by Archer, Addy
I step closer and block her from Myk’s view. “Spill. Right fucking now, as if your life depends on it, and believe me, it fucking does.”
Her eyes narrow. “He’s lying. I did pay for my stepmother’s cancer treatment and have the paperwork to prove it.” Her head swings to Myk. “My father might have left this earth, and she might not have been my biological mother, but I won’t ever leave her standing in the cold when I have the ability to help. I paid. In. Full. And if Xandra told you differently, she lied straight to your face. Now if you would mention the fact she needed the extra cash to snort the blow up her nose—blow her pimp won’t give to her anymore until she pays him back. Remember the pimp, Myk? The side job she has besides working in this whorehouse. Right. You’d be more convincing blabbering the truth instead of spreading lies.” A smirk slides over her face. “Or maybe you needed the cash for the blow the both of you taint your brains with. Now, who needs to die again, asshole?”
Well, this fucked-up shit just keeps getting better and better. Somehow this woman doesn’t strike me as a liar. The door rattles, and I hear Lexi’s voice asking to come in.
I stalk to the door, flip the lock, and open it slightly. “We’re in the middle of something, Lexi.”
“I know, Alaric,” Lexi purrs on a whisper in an effort not to anger me—needless to say, she’s failing. “But I suddenly realized I texted Angie too soon, and I don’t want anything to happen to her. She’s… oh no. Angie, sweetheart, are you in there?”
“Too late,” I snap and close the door, but Lexi slams against the door with a flat hand to grab my attention once more.
“You can’t kill her. You’ll anger a lot of people, Alaric,” Lexi pleads. All of her earlier charm is suddenly lacking, and there’s fear in her eyes.
Fear? Who the hell is she scared of if I kill the fucking maid? I shove Lexi back and close the door in her face, flipping the lock to make sure she doesn’t enter. I stalk right up to the maid I now know is named Angie and snatch her by the neck.
“Who the fuck are you? And who the hell would I anger if I slice your throat the way I killed your sister a few fucking minutes ago?” I all but spit in her face.
The tiny-as-shit maid doesn’t even flinch under my growling and grip. Grown fucking men have pissed their pants when I act this way, but she’s indifferent and simply states, “A lot of my clients would be unpleased with losing my services.”
I bring my face closer to hers, our noses touching as I’m barely hanging onto my last straw of patience. “What. Fucking. Services?”
“Cleaning up the kind of mess you made when you sliced my stepsister’s throat.” Finally, there’s emotion being thrown in the mix, but what she’s showing isn’t fear.
She’s pissed off at me, and suddenly playing with this chick’s life is making my cock hard. It makes me wonder, though. “The mess I made? Maybe we need a repeat of things. Can you suck cock better than your sister?”
C H A P T E R T W O
~ ANGIE ~
Can you suck cock better than your sister? This asshole’s question echoes through my mind, and anger instantly surges through my veins. My knee jerks up, and I hate how he easily dodges my attack. The duster falls from my hand as I grab two fists full of his leather cut and bring myself even closer to him.
“Try me, asshole. I’ll easily take you all the way down my damn throat before I bite it off at the root,” I hiss in a low tone. “I’m no fucking whore and never will be.”
My heart is beating out of control, and my anger isn’t helping to slow it down. This man here killed my stepsister. She had her issues with her cheating and stealing ways, not to mention the fact I hate her so freaking much, I might have wished she was dead more than a few times. The bitch set me up a few days ago, but that doesn’t mean she had to die for being who she is.
I had reasons enough to kill her with my bare hands when she offered my body to her stupid pimp as a way to work off her debt. Oh, yes, that vile trick is one of the many reasons why I hate my stepsister to the core. I’m unable to take my next breath when this asshole tightens his grip and shoves me down to my knees.
I refuse to be scared; it’s something my father taught me when I was old enough to understand. Life always finds a way to kick you in the gut, and begging won’t grant you a wish. He was a firm believer in the whole “whatever happens, happens” way of living. A realist. But also a damn fine chemist who created a solution to dissolve a body flawlessly.
It was his side job at first when I was born—working for the mob as a cleaner. He needed the bulk of cash to keep up with his expensive visits to the whorehouses. Then my mother died when I was sixteen. Seeing as my father didn’t like living alone, he found a substitute. No need to mention where he met Xandra’s mother, right?
With the lack of education—thanks to dear ol’ daddy who didn’t like to spent money on anyone other than himself—you can say I had no other choice but to follow in my father’s footsteps, minus the whore part. The only connection I have to those are my stepsister, my stepmother, and Lexi.
Lexi is an old associate of my father, and when he died, I simply took over all his assignments. No one objected since I had been working alongside my father for years. Disposing of bodies and cleaning up the most gruesome murder scenes will harden a person when they’ve been exposed to it from an early age.
It’s for this reason fear rarely runs through my system. In this situation, I’m glad for it because the hatred building up inside me for this asshole who is pushing me to my knees is about to burst free. I hope he’ll whip out his big dick again because this time I won’t stare at it; I’ll severe it from his body and spit it out on the floor so I can stomp on it.
“Brewer, hold her down.” The asshole keeps his gaze locked with mine as if I should be intimidated by him.
Lexi bangs on the door, her voice coming through loud and clear as she screams, “She’s the queen fixer, Alaric. The queen. Please open the door.”
A smirk slides on my face. I’ve never heard Lexi beg. And, yes, did I neglect to mention I have quite the reputation? They call me the queen fixer, a nickname I obtained a few years ago when I was called in to clean up the bedroom of a mob boss. He killed his mistress when she tried to kill him. It all needed to be handled before his wife returned.
I had just taken over the company, and I was at a friend’s house who was having a dress-up party. I showed up at the mob boss’s home as Queen Cleopatra. I got the job done and left, but the nickname stuck ever since.
And I hate to mention it, but the mob boss kinda stuck too. I liked the nickname. The mob boss? Not so much. He thought I could be his next mistress. He thought wrong. Though it doesn’t stop him from reaching out every now and then to try to persuade me.
Call it an obsession or the fact I keep telling him no and he wants what he can’t have. I’ve been successfully keeping him at arm’s length until a few days ago when I had to reach out to him. Needless to say it was because of Xandra, getting me in trouble as usual.
Alaric. Suddenly the name clicks inside my head, along with the leather cut with the patch of Rebel Rage MC. At first all I noticed was his president’s patch on his pecs. I’ve always avoided taking assignments from these guys. Mainly because business is booming as it is with my long list of clients. And when I glance to my sister—bleeding out on the carpet—I know it was a wise choice to dodge these guys.
They’re the type who leave a stream of bodies dragging behind them. I seriously don’t need the overtime; I’m pretty sure I’m already close to having a burnout. Not to mention these guys own several whorehouses. With my father’s way of life, I’ve had enough of guys hanging around whores—and treating all women as such—to last me a lifetime.
Brewer listens to Alaric and keeps my arms pinned behind me. Alaric rubs his thick bulge right in front of my face. “Queen. Fixer. I’ve heard of you. And if you’re the queen, where’s your king?”
The only answer I have for this guy is a hard stare. I’m done.
His hand reaches for my jaw in a flash, and he presses my bottom lip down in a harsh move. If he’s doing this to get a rise out of me, he’s gravely mistaken. I’ve accidentally thrown acid on my skin countless times. I’ve hurt myself disposing of bodies so damn much, and I won’t even mention the times I got hurt because a murder scene wasn’t completely done yet. Yes, fun times.
Suddenly, he steps back and says, “Tie her up. She’s coming with us to the clubhouse. Hunt, knock the fucker out. Now.”
Hunt moves lightning fast, and Myk crumbles to the ground. I feel something slide around my wrist, and the unmistaken sound of a zip tie follows along with the tight grip, binding my arms in place. I’m pulled up roughly by Brewer and shoved toward the door.
The second he opens it, Lexi is in Brewer’s face in full panic mode when she sees me and pushes past us to plead with Alaric. “You can’t do this. Alaric, please, don’t. Bruno is going to flip his shit when he finds out you took her. He will blame me. You can’t stir trouble between the two of you either. Think this through, please.”
I want to laugh. Normally I’d be pissed if someone brought up Bruno, the mob boss who gave me my nickname. He’s been extra pushy about me becoming his mistress ever since his wife died. Yes, you can say Bruno has a bad track record when it comes to women. Even before she died, he tried to sweet talk me into becoming his. Damn men who only think with their cock.
He’s in his mid-thirties, dark brown hair, scruff, handsome, beaming class, and he’s loaded too. But he’s not for me. I’ve seen too much in my life to have any ambitions to be tied down. Not to mention the whole mistress thing, and with my cheating father, I will never settle for a man who can’t be faithful. And come to think of it, Alaric has some similarities to Bruno; I wonder if they’re related. They seem like twins in the asshole department.
Bruno is a ruthless leader but has always treated me with respect. But I’m sure what Lexi said is the absolute truth. He will flip his shit because Bruno’s mindset is more along the lines of “if I can’t have her, no one will.” It didn’t bother me before because, like I said, I don’t have any ambitions to be tied down or so much as date.
Though this instant, his possessiveness does come in handy. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing to become his mistress. Though I seriously hate a man who can’t be faithful. Not to mention, I’d have to do the whole sex thing with him too.
“Brewer, you and Linc take Myk back to the clubhouse. Tie him to a chair in the basement. We’ll handle him when me and Hunt get back. Let everyone know I’m expecting them in church within the hour. And no fucking excuses this time. I need a full table,” Alaric commands.
Hunt closes the door and locks the four of us inside Lexi’s office. Alaric is still standing in front of Lexi, but his eyes are on me. I have no problem with a staring contest. As a matter of fact, I always win when I’m challenged. Wind blasting in my face, a bug in my eye, whatever. Not. Even. A. Blink.
Alaric stalks toward me and wraps his hand around my throat in a tight grip, again. “Your cunt belongs to Bruno?”
“You have your fingers wrapped around the throat of the only one my cunt belongs to,” I say matter-of-factly.
“Explain why Bruno would care if something happens to you.”
Why is this man’s voice always an angry rumble? And does he really expect me to rattle off everything he asks for? Okay, sure, my hands are tied behind my back, he killed my stepsister, and I’m sure her boyfriend will follow in the same footsteps, not to mention his tight grip around my neck, but really, it’s very annoying.
“Talk,” he snarls impatiently.
I’m done being nice and cooperative. I keep staring at his soulless eyes. The lines around them indicate he’s way older than me. Maybe ten, twelve years at least. His shirt strains around his bulging muscles, his veins wrapping around his thick forearms as he towers over me.
His hair is the same dark color as mine and shaved short at the sides while it’s long on top, making it fall into a perfectly styled faux hawk. If I had a type of man, he wouldn’t be it. Most definitely not a lover who drives me wild but an asshole who drives me mad. All he arouses inside me is annoyance and anger.
His fingers tighten around my throat, and I hate the gasp that slips past my lips. It isn’t one of fear; it’s one where I wasn’t expecting my next breath to be harder to take. Oh well, whatever happens, happens. The only thing my mind wonders about is who will clean up my body after this guy kills me. Funny. I barely manage to choke out a snort over my own inside joke.
“Alaric,” Hunt grabs his forearm. “Don’t you think we’d better keep this one alive and find out what the link is between her and Bruno? We already have enough stuff on our plate, and now Myk’s betrayal is putting pressure on the club too.”
“Bruno has the hots for her and is extremely possessive of Angie.” Lexi rushes to add, “He will be furious if he finds out you’ve touched what he considers his.”
I shoot her a glare. She shouldn’t have said anything, because I can see Alaric’s interest spiking.
“For fuck’s sake, don’t. You know Lexi’s right,” Hunt grumbles. “Didn’t I just mention the whole ‘enough stuff on our plate’? Don’t go toying with Bruno’s obsessions, Pres. You know as well as I do shit like that never ends well.”
Laughter bubbles up in my throat. “Do you really think Alaric is going to listen to you? Look at his face. He’s like a cat ready to dive into a river filled with cream. He’s foolish. Ignorant. Itching to annoy people at every turn.”
“Careful, babe,” Alaric rumbles. “If you keep talking, I might get the impression you have the hots for me. I bet you’re rethinking the whole sucking my cock thing right about now, aren’t you?”
I roll my eyes. “Quite the opposite, asshole. Unlike my sister, I do have standards, and you’re most definitely not my type. Not to mention, your big ego adds ten pounds to your face. Talk about being unattractive.”
Hunt snorts a laugh, and I shoot him a grin.
Alaric gives the both of us a full-on glare. “She’s coming back to the clubhouse, and that’s final. Bruno can suck my cock.”
“Seems you want everyone to suck your cock. Kudos for you not having a preference for gender. But with all the sucking, hasn’t it fallen off from overuse yet?” I snicker, making the corner of Hunt’s mouth twitch again. I kinda like him. I bet me and Hunt could become friends if we’d met under different circumstances.
Hunt grabs my arm and guides me to the door. “Yeah, you’re right, she’s coming with. I like the way she riles you up; it’s damn fine entertainment.”
I glance over my shoulder to enjoy seeing Alaric’s face turn beet red from fury before I’m guided out of the room, down the stairs, and stashed into the back seat of an awaiting car. The drive to their clubhouse is silent and quick. My mind is racing with the different scenarios, and none of them are good.
Such a mess. And to think I didn’t want to take the job when Lexi called. I was going to take the day off and crawl into bed to watch movies and eat ice cream and order food. I’m not the only fixer in this state, but I’m always available for my select group of clients.
I guess it’s time for a career switch or to retire, because even with my barely twenty-two years of age, I’m getting too old for this shit. Okay, that’s a lie. I need a vacation. A long one. Like a two-year vacation. Yes, that sounds way better. Or I could drop everything and finally get some kind of college education since I never had the chance when I was younger.
“Where are you taking me?” I demand when Hunt drags me through a crowded room where a bunch of bikers are eyeing me as if I’m a new piece of ass they want to have a go at.
“Basement,” Hunt replies without glancing back.
And he isn’t lying either. Yikes. It’s drafty and smelly, and they should really invest in some new lamps. Maybe not such a great idea with the whole smelly basement and bright lights combination. I would be able to see all the spiders.
&n
bsp; Me, the one who cleans up murder scenes, I freak out over spiders. Hard to believe, but it’s a phobia I was born with. Besides, I hang around dead people more than the living, so no one knows about this little fact, and I like to keep it that way.
I’m shoved into a dark makeshift cell, and Hunt slams the wooden door closed. A gasp leaves my throat, and I glare through the five steel bars—though I don’t think Hunt can see my glare with the lack of light.
“Is this the dark ages or something? Come on, bring me back to civilization; this is insane. I didn’t do anything wrong.” I’m trying hard to keep my voice from shaking so he doesn’t know I’m freaking out.
But I really am freaking out. My heart is beating out of control. Spiders. Slightly claustrophobic. Did I mention I hate dark, drafty spaces? Why can’t I breathe? And is it getting darker in here? Did something brush over my tied hands? My knees buckle, and my head hurts before everything completely fades to black.
“Why the fuck is she in your bed?” a harsh voice thunders through my splitting headache.
I groan and take my head in my hands. Both my wrists hurt from the way they were tied together, and I’m glad to realize they’re no longer bound.
“Don’t you have a mute button?” I groan.
“Ah, the queen is awake,” Alaric snaps way too loud.
“The queen is going to either retire, take a two-year vacation, or homeschool herself and do the whole change of career thing,” I mutter and swing my legs off the bed.
I get to my feet, but it’s only for a breath or two before my knees buckle and I crash against a hard chest. Alaric’s arms are wrapped tight around me, and in one smooth move he scoops me up and places me back on the bed.
“She fell down and hit her head when I locked her up in the basement,” Hunt states from behind Alaric.
Alaric gently slides his fingers over the side of my head, and I hiss at the flare of pain he’s causing by pressing on the huge lump on my skull.
“Ouch, dammit,” I snap and glare at the asshole.