Skirt (Ruthless Kings MC #5) - K.L. Savage Page 0,61
here a lot longer than you,” Jasmine slurs, her fruity drink splashing over the rim of the plastic cup as she teeters on her heels that are three inches too high. “We deserve them. Not you.”
“Well, none of them picked you, did they?” Juliette spouts, flicking her thick brown hair over her shoulder.
“They fucked us.” Candy has a satisfied grin on her lips as if that is supposed to make me jealous.
I laugh because I know my man hasn’t fucked any one of them. Only me. Only ever. I’m not about to tell them that, but I know the truth. “You think that makes you special? Sweetie, you were another pair of legs to help get on with the day, but you don’t have their hearts. You will always be a cut-slut. Now, why don’t you go spread them for a brother who isn’t taken?”
“Fucking bitch.” Jasmine tosses her drink on me, right in my fucking face. All I taste is vodka and punch, staining the white shirt Sarah let me borrow.
Candy takes a step back, the first time in her life that she’s probably ever been smart, as I stand. I don’t know why I can defend myself here and I couldn’t with Cohen; maybe it’s because of Aidan. I had to take the abuse so my son never got it, but Cohen isn’t here, and Aidan is missing, and the only thing keeping me somewhat levelheaded is Skirt.
And I’m not about to let these women ruin that for me.
The song on the jukebox is turned down, but lightly plays in the background. Conversation comes to a halt as everyone stares at us.
Without thinking, I snag her by the extensions in her hair and push her to the ground, then drag her to the front door. I’m so sick of people thinking they can walk all over me. I’m done with that. It’s time to show people who’s boss, who’s in control, and it’s not some whore who had Skirt’s cock in her mouth for less than a minute.
When we get outside into the cold night, my breath can be seen, and the bonfire that Braveheart, Tank, and Doc are sitting around is warm and inviting. When Doc sees what’s happening, he stands on his feet from the stump on the ground.
I slam Jasmine’s head against the porch, and she whines, “You bitch!”
“Yeah, you’ve been saying that a lot lately.” I kick her down the steps, and she cries when she hits the ground. I mean, ugly sobs as she tries to get to her feet. I hurry to her side and push her, and if Doc wasn’t in the way, Jasmine would have been set on fire. “Let me get something straight to you—Skirt is mine. You might have had a taste of him for a moment, but I get it for a lifetime. I fuck him. You don’t. You don’t like it? Leave. I have other things to worry about than a selfish whore who thinks she has any say over the men here because she waves her ass in the air for an easy ride. Leave me alone, and I promise I won’t take Skirt’s brass knuckles and fucking beat you with them. Are we clear?”
“Yes.” She stares at the ground, not even able to look me in the eyes.
“You owe Sarah an apology for ruining her shirt. Reaper will deal with you later for it, I assume. Isn’t Sarah the one thing you aren’t supposed to fuck with? Her or her belongings?” Her eyes widen, and her face turns ashen; even with the glow of the fire, she’s terrified. Why can’t Reaper carve a heart in her chest? Why the hell does the MC have sluts hanging around all the time? It isn’t like they can’t go to Vegas and get a piece of ass whenever they want.
Having women here is a constant reminder for us ol’ ladies, like a slap in the face.
I stomp my way up the steps and slam the door behind me, take a deep breath, and make my way toward the bar. Tongue is behind it, and whatever beef we have is gone when he opens up another beer and sets it in front of me; the cool fizz of the cap coming off is like music to my ears.
“You’re a bad bitch,” he says, clinking his drink with mine. “I’ve never seen an ol’ lady take out the trash before.”