Page 8 of Riding Dirty

“I would like to set up a meeting.”

I know what that means.

He wants to hire us.

“Fat Boys, two o’clock.”

Ending the call, I shove my phone back in my pocket as a growl rumbles in the back of my throat and slowly rolls up and out of my mouth. It’s Monday. Maybe it’s best I get a job to discuss so I won’t be here to look at her… watch her… want her.

I move through the bar, but I’m stopped by Velvet. She holds up her hand, motioning for me to come over. Reluctantly, I shift directions and make my way toward her. She’s standing with her back against the wall, and I can’t help but wonder what the fuck she’s doing there.

“Velvet?” I ask.

She smiles, tilting her head back at the same time, and inhales and puffs her chest up. Her tits look good, especially with her back arched like that, but I’m not sure what the deal is. I watch her, waiting for her to speak, but she doesn’t quickly enough,

“Got shit to do, babe. What’s up?” I push her a bit more.

She hums, then pushes off the wall and takes a step toward me, then another before she is so close that her tits are practically pressed against my chest. Lowering my chin, I look into her eyes, my gaze searching hers.

“You didn’t want us cleaning?” she asks.

My brows snap together at her question. “I didn’t want you cleaning?”

“The clubhouse. You hired that woman to come in and clean the place.” She pokes out her bottom lip in a pout. It’s fake as fuck. She’s probably happy not to clean, seeing as she never fucking did much anyway.

I almost laugh, because this is a ridiculous fucking conversation if I ever heard one. She’s jealous, though I can’t figure out why she would be.

“We need the place cleaned. She has a service. What’s the fucking problem?”

She shrugs a shoulder, then clears her throat. This conversation is starting to annoy the fuck out of me.

“I just thought me or Minty might be the den mother.”

I want to burst out laughing, like, full-on fucking laugh. I don’t, only because I don’t want to deal with her fake tears, not today, not fucking ever. Instead, I tilt my head to the side, my eyes searching hers.

Clearly, she thinks she’s something she’s not.

“Sorry, babe, not a role for either of you. We don’t have a den mother right now because there are no old ladies around. And you ain’t that, ain’t ever gonna be that. We don’t have a house mouse, either, because none of you bitches can get off your backs or knees long enough to actually get to work. So I hired a cleaning company to come in and make sure we don’t live in fucking filth.”

She narrows her eyes at me, then lets out a heavy sigh before she continues. “You don’t give us the chance.”

Okay.

That’s it.

Shaking my head once, I lean down slightly, lifting my hand between us, and I touch my index finger to the middle of her chest. I don’t poke her over and over because I know for a fact that shit hurts, but I want to get my point across. Because this is fucking bullshit, and she knows it just as much as I do.

“You don’t get old lady privileges when you’re a clubwhore, babe. That’s the way shit is. The club isn’t as tightly run as it should be, but don’t make me regret that fucking shit. Elodie is going to come in here and do her job, and you’re not going to say a goddamn thing about it to her. Do you understand me on that?”

She nods a couple of times, her head bobbing up and down, her eyes never leaving mine, and I realize that she’s going to be a goddamn problem, a big one, if I don’t stop this shit right fucking now.

“I’m not fucking around, Velvet. You will be out on your fucking ass if you do anything.”

She purses her lips together and widens her eyes in an attempt at appearing innocent. Again, I know she’s not—personally, intimately. But whatever. She wants to think she’s fooling me, that’s fine.

But she’s not.

“I understand,” she exhales all breathily.