Malcolm (Dirty Aces MC Book 1) Read online

  “Yes! That’s what you should do. Let me help you take him down!” I exclaim. Anything, any-fucking-thing, is better than being sold to a different man every night!

  “Eh, it’s a big decision. I think I need to sleep on it,” Harry says as he grabs the arm rests and struggles to his feet. “I’ll let you know tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?” I shout. “Wh-what am I supposed to do until then?”

  “Wait,” he replies.

  “Wait?”

  “Yes. Right there. Don’t move. Dirk is going to keep an eye on you. And if you try to leave, we’ll just go ahead and go with his idea of renting you out by the night or by the hour, I don’t really care which.”

  Great. That’s just fucking great.

  So much for expecting any leniency from my dear old dad.

  Chapter Three

  Malcolm

  When I bang on the table to bring the meeting to order, all of the gathered members of the Dirty Aces shut up immediately. I glance over at my VP, Nash, who is still shuffling through a stack of papers until he looks up and gives me a nod.

  “All right, fellas, I’m going to make this quick so we can get out to the boat and get to work tonight,” I tell them. When I look down the table and see Fiasco’s looking down at his crotch, I stop and stare at him until he looks up at me. His pale blue eyes look vaguely confused, and he swipes a hand through his sun-bleached blond hair before giving an embarrassed grin. “Something interesting down there, big guy?” I ask him.

  “Aw, shit, sorry prez. I had an itch, that’s all,” Fiasco says as his cheeks redden.

  “You know staring at it won’t make it better, right?” Wirth asks. Reaching a tattooed hand up to scratch his own shaven head, Wirth adds, “You gotta get in there and really dig if you want it to feel better.”

  “He was looking to see if anything was moving down there!” Devlin howls with laughter. Devlin and Fiasco are the biggest guys on our crew and are both tasked with doing any ‘heavy lifting’, or bare-knuckle work, that comes along.

  “I was not!” Fiasco protests. “Besides, even if the itch was the bugs again, they can be really hard to see!”

  “The bugs?” Silas, our secretary, groans. He turns his deep-set dark eyes to me with a grimace. “Tell me that dumb bastard doesn’t have crabs! For fuck’s sake, he lounges around here with his dick out half the time!”

  “It’s not the bugs!” Fiasco protests again. “I shaved and then it was really hot today out at the new mall we’re building. None of you would know shit about actual hard work. Even Wirth over here just drives the heavy equipment. Dev and I are the only ones who actually swing a hammer!”

  “Because that’s about all you’re good for,” Silas sneers.

  “Hey, that’s enough,” I shut them all up in an instant when I raise my voice. “Fiasco, do what you need to do and shut the fuck up. The rest of you ignore him. Now, Nash and I have been talking a lot about doing some patch-overs lately to get some new blood into the crew. He’s been doing some research on some other local MCs, and he’s come up with some potential candidates.”

  “Potential is the keyword, here,” Nash interjects.

  “Before we agree to do any patch overs or even vote on anything, I want to meet these guys. Let’s bring them here, pour a few gallons of booze down their throats and offer them a buffet of pussy to see what they’re really made of.”

  “Sounds like a damn good time,” Wirth laughs. “I don’t think any of our prospects would turn down that sort of opportunity, prez.”

  “I’ll set it up,” Nash agrees.

  “Next month,” I add. When he sighs heavily at me putting it off, I explain to him and the other guys why I want to wait. “First, we need time to hire a PI to scope them out.”

  “A private investigator for all five groups? You really think that’s necessary?” Nash questions.

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “Are we gonna weed out the ones with criminal records now too?” Devlin snorts. “‘Cause that would be all of us. I know you’re paranoid, boss, but you really need to chill the fuck out.”

  “I don’t give a shit about their criminal records,” I argue. “I just want to know who they associate with, the people in their circles. Make sure there’s no law enforcement or mafia-types pulling their strings.”

  “Fine,” Nash agrees on a sigh. “We’ll vet them for a few weeks before we bring them to the boat to party.”

  “Meeting adjourned,” I say with a slam of the gavel, ready to drop the topic.

  The guys get up to leave, making their way to the door. On his way around the table, Silas slaps my shoulder and says, “No offense, man, but how long has it been since you spent some time with the Booty Call Squad? You’re wound tight and are gonna snap if you don’t find a way to relax soon.”

  “You should worry more about yourself and less about me and my dick,” I warn him before he throws his head back and walks out chuckling.

  Naomi

  I’m not sure what my father has against Malcolm Hyde and I don’t really care. From my limited research on the biker, which consisted of asking the cooks if they had heard of him once I returned to work last night, I know he’s the president of the Dirty Aces motorcycle gang, and that’s about it. I seriously doubt that he’s a good, honest guy, especially since the first thing anyone said about the Dirty Aces was that they were a bunch of shady drug dealers.

  My mom died of an overdose ten years ago when I was only eleven, so I have no qualms about stealing from the guys peddling that crap on the streets. Not that she was ever much of a mother to me before she left this world. If not for my grandparents, I would’ve ended up in foster homes. I’m thankful to Gram and Gramps with every breath and still miss them like crazy.

  For a year now, I’ve been on my own with only one relative still breathing – my asshole father. Harry’s never been there for birthday parties or holidays. He wasn’t the kind of dad to even bother sending a card in the mail. I’ve never asked for anything from him, and he’s never given me anything other than the money I desperately needed a few weeks ago when I stole from his personal collection of ‘historical artifacts’.

  Now, I have no choice but to make amends by snooping on the Dirty Aces and their president, in particular, as well as trying to embezzle as much as I can while I pretend to be a hardworking employee.

  The first step in this plan of his requires me to quit my waitressing job and try to get hired onto the Aces’ gambling cruise ship. It’s not like they have a help wanted sign up or anything on their clubhouse. I doubt a gang that deals in illegal activities ever asks strangers to come work for them.

  Which is why getting onto the stupid boat may be the hardest part of Harry’s idiotic idea. He was confident that all I have to do is show a little skin and bat my eyes to seal the deal. I have my doubts, but I’d rather take a chance with these bikers than face my father’s ‘alternatives’.

  I’m not a virgin or anything close to it. But I don’t actively flirt with men to take advantage of them. Occasionally, I’ve taken easy opportunities, snatching up a wallet or cell phone from a guy when the situation presented itself. When the power company was threatening to leave Gram and I in the dark right after Gramps died, I didn’t have any other options. Times were tight, so I did what I had to do without any regrets. It’s not like I spent the money on a jet ski or a vacation. Those sorts of luxuries are for the rich, not burger slinging waitresses who work the graveyard shift to pay the bills.

  At least now that I have a deal with Harry, I’m able to sleep in my own bed, shower and change clothes whenever I like. For a while, those simple things were my indulgences.

  Freshly washed with a face full of makeup and my short, blonde hair styled with beach waves, I parallel park my Malibu in an empty spot right in front of the old warehouse that has been converted into a huge pool hall, bar, and garage. The sun is still high in the sky, and I’m guessing a shady place like this doesn’t start getting busy until
late at night. Grabbing one of my printed resumes, I climb out of my car, toss my keys in my purse and strut right inside the building like I belong, even if I already know I’m going to look out of place in my white lace sundress. It’s the sexiest thing I own, and I’m certain that I need all the help I can get in that department.

  Compared to the bright summer day outside, inside the long hall is dark and empty with a few florescent bulbs hanging from the wall over each pool table. There’s a well-polished wooden bar with stools at the front that are all vacant. The only person in the room is a buff, blond man wearing a leather vest behind the bar. He’s busy pulling a lever to fill up a glass with a yellow liquid that is no doubt beer even though it’s only lunchtime. His head turns to look at me, and he stares for so long his glass overflows.

  That’s probably a good sign that my dress is working.

  “Hi,” I say to him with a wave of my resume. “You may want to…” I gesture to his glass, and he finally breaks eye contact with me to look down.

  “Oh shit!” he exclaims as he lets go of the lever and jumps backward. He doesn’t seem too concerned with the mess on the floor, not bothering to grab a towel. He simply strolls in my direction, putting the full glass to his lips and guzzling down half the beverage. “What’s up?” he asks, licking his lips to wipe off the foam and revealing a tongue piercing.

  “I’m sorry to just drop in like this. It doesn’t look like you’re open yet, but I wanted to see if you’re hiring and drop off my resume.”

  “Your resume?” he repeats with a grin. “Does this look like the type of joint that gives a shit about resumes?”

  After another quick glance around the room, I meet his gaze again. “Ah, no, I guess not.”

  The less these guys know about me the better, so I ball up the piece of paper and then shoot it basketball style into the nearest trash can.

  “She shoots, she scores!” the man announces, adding a crowd roar.

  “I’m Naomi,” I say, holding out my hand for him to take when he’s close enough.

  “Fiasco,” he responds, switching his beer to his left to quickly shake my palm with his right hand.

  “Pardon?” I ask in confusion.

  “My name’s Phillip, but everyone calls me Fiasco,” he explains. “Pretty self-explanatory.”

  “Oh, okay,” I reply. “It’s nice to meet you, Fiasco. So, you’re one of the Dirty Aces?” I guess when I see the words printed on a patch sewn to his vest.

  “Sure am. How can I help you?”

  “Are you hiring by chance?” I ask while giving him my best pleading look, practically batting my blue eyes that are several shades darker than his.

  “Sorry, babe,” he replies before taking another gulp to finish off his beer and then slamming the empty glass down on the bar. “You might be a stunner, but we don’t have any openings for jailbait,” he mutters with a grin as disappointment falls heavy on my shoulders. “And, girl, no lie, I’m doing you a favor, because your sweet little ass would get eaten alive by our customers. Seriously, I left a box of doughnuts on the bar one night, and some psycho ate the whole thing. I mean, like, the actual cardboard and all. They’d treat you the same.” He takes one long last look at my tan legs hanging out of my dress before he shakes his head and starts strolling down a back hallway.

  “Wait,” I shout, hurrying to catch up to him in my wedge sandals, unable to accept defeat so soon. If I can’t find a way to get hired, I’m screwed. Worse than screwed. Anything is better than what my father has in store for me if I fail. “Please,” I say when I grab Fiasco’s bare arm to make him stop and listen to me. “I’ll do anything — waitress, hostess, wash dishes. There’s got to be something I can do on the Dirty Aces’ gambling boat, right? I mean…I’m a hard worker and-and I’m desperate.”

  “Desperate, huh?” he asks before his tongue makes a salacious swipe along his bottom lip, revealing the barbell piercing in the center again.

  “Yes, I am,” I affirm, inwardly cringing at how pathetically low I’ve sunk. I told myself I have to do whatever it takes to pay off the debt I owe to Harry, but saying it and doing it are two very different things. My stomach drops and bile burns my throat at just the thought of what he threatened to do to me if I don’t get him his money by the end of the month. Nothing Fiasco can do to me would be worse than what’s in store if I fail. Time’s running out, so I’ll have to just suck it up. Besides, I could do a lot worse than the big, blond biker with a tongue stud. Knowing just how furious Harry would be if he found out I fooled around with one of the Dirty Aces, who he apparently loathes, is another bonus. My father loves to remind me that I’m already a whore like my mother. Maybe I am. Still, no matter what it takes to pay him back, I don’t regret it. I’d steal from him to get the cash all over again, if given the choice.

  “Do you have an ID that says you’re at least twenty-one?” Fiasco asks, not asking if I am of age but if I can pretend to be.

  “Yes!” I agree, pulling out my real ID from the purse on my shoulder to hold up in front of his face. At least I don’t need to lie about this.

  “All right, sweet cheeks,” Fiasco says as I put my license away. “Let’s go see if you can put your money where your mouth is.”

  “Right now?” I ask.

  “Right now.”

  “And if I…put my money where my mouth is, does that mean you’ll give me a job?” I ask while following along behind him down the hallway to a small storage room where cases of beer are stacked up in rows several feet high.

  “Fuck yeah, I’ll get you on the boat,” he agrees, shutting the door behind me and resting his back against it. “After we’re finished up here, all you need to do is come back tonight at eight in a black cocktail dress,” he tells me while eyeing my white one that glows in the dark room. “The shorter and the more your tits show, the better your waitressing tips will be.”

  “Great, thank you so much!” I exclaim.

  “Actions speak louder than words, babe,” he says while his hand grabs my shoulder and pushes me down to the floor. “Get on your knees and show me just how thankful you really are.”

  Chapter Four

  Naomi

  Fiasco made good on his promise. At eight o’clock, he welcomed me aboard the Pirate’s Booty in my short, black, sleeveless dress with the taste of him still on my lips even after three swigs of mouthwash.

  It’s not exactly a bad flavor. And under any other circumstance, I probably wouldn’t have even minded getting him off with my mouth. It’s just the shame of why I did it that’s still haunting me, making me feel like a stranger in my own skin, doing things I wouldn’t normally do if not for the anvil Harry is holding over my head. I had to get on my knees for him, not for myself, which makes me hate my biological father even more than I thought possible.

  Still, I’m here, on the gambling boat, ready to take the next step in my plan of ripping off the Dirty Aces, and Malcolm Hyde specifically, any way possible to earn back twenty-thousand dollars. Or is it now twenty-one thousand thanks to Harry’s ridiculously unfair but unavoidable interest rate?

  The bartender, a squinty-eyed girl named Ronnie, spends about ten minutes training me on taking drink orders, filling them, and where to put the money once the customer pays since they deal solely in cash. That means it’ll be easier than I thought to skim a little right off the top without anyone the wiser.

  There aren’t many gamblers on the boat tonight, but the ones I do serve are generous tippers. I’ve made a hundred bucks before the sun fully sets, which is way more than I usually make in an entire night at the diner.

  I’ve just finished making the rounds and am taking a breather at the bar when a new man comes waltzing into the game room from a side entrance, looking like my very own personal Jesus with his wavy brown hair that brushes his shoulders. In jeans and a leather vest identical to Fiasco’s, it becomes immediately clear that the guy is also a member of the Dirty Aces. After a notable hush falls over the room, everyone paus
ing in the middle of their card game or dice to turn and look at him, I start to think that this man isn’t just any member of the MC but very likely their president.

  After someone presses the imaginary play button and everybody goes back to what they were doing before his majesty entered, I whisper to Anika, the only other waitress who works weeknights, “Who is that?”

  “Don’t even think about it,” she responds while chomping extra hard on her chewing gum. “Malcolm’s a unicorn.”

  “A what?” I ask.

  “A unicorn. Sure, he’s pretty to look at and the most powerful man in town, but there’s no chance in hell that you’ll ever get to ride him. Seriously, the best thing you can do is pretend he’s imaginary and go on with your life.”

  Wow. I knew Anika wasn’t too thrilled about me dipping into her and the bartender’s tips or whatever, but still, that’s no reason to go full-on bitch so fast.

  “Oh. Don’t take it personally,” she says with a wave of her hand, having apparently read my shocked face correctly. “Malcolm doesn’t know we, his employees, exist, no matter how hard you flirt with him or try to get in his jeans. Believe me, I’ve tried and so has everyone else.”

  “Everyone else?” I ask.

  “Oh yeah. On the weekends, we have another bartender and three other waitresses. Then there’s the three girls who work at the pool hall. So, that’s what, ten women counting me? Yeah, at least ten current employees of the Dirty Aces who have all tried and been shot down by Malcolm.”

  “He’s turned down everyone?”

  “Everyone,” she says, blowing a small pink bubble and popping it. “There’s a pool going if you want to throw in twenty bucks; but honestly, it’ll just be a waste of money. It’s up to eight hundred dollars, so thirty-two women have tried and failed to get their hands on Malcolm’s dick.”