Dauntless (Sons of Templar MC #5)(9)

“Okay, okay, jeez. Keep your motorcycle panties on,” I muttered as I reached the door. I was assuming it was Lily’s biker man, there to throw around some alpha over the fact his woman did something that he could do for her. Like breathing and such.

I didn’t expect to be shoved savagely aside by a huge angry form entering the room, slamming the door. Asher may have given a new meaning to the term ‘caveman’ but he would never be so brutal, even with someone like me. None of the men in his club would. I had come to understand that, although they were rough bikers who could be scary as f*ck, their attitude towards women, even junkie strippers, was respectful.

Despite this current situation, my mind wandered to the man who’d been visiting the club for the last few weeks. The one who didn’t seem to go away, despite seeing what I was. Not all of it, no one would ever see that, but it should have been enough to scare him away.

“What’s this I hear about you givin’ Carlos shit?” an angry voice hissed.

I moved my gaze lazily up past the muscled chest and to the contorted face of my kind-of-boyfriend. Kind of because I didn’t ‘do’ boyfriends, and he was a dick. I hadn’t seen him in a couple weeks, and I hadn’t missed him. “Hello to you to, Dylan,” I replied smartly.

His hands tightened on my forearms to the point of dull pain. Had I been stone-cold sober, I reasoned that pain might’ve edged on unbearable. However, I was still high, so it had a numbing quality, an unimportance.

His eyebrows narrowed and his eyes turned to slits. “Don’t give me your mouthy shit. You’ve done enough of that,” he clipped.

I regarded him, not feeling much fear at the fury in his tone, his lack of hesitation at getting physical. He was not cute when his face was scrunched up in fury. Another part of me, a shameful part, felt kind of turned on with this fury, this lack of respect I was getting.

Fucked-up, I knew. That was me. Fucked-up to the core.

I reached out to his grip on my forearms, gently stroking the white knuckles.

“How about we don’t talk at all, then,” I murmured.

Even as I said the words they tasted bitter. As I touched his arms I wanted to flinch away in disgust. At him.

At myself.

His gaze flickered, the anger rippling like a channel changing on the TV as he pushed me roughly into the wall. “Yeah. We’ll get there. I’ll get that *. First, that * is gonna make us some money,” he said. No, ordered.

I straightened and jutted my chin up, glaring at him. “Excuse me?” I replied sharply. I might’ve been f*cked-up enough to be turned on in the face of his anger, but even I wouldn’t stand for being talked to like that. I was still clutching that last crumbled piece of self-respect.

“Don’t act surprised. You know what I’m talking about. You’re going to fully immerse yourself in the business.”

Anger crawled up my throat as I laughed coldly. “You’re seriously trying to be my pimp?” I asked in disbelief. I knew he was connected to Carlos through shady business deals but I didn’t think he’d be that far into the prostitution side of the business. I tried my best to not find out what he did with his life. I wasn’t interested in getting to know him. He was only around in order for me to turn myself into a stranger.

My gaze flickered over his flannel shirt and faded jeans. “You need to get yourself a tracksuit and some gold jewelry if that’s the goal,” I informed him smartly. My eyes narrowed. “And a new f*cking girlfriend. ’Cause that right there is never going to f*cking happen. I’ve told Carlos numerous times to go and f*ck himself on that score, albeit more diplomatically because he signs my paychecks. You, on the other hand, do not, so go f*ck yourself. I sure as shit won’t be doing it anymore,” I hissed, wrenching myself from his grip and moving to the door so I could open it.

His palm went above the knob I was clasping, making moving it impossible.

“You’re assuming you have a choice,” he murmured in my ear, his body pressing into me from behind. “I’m sick of you acting like you’ve got some kind of code. Like you’re better. Newsflash, babe, you’re not better. You’re a f*ckin’ stripper. White trash. A good one at that, with a nice ass and nice tits.” He paused so he could cup them roughly. “But still trash,” he added in my ear. “That body is worth something, and it’s going to be used to not only milk my cock but to earn me some f*ckin’ coin.” The unmistakable feeling of his hard-on pressed against my ass.

I swallowed bile and struggled against the stab of pain at his words. The truth in them.

Trash. I was that.

But I wasn’t his. I wasn’t anyone’s.

“I said it before, and I’ll say it again. Obviously your tiny brain needs repetition because the only head that seems to be working right is the one between your legs,” I hissed through gritted teeth. “Go. Fuck. Yourself,” I uttered slowly, trying to exert strength in my tone since he had exerted strength over my body.

I was whirled so I faced him, so his front pressed to mine, so his face could dip close to me and I could feel his breath on my nose. “You need to learn a f*ckin’ lesson. Learn your place.”

I stared at him, not feeling an ounce of fear. Dylan was an *; I’d known that from the start. That’s what attracted me to him. He was a lowlife, which was perfect for me. Someone who was already filth so I didn’t taint them.