slammed the door in their faces only because she caught them by surprise, pushing the lock home quickly as the door rattled against its hinges.
I expected her to look panicked when she turned but her face was light. She leisurely walked to her bag as if there weren’t two goons shouting threats at the door.
She rifled through her stuff, snatching her phone and putting it to her ear.
“Lucky?” she greeted, inspecting her nails. “I’m good, how are you? Oh cool, say hey to Jagger from me. Tell him if he needs a place to stay tonight, I’ve always got room.” There was a pause and she winked at me. “Well, you don’t actually have to tell my brother, you know? Grow a pair and stop being so fucking well behaved for an outlaw. Anyway, we’ll fight about that later. I’m thinking I might need a little backup. I’ve got some wannabe goon squad assaulting Bex’s door and interrupting my favorite scene in Magic Mike. I’d take care of it but I just got a manicure and—” She stopped talking and her eyes went wide. “Chill, dude she’s fine but—” Again she stopped talking and then put the phone down, turning to stare at me.
“Okay, so you did not tell me Lucky and you have a thing.”
I blinked at her, but then my attention flickered to the vibrating door. “We don’t have a thing,” I said. “Do you think that lock will hold?” Asher had just installed two deadbolts because he was a man and had to take charge of such things. Our old locks would have given away the moment someone started banging. These were legit, but our door was crap. I didn’t think it’d be hard to kick down.
Rosie waved her hand. “It’s fine,” she dismissed. “Now you and Lucky. Spill.”
As if this was actually the time to have a chat about men.
“There’s nothing to ‘spill,’” I argued.
She raised a brow.
I sank back onto the sofa, my hand on my forehead. “I’m a stripper recovering from drug addiction. Do you think a relationship with a biker is what I need right now?”
Rosie folded her arms. “Maybe it’s exactly what you need.”
I gaped at her. “Lucky is, like, your family, right?” I clarified. I had learned Rosie was Cade, the president’s, sister, so I was pretty sure that made her biker royalty.
She nodded. “I’ve known him since he was fourteen and I was seven. He rolled into town with a stupid grin, running as fast as his gangly legs could take him. I would say he’s like a brother to me, but I tried it on with him when I was drunk two years ago, so that would be sick.” She gave me a look. “Don’t worry. He was quick to run away from me and my advances. And I mean run. All of those men are total pussies when it comes to me. They’re all too afraid of my brother to even have wet dreams about me. Talk about twat blocking.” She rolled her eyes.
I shook my head and grinned, despite the constant banging at the door jarring my shattered nerves. “Okay, so whatever he is to you, you’re close,” I surmised.
She nodded.
“So I’m assuming you care about him?”
She nodded again.
“Then you don’t want him with someone like me.”
She frowned. “Someone like you?” she repeated.
“Yep. We’ve already established my label as stripper and, very recently, ex-junkie.” I pointed to the door. “Plus I’m the object of that sort of drama. Which involves the goons from my place of ex-employment most likely coming to rough me up in order to persuade me into solicitation. Not someone you’d want to bring home to Mom, or even your outlaw biker family. I’m too much even for your family,” I said.