Thunder (Hell's Handlers MC #10) - Lilly Atlas Page 0,53
was forbidden in the community—way too likely to make girls interested in the outside world or become sluts—and by the time she was out and taking care of five siblings, learning the subtle art of dressing up her face never became a priority. Now she wished she’d taken Kristy up on her offer of help.
Same with her clothes. After her bartending gig last weekend, she’d decided to go with comfort over style this time around, pairing dark skinny jeans with a conservative black tank top and flats.
Based on the hordes of women walking into the clubhouse, she was gonna stick out like a tan crayon in a box of hot pinks.
“You’ll be okay to get yourself home without me, right?” Kristy asked before popping her pouty lips a final time in the mirror. She turned in her seat and gave Mak a dazzling smile. “I’ll be dancing for a bit, but then I’ll probably end up sticking around all night.”
“Uh, yeah, I’m good. I appreciate you riding with me since I’ve never been out this way, but I got it from here.”
“All right, girl, let’s get on in there. Don’t want you to be late.” Kristy opened the door and stepped out of the thirteen-year-old Chevy Malibu as though emerging from a stretch limousine.
With a churning stomach and thumping heart, Mak stood from the driver’s seat in time to catch Kristy adjusting her skintight, hot pink dress over her envy-inducing ass. With a little shimmy, she tugged the skirt down her hips only to have it ride right back up the moment she lifted her arms to plump her breasts. The thing fit so snug to Kristy’s body, Mak had no idea how she could walk, let alone dance. However, clothes weren’t exactly a requirement in her performance. Looked like the silver zipper running the length of Kristy’s dress would come in handy. Especially since the thing already seemed to be halfway undone, giving the world a generous view of her cantaloupe-sized breasts.
Five hundred dollars. Five hundred dollars.
It’d become her mantra over the past few days, keeping her from canceling as she’d wished she could.
“Let’s get this over with,” she mumbled as she shuffled after her friend.
“What’d you say?” Kristy asked, but her attention diverted to the door where a burly man was checking over each person who entered the clubhouse.
“Nothing.”
With each step closer to the entrance, Mak’s stomach wound tighter. Truth of the matter was, she’d rather be anywhere else. The distinct smell of weed and booze permeated the air, increasing in strength as they neared the building. It brought back memories of living in the community when the men would get high and tromp out into a field to shoot beer bottles. Those nights had been the worst. Hours of sleeplessness, listening to hundreds of rounds of gunfire before Roger came home, ranting about her ineffectiveness as a wife. He’d fall on top of her stinking of marijuana and stale beer as he demanded she spread her legs.
Sighing, she shook off the memories. If she could survive those nights, she could make it through a few hours tending bar for this MC. Though, she had a feeling this wasn’t going to be the same kind of fun and welcoming experience as last week’s gig at the Handlers’ clubhouse.
A low-pitched whistle had Mak’s gaze snapping up to the huge man standing by the entrance to the clubhouse.
“Damn, woman,” he said to Kristy. “You are smokin’ tonight. Blade’s gonna have you bent over for his cock within minutes of seeing you.”
As Mak’s jaw fell, Kristy let out a laugh and spun around her arms outstretched. “You think so?”
Seriously? She said it as though the idea of some guy screwing her in the middle of the clubhouse was a good thing.
“Know, so, babe. Hope you’re ready for him. He’s in a shit mood, so you’ll be getting it good tonight,” the giant said as he winked.
Kristy patted his massive chest as she sashayed by. “Pretty sure you remember how well I can handle myself, big boy.”
The giant laughed then shifted his attention to Mak, who stood there gaping like she’d never seen a man talk to a woman before. “Well, well,” he said, playful smile turning into more of a hungry leer. “Who do we have here?”
Kristy rested a fuchsia-tipped hand on his round shoulder. “This is Makenna,” she said. “She’ll be working the bar tonight with PeeWee and Level.”
“Gotcha.” He took a step forward. “Arms out, babe.”