Pink Poison : The Butchers MC: Book One by H.B. Cliffy

Author:H.B. Cliffy [Cliffy, H.B.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: anonymous
Published: 2025-07-27T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter eleven

Stevie

My heart skips with anticipation as I slam open the women’s locker room doors. The floor was packed full of clients, all eyes glued to the stage as the dancer seamlessly shucked her lingerie off. I thought about Mae’s warning and my initial discomfort of knowing that these people could give in to their desires while I work the stage, but I've found a sense of relief… for now.

The cloying fragrance of perfume assaults my senses as I approach the locker Mae assigned for me. Harsh whispers from a group of women pique my curiosity, convincing me to slow my pace to catch their words.

Mister Lennon seemed keen to have this one.

She’s not even marked.

She looks like a slut. I mean, have you seen her tits? Those can’t be real.

“Which one of you prissy little bitches just called me a slut?” I bark. Turning on my platforms, I face the now silent group. “Come on, don’t be shy now.”

A petite woman with short, auburn hair steps forward with a hand on her bony hip. Her mousy, brown eyes roam over my body before rolling to my face. Her nose scrunches, leaving behind a wrinkle, like she smells something putrid. “Do we have a problem?”

I snort. “Honey, it sure sounds like we do.”

“Listen, honey,” she mocks. “You might think you’re hot shit around here, but to us? You’re nothing. All you’re doing is taking away from us by being here. You should be on the third floor with the other whores who spread their legs.”

Licking my lips, I step forward with my hands clenched at my side. I can’t afford to pull a Teegan right now and beat the hell out of this gnat, but if she calls me a whore again, I don’t think I have it in me to hold back.

It doesn’t sound the same as when Max calls me one.

“You know," my brows lift in disbelief as I purposely check her out again, "I’d be jealous of myself, too, if I looked like that.” I don’t take pride in knocking down another woman by her appearance, but if she wants to play ball, she needs to know how to catch, not just hit.

She scoffs, damn near turning her nose up at me. “As if I’d want to look like a fucking plastic doll.”

“You can thank the big man upstairs or the one down below for all I care, but these—” I smirk, groping my chest over my dress. “Are very much real.”

“She’s not worth it, Cheyenne,” someone snarks from the group.

Pulling my attention away from Cheyenne, I flick my gaze toward the group and give them my best pout. “It’s not that I’m not worth it. It’s the fact none of you could afford me.”

“Whatever,” Cheyenne huffs.

Rolling my eyes, I continue forward. Before I have a chance to stew on whatever dancer showdown that just happened, I reach my locker. With a sigh I open the door, hoping like hell that the box that Creed sent is still there.

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