Thunder (Hell's Handlers MC #10) - Lilly Atlas Page 0,6
wasn’t a soul in the club who’d believe he got hard for the plain Jane type, but after spending his entire life around prostitutes, strippers, and women sporting clubwear, he’d lost all interest in the painted-up party look. No, the cute, reserved, hardworking waitress was just the type he’d like to sink his dick into.
Look at that, he was hard.
And he was due at the clubhouse in exactly seventy minutes. At least an hour of that he’d spend on the road. So he really didn’t have time for so much as a few thrusts with Lisa.
“Shit, babe, you know I’d love nothing more, but I gotta roll. I’m expected at the clubhouse soon.”
“Oh, boo.”
If that damn lip jutted out any farther, she’d be able to clean her eye makeup off with it.
“Next time, babe. Promise.”
Her face brightened. “Oh, that’s in two weeks when you dance for Betty’s bachelorette party.”
Betty being a forty-five-year-old shrew on her fourth marriage.
He winked. “Yes, ma’am. See you then.” Lisa might be an annoying, stuck-up bitch, but she loved his act and hired him for the countless inane parties she wasted her life planning for her vast social circle. Worked for him. Even though he didn’t have time to dance at YGM anymore, he did plenty of private events as a side hustle.
“Bye, Thunder.”
As he walked away, she let her fingers trail down his torso, accidentally grazing his dick. Luckily, he was still half hard from thinking about the waitress. He had a rep to uphold, after all. Of course, Lisa assumed the chub was for her, and she hummed her approval.
He’d be a fool to correct her and lose that money train, so he just winked and strode out the door of the hall she’d rented out for the event.
Once outside in the crisp air, he finally took a cleansing breath. Time to shed one persona and step into another. He slipped into his cut, then mounted his bike. It’d warmed up enough to ride during the day, but nights still flirted with damn cold on occasion. He didn’t care, though, and neither did most of his brothers. They’d chomped at the bit all winter, and all bikes were back on the road in full force.
Just as he was about to fire up his one-and-only, his phone rang.
“Sup?” he said into his helmet’s Bluetooth.
“You on your way, Thunder?” Zach’s voice filled his head.
“Yeah, man. You need me to stop anywhere on the way?”
“Nope. Just get your ass here. And try to keep from shaking it in front of my woman.”
The line went dead.
Thunder laughed as he hit the throttle and shot out onto the highway. As he was overdue for a trim, the wind whipped his hair around his face beneath his dome. He fucking loved that feeling.
A few months ago, he’d busted in on the ol’ ladies’ girls’ night only to find them watching a how-to twerking DVD. Buncha garbage. So, he’d turned that shit off and showed them how to get that shit done right. They’d ended up having an impromptu booty poppin’ party. Of course, Izzy going into labor cut the fun short. Turned out, the ol’ men of the club got a tad possessive when their women were in the presence of a little male ass shakin’. Who knew?
It’d become a running joke at his expense. One he had no choice but to bend over and take since he was still a prospect, and he wouldn’t do a damn thing to jeopardize that. First time in his fucking life, he had people at his back. Brothers he could count on through thick and thin. Or at least they would be brothers once he’d patched in.
A solid hour later, he waltzed into the hoppin’ clubhouse. Since it was only ten p.m., plenty of drinking hours remained. He strode up to the bar where Monty, another prospect, was slinging drinks. “Hey, T, you’re here. Whatcha drinkin’?”
“Gimme a shot of tequila and a whiskey. I got some catching up to do.”
“You got it,” he said, as he pulled out a shot glass and set it in front of Thunder. Ten seconds later, it was full of tequila, and another two seconds after that, the liquor was sliding down Thunder’s throat.
He sighed as he returned the shot glass to the bar. He was home. With his people. Men and women who understood blood didn’t necessarily mean family, and who didn’t judge a shady history. Hell, almost everyone here had a past that would make the