One Taste of Angel Read online

  “Mierda.” He laughs. “Your mouth is gonna get you in trouble.”

  Okay, is he playing games or completely serious? He’s not the first thug I’ve danced for, but there’s something about him that makes me uncomfortable. I give him a look. “I didn’t do anything.”

  “You’re supposed to keep your trap shut, bitch. Dance.” He grabs my ass.

  I smack his hands away. “Mantener sus malditas manos quietas,” I warn. “If I want you to touch me, I’ll ask.” I’m not in the mood for this shit. Apparently Diaz didn’t have a talk with his guests. I grab my top from the back of Tito’s chair and start to walk away.

  I cringe when I hear him chamber a round. “Come back here.”

  I face him, not more than ten feet away. “Really?” I’m about to crap my G-string. “And if I don’t, you’ll shoot me?”

  He eyeballs his gun, then me. “No,” he admits. “But I’ll shove the barrel up your pussy.”

  The guys behind me snicker. There’s only one way out of here, and judging by the wall of sweaty bodies behind me, it’s likely kicking and screaming. “Not interested.” Defiance never gets a girl anywhere. I know better. My whole body shivers in fear. For some reason, I don’t want this asshole to win. Call me stupid—I’m sinfully prideful. It’s an Italian thing.

  Tito leans forward in his seat, then lays his handgun on his lap. “Come here, mamacita.” He switches back to nice guy mode. “I won’t hurt you.” He holds his hands up.

  I shake my head. “I’m outta here.”

  “Bring her back,” Tito commands.

  Two of his friends grab my arms. I fight to break free, but they’re too strong. “Let me go.”

  The room explodes with laughter. These guys are going to get their money’s worth, voluntarily or otherwise. With them still holding me, I’m forced to face Tito.

  He stands up. “I tried being nice, mamacita. What does it take to get a look at your pretty little snatch?” He shoves his fingers down the front of my panties. “You’re not done dancing for me yet.”

  His associates turn me loose. Bad call on their part.

  “Leave me alone!” I kick him in the shin with the metal tip of my stiletto, and he removes his fingers. If I could, I’d take his eye out with my shoe.

  “Fuck!” He slaps my cheek, and I stumble back.

  My face stings and I’m imagining the worst. I’m sure he’s going to forcefeed me the barrel of his gun. I close my eyes, preparing for whatever comes next.

  God help me.

  Eagle

  I arrive in the guest house just as I hear a woman shout, “Leave me alone!”

  The room is jammed and I can’t see who she is.

  But, when I hear Tito yell “Fuck,” I know something bad is going on. A few acquaintances standing nearby shake hands with me. I maneuver through the crowd and watch the girl stumble back, like she’s been hit or pushed. What the fuck? I haven’t gotten a clear look at her, but she’s wearing a black G-string and high heels. Another dancer.

  My blood boils as Tito shoves a gun in the girl’s face.

  “Take your G-string off,” he demands.

  “No,” she says and her voice doesn’t waver.

  Lazaro didn’t tell me he invited half of Beaumont to his party. I recognize most of them, all foot soldiers for the Mendoza family. I don’t ask questions, and Lazaro doesn’t volunteer any information. It’s worked until now. I reach inside my jacket and pull out my Glock. It’s loaded.

  “Do it, mamacita.”

  I watch as she sheds her thong. I’m staring at her profile, temporarily mesmerized by how beautiful she is. Snap out of it, asshole. With my gun hanging at my side, I step forward. “Tito.”

  He looks at me. “Caleb.” He grins drunkenly. “You made it just in time, this bitch is gonna dance for us, and maybe a little more for the VIPs.” He waves his gun around. “Good girl. Spread your legs.”

  “Fuck off,” she says, fearless.

  Tito growls.

  I aim my firearm at his chest. “Let her go, Tito.”

  No one moves. They know better. I’m protected, hell, I’m a Laramie, which carries its own weight with this crowd.

  “It’s like that, bro?” Tito stares at me.

  “Take it however you want,” I offer. “There’s not going to be any violence tonight. What will Lazaro say?” There’s a quick murmur—the other guests know better than to cause trouble in this house. “Let her go, now.”

  He shrugs and looks at the girl, then back at me. “Just having some fun. You want the bitch? Take her.” He shoves the girl in my direction, but she manages to stay on her feet.

  I lower my weapon. Never trust a roomful of heroin dealers. The girl still hasn’t looked at me directly. Instead, she collects her bag. Then I watch as she races for the door. The crowd parts, letting her go.

  What the fuck? Lazaro doesn’t like unnecessary violence, and he sure as hell wouldn’t like anyone abusing women, stripper or otherwise. Hell, I don’t accept it on any level. And if this were my house, Tito would get a bullet. I whip around and address him. “That’s bullshit,” I yell. “What the fuck were you thinking?” But I don’t have time to stick around and find out.

  Tito gives me a shrug. “What Lazaro doesn’t see . . .”

  “Might come back and bite you in the ass,” I warn, my blood still boiling.

  I stalk outside, hoping to catch the girl. She’s near the pool. The soft lighting reveals a perfect body. Nothing but silky skin and curves. Especially her ass.

  “Sorry for what happened,” I say.

  She doesn’t respond.

  “Why were you alone in there?” I’m pissed, and it’s evident in my icy tone. I’ve buried several passarounds who were careless enough to turn tricks outside of the MC. Where’s this girl’s escort? All dancers have security. Or is she stupid enough to risk her life for a few hundred dollars?

  When she finally looks at me, I swear my heart stops. Angry green eyes pierce me. Dark curls tumble down her shoulders. And that mouth. Dios mio, I’m thinking unnatural thoughts. My gaze sweeps her body again.

  “Up here.” She snaps her fingers and points at her eyes.

  I smile—filthy thoughts swirl through my mind. I’d like to bend her over one of those lounge chairs and give her a reason to bitch me out. But there’s more to the instant attraction. I can’t explain it—don’t want to. “Where do you expect me to look when you’re half naked?”

  She puts her hand on her hip. “Anywhere above the shoulders is safe.”

  Nothing about her is safe. “I think you owe me a thank you.”

  I get a fuck you scowl. “I handled it.”

  “Really?” I laugh. “Loved the gun thing—is that a new trick?” I hope I’m coming off as an asshole; she needs to remember this moment so she never makes the same mistake again.

  She slaps my face. “Thanks, douchebag. Will that do?”

  I rub my cheek, aware that I deserved it. Throwing attitude at a girl who just got the shit scared out of her was a bad move. On top of that, she’s beautiful and wild. But when she raises her hand again, I snatch her wrist midair, and she trembles on contact. “The first one was a freebie,” I say. “Come with me.”

  Refusal isn’t an option. I drag her to the cabana, push her inside, then close and lock the door. “Sit.”

  She plops down on one of the overstuffed chairs. I open the mini fridge, searching for anything with alcohol. She needs a drink and so do I. There’s beer and wine coolers. I look over my shoulder at her, trying to guess what she’d like. Red wine. I grab the closest thing—a wine cooler—and open it. I knee the fridge shut and walk to her chair.

  She accepts the drink and gulps like she’s dying of thirst. “Thank you,” she says between swallows.

  I nod and claim the chair opposite hers. “You’re safe with me.”

  “Am I?” She looks me over, looking doubtful.

  Has she been in a similar situation before? Does she distrust men i
n general, or just ones that wear patches? “If you weren’t . . .”

  “I don’t need you to explain.” She holds up her hand. “I’m not an idiot.”

  “No?”

  She glares. “I suppose you think I am for being alone down there. It didn’t start out that way, believe me.”

  I do. “Let’s try the civilized approach. Who are you?”

  She sets the bottle on a side table. “Serafina.”

  “Is that your stage name?”

  “No.” Her smile is radiant and I’m instantly rock hard. “Who you see is what you get.”

  “Why?” I ask surprised. “Isn’t anonymity priceless?”

  Serafina, or whatever her real name is, checks me out before she answers. “There’s no such thing in my world. My name is Serafina Scala.”

  Italian. I want to fuck her. “I like Italian girls.”

  “So does every other guy.”

  That sweet face is hard to read, but I can tell she’s interested in me. Though her scowl suggests otherwise, her body language reveals more than she probably realizes. Instead of angling her body away from me like someone who’s trying to protect herself, she leans forward and opens her legs slightly whenever I talk. I’ve caught her gaze drifting to my crotch, too. I’d be more than happy to show her what’s down there—my cock is begging for some action.

  I also appreciate her rough edges. She’s obviously experienced some bad shit, which makes her worthy of my time. “Where are you from, Serafina Scala?” I like the way her name rolls off my tongue. And speaking of Italian, just like in The Godfather when Michael Corleone sees Apollonia for the first time, I’m struck by a lust thunderbolt.

  All of a sudden she’s breathing hard and looks like a cornered animal, desperate to escape.

  “Texarkana,” she answers, her voice reduced to a whisper, her eyes keenly focused on me.

  “Hey,” I try to reassure her that’s she’s really safe with me. “No one is going to hurt you while I’m here.”

  “Who are you?” she asks.

  More like what I am. I’m sure my patches scream get the fuck away. Unless she has a taste for one percenters. That would be a bonus for me, giving me every reason to come on stronger. “Eagle.” I use my club name.

  “Just Eagle?”

  “Yep. Just Eagle.”

  She folds her hands on her lap. I’m trying not to stare at her flat stomach or perfect breasts. Or the tiny diamond studs glittering in her hard nipples. Shit. I shift uncomfortably in my chair. She needs to get dressed before I relieve her of that lacy material covering her pussy and fuck her senseless. “Want another drink?”

  “Sure.”

  Chapter Three

  Serafina

  I shiver as Eagle’s heated gaze travels over my body. The man I used to know didn’t miss anything. So why doesn’t he recognize me? My voice is still the same, my smile, and my broken heart. Not because of anything he did. I made a conscious decision . . .

  He’s wearing those custom made Tony Lama boots I love and a gold neck chain thicker than my thumb. A loaded gun is hidden underneath his vest. He offers me another wine cooler and I grab it. Hell, I’d drink a bottle of cheap tequila to settle my nerves. When he sits down again, I look into his blue eyes, fringed by dark lashes that match his black hair. He’s lean and tall, well over six feet. His jaw is dusted with stubble and I can see thick chest hair where his shirt is unbuttoned. Time hasn’t changed him. By the way my heart responds to his nearness, neither have my feelings.

  How did I end up in a cabana with the one man I never expected to see again? Didn’t want to see. Old fears surface, followed by regret. Caleb Laramie rescued me from a living hell back then—and again today. That’s what my life has always been. But he can’t find out I’m alive. Not now, not ever. Never mind how much I want to kiss him, to feel those soft lips on mine, to remember what it felt like having his strong arms around me.

  “I want to go home.”

  He shakes his head. “Not now, darlin’. I want you to stay here for a while. Let things cool down before we head outside.”

  “But Tony will worry. He’ll tear this house apart to find me.”

  “Is that your escort?” He looks pissed. Maybe Eagle thinks I’m sleeping with Tony. Not that it should matter to him. I’m a perfect stranger, something I need to keep reminding myself of. Eagle doesn’t see Angel sitting in front of him—he sees me, the new me.

  I nod.

  “He’s an idiot,” he observes bitterly as he takes a swig of beer. “If you were with me . . .” He doesn’t finish the thought, and I wonder why.

  I raise an eyebrow, hopelessly curious. “What?”

  “If I was your escort, you’d be safe, not fucking exposed to assholes like Tito.”

  I nod, knowing perfectly well what Eagle would have done to any man who tried to hurt me when I was with him. “Anything else?”

  “If you were mine, you wouldn’t be doing this.”

  He’s right. Eagle didn’t share. He didn’t even like other men to look at me fully dressed. “Judgmental much?”

  “Sure am,” he admits. “I can afford to be.” He stares unblinking. “So can you.”

  “That’s the misstatement of the year. How do you know what I can afford?”

  He sets his beer on the coffee table between us, then drapes his arm across the back of his chair like he doesn’t have a care in the world. “Obligations?” he asks.

  If he means mounting debt . . . “Hell yes.”

  “Tell me about your life, Serafina.”

  “There’s nothing to tell.”

  He exhales loudly. “Oh, I think there is.”

  I glance up. My limbs melt under the weight of his stare. I stifle a nervous laugh. “I’m a part time student who strips on the weekends. End of story.”

  He stretches his long legs out. “What’s your major?”

  “Psychology.”

  He nods. “Where’s your family?”

  I dislike how personal and one-sided this conversation is. “Where’s your family?” I counter.

  “Everywhere.”

  “Omnipresence? That’s a superpower.”

  That elicits the Eagle laugh I remember too well, the one that liquefies my insides.

  “You’re gorgeous.”

  My cheeks flush. Another reason I need to get out of here—the Caleb charm is starting to take hold. I’ll buy a ticket for the next Greyhound going to Arkansas if he’ll let me leave.

  “Can you do me a favor?” he asks.

  “Sure.”

  “Put your clothes on.”

  As I slip into my skirt and top, he stands and moves closer. I pretend not to notice, fighting my instinct to tell him who I really am. But to Eagle, I’m dead. Murdered and cremated, my ashes interred at the local cemetery.

  “There’s a bruise where Tito slapped you.” He caresses my cheek with the back of his hand. The light touch of his knuckles makes me shiver.

  “You came all the way over here to point out a blemish on my face?”

  He tilts my chin upward. “Because I wanted to touch you.”

  I can barely swallow. He’s so sexy and intimidating. The old me is jealous. I never wanted to think about what it would be like seeing Eagle with another woman. Being that other woman is surreal. Honestly, I don’t want him to stop touching me, but I jerk away. “Bruises heal.”

  His jaw clenches. “Don’t play badass with me.”

  “Sorry.” I know he’s trying to be nice. But tonight is a nightmare, full of bad memories and heartache. I need to go. “Is there any ice in the fridge?”

  “No,” he says.

  “Can you grab me some?” I ask. “I want to keep the swelling down if I can.”

  He considers it. “Promise to stay put?”

  Our eyes meet. “I promise.”

  Without a word, he opens the door and steps outside.

  Eagle

  I’m a sucker for a damsel in distress—especially Serafina. And
though I’m taking a chance leaving her alone, I know she can’t go far. I trudge to the main house. The show is in full swing, but Lazaro is back at the bar.

  He takes one look at me and says, “What the hell happened to you?”

  “Nothing,” I lie.

  He cocks his head. “Really, bro?”

  I don’t want to ruin his night. If he finds out what Tito did, he’ll snap. Maybe put a bullet in his mule’s head. Mendozas don’t tolerate unnecessary brutality; it’s one of the reasons his family has thrived on this side of the border. “Tell me, goddamn it.”

  There’s no way to avoid it; I’d expect the same courtesy. I give him the details.

  “Fuck.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Where’s the girl?”

  “In the cabana.”

  “Is she all right?”

  “Shaken up, but fine.”

  “Good. Take me to her.”

  Lazaro follows me outside. Serafina handled herself like a pro—that’s why I gave her a chance to win my trust. Normal women don’t throw fuck yous around when there’s a loaded gun pointed at their heads. But as I open the door to the cabana, suddenly part of me doesn’t expect to find her in the chair.

  Why would she stay?

  We search the room just in case she’s hiding. The only evidence she left behind is her pair of gold-tipped stilettos. I stare at them, clenching my hands at my sides.

  “Take me to Tito,” Lazaro growls.

  When we enter the guest house, it goes dead silent. Tito glares at me, then his boss.

  Lazaro stalks forward, all rage and cool confidence. That’s a warning sign for people who know him. Something big is going to happen.

  “There’s a time for celebration,” Lazaro starts. “Always a reason for violence. And always a purpose for elimination.”

  Tito is shaking. Lazaro is in full character now—not the friend I grew up with, but the man who runs a cartel.

  “Those girls are my guests,” Lazaro says. “What does that mean, Tito?”

  “They’re under your protection.”

  Lazaro nods. “The moment I turn my back and you get a little whiskey and coke in your fucking system, you let your dick do the thinking. What happened to you, Tito? A year ago you were nothing, begging me for a chance to prove yourself. And now, because you’ve tasted a little power, you abuse your position? Threaten a woman with a gun? Take advantage of my hospitality?”