Mayhem (Deathstalkers MC Book 5) by Alexis Noelle

Author:Alexis Noelle [Noelle, Alexis]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-02-26T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Sixteen

Jasmine

Terrified. That’s the word I could use to explain how I felt when Cutter informed me that not only did he own a bike—those things are dangerous—but that we would be riding it to the club.

Me?

On a motorcycle?

But as we fly through downtown, the wind rushing past my body, my arms clasped tightly around Cutter’s waist, my legs molded to his, I can see why people become addicted to this. To the high. The feeling of absolute freedom. Don’t get me wrong, there were times when Cutter cut so close to a passing car that my heart jumped up into my throat, and my sore muscles still ached, my swollen eye rubbing against the padding of the helmet Cutter had abruptly knocked onto my head, but still . . .

Wow.

When we pull up to the clubhouse and I climb off Cutter's bike, my legs feel like jelly. Part of it is because I've never been on a motorcycle before, the other is that I'm completely nervous about how this is all going to go. My muscles ache with tension and anxiety. Cutter said Lucy will be at the club, so at least I’ll know one person, but I still don't feel completely comfortable being here.

His hand touches my lower back and I jump. “Take a breath,” he whispers in my ear, and I do.

Outside what look like the main doors, I see a couple of guys standing around smoking. Cutter nods at them as we walk past and I don’t miss the way their eyes track me all the way inside. The door swings closed behind us and slams against the frame. I take in my surroundings.

The smell is the first thing to hit me. Not entirely unpleasant, but there is a very obvious scent of bleach in the air, which should make me feel better because it must mean they’ve been cleaning, but actually it has the opposite effect because my mind races with what exactly they might have had to wash away. The main room is large with a ton of open space, not at all like I’d imagined in my head. A wooden bar runs along one of the walls, all manner of liquors and glasses scattered haphazardly along its surface. A woman stands behind it. The overhead lights catch her highlighted hair, making it glow against her tan skin and the low cut of her black tank leaves little of her chest to the imagination as an older man talks to her with his eyes firmly on her breasts.

And in the middle of the room, there are a couple of couches and chairs, all of them worn out but comfortable looking. Stains cover the arms and seats. I don’t even want to think about what might have caused them. I shudder.

Cutter takes my hand and pulls me past the pool tables and some tables and chairs and I cough as I walk through cigarette smoke as thick as winter fog. Cutter turns, his eyes narrow, but I wave him off, clearing lingering smoke away from my head in the process.

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