“Pay up,” she declared, holding her hand out.
Hades grumbled and slapped fifty dollars into her palm.
“I’ve got kids to put through college, you know.”
“You should have thought of that before you agreed to play pool with me,” Lila said. “I leave no survivors. Ask Pretty Boy.”
“Hey,” I said. “Don’t drag my name through the mud.”
“I cleaned out your wallet last week. You didn’t even have a penny to your name. I was almost embarrassed on your behalf.”
“Here we go again,” Hades muttered under his breath.
I chuckled, wetting my lower lip with eager anticipation at Lila’s open invitation to do battle. It didn’t matter if she hated my guts. I liked riling her up. She was breathtaking when her eyes snapped, and every word she flung at me was like a poisoned barb.
“Why don’t we do a rematch?” I offered.
Lila gestured to the table with a shrug.
“You must be a glutton for punishment. What are the stakes?”
In an instant, I pushed out of my chair, rising to my feet. Hades passed his pool cue to me.
“Good luck, brother. She’s out for blood. Especiallyyourblood.”
I grinned.
“That’s part of the fun.”
Stepping closer to Lila, I came within a few inches of her and dared to reach out, tracing the waistband of her jeans.
“If I win,” I said, low enough for her ears alone. “I want you to model some of that lacy lingerie from your shop for me. My choice. I’ve had my eye on those microscopic thongs for ages.”
Lila narrowed her eyes. Her shop, Noir Delights, was a banquet of everything sexy and skimpy, silky and lacy. In every color. For every body shape and size. A lot of the lingerie had been designed by her own hand, too, which made this wager even better.
Lila considered, propping one hip against the table.
“The only thing I would ever model for you would be prison orange,” she replied. “After I stab you for touching me.”
I withdrew my hand, just to be on the safe side. Lila was barely five-foot-two but she knew how to fight dirty.
“What do I get if I win?” she countered.
“You could ride my face,” I suggested, leaning in until we were close enough to kiss. “Strangle me with your thighs.”
Lila smirked and tapped me on the chest with her pool cue.
“Oh, no, no, no. You would enjoy that too much, Pretty Boy. When I win, I intend to make you suffer.”
That seemed to be her primary mission in life, even when we were kids.
On my sixteenth birthday, my dad announced he couldn’t deal with a delinquent son with a juvie record half a mile long. He wanted to move on, to marry his girlfriend, to start a new chapter and build a better life for himself. And I was holding him back.
So, he put me on a bus out of town. I landed in Juniper Creek, Colorado, a long, long way from the Chicago neighborhood where I grew up.
Two days later, I stumbled into the Reckless Order's clubhouse, looking for a meal, or a job, or a wad of cash to steal.
Instead, Lila’s father took me under his wing. Otis “Hillbilly” Parker became my mentor and Sponsor, teaching me how to bea biker, vouching for my position in the club as the Prospect. He saw something in me worth saving.