by A P Foote
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are products of the authors imagination or used in fictitious manner. Any similarities to actual persons, living or dead, or real-life events are purely coincidental—or used with permission.
Dangerous Lies volume 1
© 2019 by Ashley Foote. All rights reserved.
Edited by Missy Stewart
“Jim! I need another keg.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Fucking Jim, always bitching about having to work. Why I pay him I’ll never understand.
Customers filter through the doors and before I know it the place is crawling with people. Mitch, my other bartender, bumps my shoulder. “Is there a concert tonight or something?”
I shrug grabbing the metal scoop for ice and fill the glass. “I have no idea. Unless they’re having a concert in the middle of a field.”
He laughs. “Yeah, that’s true.”
“Hey, can you go see what’s taking Jim so fucking long? We’re swamped and the Bud Light’s out.”
“Yes ma’am.” I don’t miss Mitch winking at me before he heads toward the back. That man has been trying to get in my pants since I took over this shit hole. He isn’t a bad looking guy, but he’s twenty years older than me. It would never work out. I just turned twenty-one a few weeks ago and I’m not ready for all that.
“Kat!” Mitch calls for me. He pushes back through the bodies blocking the opening in the counter. “Jim’s gone.”
I whirl around on him. “What?”
“He left his locker open; it’s empty.”
“Fuck.” I rest my head on my hand, taking deep breaths to calm my racing heart and defuse the raging fire burning in my gut.
Why does this happen to me? I’m a good fucking person. Now, anyway.
“Need some help?” a cool, sultry voice bellows from the other side of the bar, unwillingly dragging me back to the present. I glance around for the man’s exact location, though I didn’t need to look very far because he’s sitting right in front of me, sipping on scotch. His sandy blond hair shines even in the dim light around the bar. Five o’ clock shadow not hiding his chiseled jaw, and those crystal blue eyes are the icing on the cake. This man is drop dead fucking gorgeous. I shall name him Hot Stuff.
I don’t remember serving him, even if he’s sitting in my section. Which I find hysterical because I wouldn’t… couldn’t forget a perfect face like his. Swinging my hips and flipping my hair I seductively approach him.
“You ever worked in a bar?”
He nods and sets his drink on the bar surface. “You can make drinks? Barback?”
He nods again stone faced and my instincts tell me not to do this, that this is a horrible idea, but I don’t have much of a choice. Not if I don’t want to fall flat on my face. The crowd tonight’s a rough one, last thing I need is a riot breaking out because customers aren’t being served at the roadrunner pace they would like.
“Fine, don’t fuck me over,” I warn pointing at him. “What’s your name?”
“Cass.” He smiles, holding out a heavily tattooed hand for me to take. Taking it against my better judgment, I simultaneously toss a clean bar rag at his muscled chest. “Thanks, Kitty Kat.”
The way he says it sends goose bumps along my arms, but I still can’t find it in me to be okay with people—especially people like him—calling me that. It makes my teeth hurt and that doesn’t even fucking make sense.
“Oh, fuck no. Forget it!”
He holds his hands up in surrender, leaning closer to me so he isn’t yelling in the already booming loud environment. “Look, I’m sorry I just couldn’t resist. Won’t happen again.”
I stare at him contemplating all my options, which aren’t many at the moment. I sigh and relax my tense shoulders. “There’s a locker in the back. You can put your stuff in it for tonight.”
Watching Hot Stuff strut away from the bar makes my night, with his jeans hugging a very in shape ass. Unfortunately, my gawking is disrupted by one of the already drunk bikers beckoning me.
“Hey sweetheart, bring daddy a beer would ya?”
Fucking pig. It’s okay, Kat, just put a smile on.
I consistently have to coach myself through most night shifts. If I didn’t there would be a lot of dead bodies. A LOT.
“What can I get for you fellas tonight? Bottle of Bud? Respect?” I happily and openly insult the men. A bunch of “Oh’s” and laughter fill the air; this is about to get interesting.
“You got a fast mouth don’tcha? I bet you’re pretty fast at everything.”
“Well, your Pres doesn’t think so.”
Got em!
The big man’s face blanches, his rosy cheeks turning pale and the already excessive sweating picks up its pace. A multitude emotions flash across his face: shock, repulsion, anger. “You little—”
There it is!
The old Prospect stands on wobbly legs, knocking over the crying bar stool to throw a punch at me over the counter. He wildly swings his left arm; the fucker is to slow giving me ample time to step back. Hell, a five-year-old could have dodged that sorry, sloppy attempt at a punch. The balding, distasteful, toothless piece of shit falters unable to catch himself before toppling over into my side of the bar.
Retreating farther out of the man’s reach, I don’t see when his squishy, dirty hand wraps around my leathered ankle, stopping me.
Again, why? These guys never fucking learn to leave my ass alone.
“Don’t fucking touch me, pig!” I hiss, venom lacing my tone, and I take the opportunity to kick my boot into his nasty, ugly face. The slimy biker releases me to cradle his nose.
“You fucking bitch! I’m gonna kill you.”
Ha! He thinks he could. How does he not know who I am?
“Yeah, join the club. Now get the hell out of my bar, all of you!”
Scrambling over the oak bar top, he’s surrounded by his buddies who are there to comfort his diminished pride.
There’s no way Clyde will allow this pussy to patch in. Word will spread like wildfire in the California hills that he was just showed up by someone with a snatch.
“What was that about?”
Damn, I totally forgot about Cass.
“Nothing, just some local Prospects.” My body whirls around toward him with a big, fake smile on my scarred face.
I’m not ashamed of my battle wounds, self-conscious sometimes, maybe. What happened, happened. You can’t change the past.
Cass studies me close—too close. “You okay?”
No.
“Me? Oh, I’m perfect. That guy on the other hand, let’s just say the complete opposite of what he was trying to achieve happened.” I smirk, looking everywhere but at Cass. Subject change would be nice.
“Ma’am! Can we get some service, please?”
I clear my throat, facing the man down the bar. “Yeah, I’m coming.”
“I got it,” Mitch offers. He truly is such a sweet guy even though he doesn’t know he’s trying to use me for a beard. The way he flirts with every attractive male who walks into this place gives it away. Poor guy doesn’t even realize it.
My face lights up, smiling at one of my best and only friends while he winks at me again, I’m starting to think he’s got something stuck in his eye or he has a twitch.
“Can you get the Bud Light keg for me from the back?” I ask Cass, my hand wrapping around his bicep.
Jesus, he’s fucking thick.
Instantly I regret touching him and having dirty thoughts of what I would do to him, because now I’m wet. There’s only been one other guy who could make my thong soaked by an innocent touch, so this is a nice change.
“Already did that; you had rock glasses back there as
well that I brought up. From the looks of what everyone is drinking you’re going to need them.”
Over achiever.
“Can you clean them up for me?”
“Sure thing.” He dips his head, and then heads over to my station first. This is going to be a long night. I have to remind myself of why I took over this place—to get out.
Clyde
“Oh fuck! Oh fuck! Right there, harder…fuck me harder.” The blonde slut screams every time I pound into her. What the hell does this bitch want? If I fuck her tight ass any harder, I’ll literally beat the bottom out.
I pull my fingers away from her clit that’s oozing with her cum, slapping her ass with as much force this position allows. Gripping her hips, I pull her into me as I drive it home. She’s came five times already with no goddamn end in sight.
“Shit,” I pant, focusing on the sound our bodies make slapping against each other. No matter what I do the bitch won’t shut up. Letting go with one hand my fingers trace up her spine and into her hair. With the long strands wrapped around my fist I yank her head, forcing her neck back, and crash my lips to hers while shoving my tongue down her throat to cut off her screams. The taste of her blueberry lip gloss repulses me but I can’t take the whines and moans she’s barking anymore. The only lip gloss that interests me is cotton candy.
Like a battering ram, I pound and pound, over and over, but her pussy is so fucking loose I’m having to beat around just to feel something. And I by no means have a small cock.
A little more and you can force it, Clyde.
Slamming my eyes shut I think of her, picturing those full, real tits bouncing every time my dick sinks into her cunt. My cock was in heaven, her walls clamping down, pumping into her sweet, suckled, cushioned vice. Her thick, muscular thighs squeezing my hips, pulling me closer onto her narrower waist so I could suck and bite on those thick nipples.
I’m almost there, just… a few… more…
Bang, bang, bang! The oak wood doors shake with each earth-shattering pound.
“Fucking Christ!” I roar pulling away from the bitch beneath me.
“Baby, why’d you stop,” she cries.
“Shut up,” I growl. Snatching my jeans off the ground, I stalk toward the door.
I’m fucking pissed. Can’t no one get pussy in peace around here.
Yanking open the door, I glare at my VP Nix standing there with a bum ass Prospect we call Bean. Bean’s face is covered in blood from a fight he clearly lost. Not only that, but the ski slope’s been repositioned on his face. “What the hell happened to you?”
“Fucking bitch at the bar.”
He better pray he answers the next question correct.
“What bitch? What bar?”
Bean doesn’t say anything, and Nix slaps him in the back of his head. The meaty man chokes on a yelp from his head jarring forward.
Bean’s eyes plummet in submission. “Regan’s, but I didn’t know who that bitch was at the time or I would have never touched her!”
He fucking touched her?!
That’s the wrong answer. I’m already in a shitty mood and this… this fucking fat piece of shit wants to tell me he touched her?
I lunge for him, wrapping my hands around his neck. He tumbles to the ground and lands on his back, taking me with his heavy ass without my hands ever leaving from around his neck. I crouch over him. “You fucking touched her?”
His face turns three shades of red under all that blood before hitting the blue stage. He tries opening his mouth to counter, but I’m relentless in my attack; the only thing leaving his mouth are gasps of air.
“Pres!” Nix bellows, gripping my biceps. “Clyde, enough!”
When I’m forced to let go of the Prospect my anger doesn’t fizzle away, the only thing that could calm me down is either killing this asshole or…
“Get him out of my sight and take his cut, he’s out,” I snarl swaying my way back into the room, ready to take my aggression out on the desperate woman inside, when the dead man speaks.
“That’s bullshit, Pres, and you know it. That tease never wanted you and still don’t. She’s been too busy eye fucking that new barback she hired to even notice you.”
Mid-stride my body stiffens at the Prospect’s admission. Doing an about face I stop in front of him. “She’s seeing someone?”
“Yeah, she’s seeing him all right.” His meaty arm comes up, bringing his hand down on my shoulder, and he flashes me a toothless grin. “You don’t need that bitch boss, that fine piece of ass you got in there is perfect for you.”
I nod, maybe he’s right, maybe I don’t need her. She didn’t want me before what would be the difference now? I grin at Bean. “You have a point. But then again…”
He comes to the realization that he’s fucked up. The color drains from his puffy face when he looks into my eyes, and he knows exactly what happens next. You don’t mess with what’s mine and you sure as hell don’t tell me I don’t need something. I’m the goddamn President of the Berserkers; I get what I want, how I want it.
Bang! Fucker never saw it coming. Nix had pulled out his big boy. The Mark XIX, .50 cal. giving ole Bean here a new mouth.
I stepped out of the way, enough to avoid the brain matter from the explosion of his skull. His blood, however, still sprayed me. Cabe, my Enforcer, rounds the corner. “The fuck? What did I miss?”
“Get your shit, we’re going for a ride.”
Kat
“That was exhausting.” Plopping down in the booth I just disinfected feels like fucking heaven. Cass sits across from me, agreeing. “I don’t know what brought all these people out, but damn. I mean don’t get me wrong, I love making money but fuck, we were not prepared.”
Cass raises his thick blond brow at me, grinning from ear to ear when Mitch pops his head out from around the office door. “Boss? We got a problem.”
“What now?” Dragging ass out of the booth I head for my office. If it’s not one thing it’s another. “What’s up, Mitch?”
He points to the corner of the room in the direction of my safe; it’s open. “Son of a fucking bitch!”
I rush over to the six-foot box, swinging the metal door open the rest of the way. Everything’s been wiped out. Paperwork, money, my weapons, everything.
“Had to be Jim.” Mitch offers walking up behind me.
“No shit, fuckers had it in for me since he got expelled from the club. Fuck!”
“What’s wrong?” Cass’s melodical voice comes from behind me.
“Jim happened.”
The tension’s thickened around the room, and Cass lets out an unusual, frustrated grunt. “I’ll handle it.”
“No, no you don’t need to get involved. I’ll take care of it.” I consider Cass, only to be met with empty air. “Where did he go?”
Mitch shrugs just as enthralled in Cass’s disappearing act as I am. Seconds later, a motorcycle engine roars to life outside. He’s a fucking biker? Really?
“Guess he just dropped off your radar, didn’t he?” Mitch grins, waggling his caterpillars at me.
“Depends.”
He lets out a disappointed breath. I hate hurting his feelings, but what does he really expect? “Go home, I’ll lock up.”
“You sure?” I balk, surprised he’s willing to handle everything when usually he’s practically sucking my toes to get off the hook for lock up.
“Yeah you’ve had a rough night. Skedaddle, little one.” He shoos me with his hands.
“You’re a dork.” I laugh, tossing the paper I’ve been holding onto the desk.
“Takes one to know one.”
“I swear, sometimes I think you’re the twenty-one-year-old here,” I scoff, snatching up my keys and throwing on my jacket. Nights around the lake can get pretty chili. “See ya!”
The back doors still jarred open from Mitch taking the trash out, making it easy for me to slide through.
Ah! There’s my baby. My sinfully, beautiful, pussy-wetting, black mu
stang sits in the back lot waiting for me to glide into those pristine, matching leather seats.
She was my dad’s until he died two years ago. Dad was Clyde’s Treasurer at the time and was supposed to be promoted when Clyde’s dad, who was Chapter President, passed away. Unfortunately, the club wanted to stay in the one percenters category a little bit longer, so they took a vote and decided Clyde should take the honor of leading the pack. He’s claimed a lot of records just by taking the gig—he became the youngest Chapter President the club has ever had, a ruthless motherfucker who cares for only himself, and he’s damn proud of that.