Page 55 of Filthy Hot

“Those whores you have, they aren’t skin?” he asks.

“They’re skin, but not the same way,” I explain and again wonder how he knows this shit. It’s screaming traitor. “They are there of their own volition. They can leave when they want. And we don’t rent out their pussies.”

“Don’t you, though? When a club member comes to your place. When you need something from someone, you use that currency to grease the wheels, so to speak.”

If any other man said those words, I might agree with them. But I refuse to agree with a damn word this man says. “Since you know everything, you know that’s not quite accurate.”

“And how the fuck do you know everything?” Atomic asks, obviously done with this conversation.

He smirks. “You want your woman, and I want all of them. However will this work?” he asks, shifting the conversation slightly.

Instead of answering his asinine question, I continue to smoke my cigarette. We stare at one another. He smirks thewhole time. He appears cocky as fuck, and without a doubt, he thinks he’s smarter than all of us combined.

I have fucking news for him, though.

Big news.

KYLE

Once I’ve eaten,fallen asleep, and woken back up, I frown. I feel drowsy, almost like I was drugged. But that can’t be right… can it? It takes me a few moments to get my bearings around me. I think that maybe I could have been drugged.

Crawling over to the door, I press my ear against it. I hear voices. Men’s voices. I don’t know what they’re saying, but one of the voices causes my entire body to freeze at attention. It’s him. It’s Rider.

I’m not sure if I should bang on the door and scream or let him do whatever he needs to do before he can come and save me. I opt for the waiting, but I really wish I could hear what’s happening.

Forcing myself to my feet, I begin to pace. When the moments tick by, and nothing happens, I make my way over to the window. There, beneath my window, is a van, with three men wearing leather vests standing around smoking.

Looking over my shoulder to the door, I decide that Talon and whoever else is talking to him are all too distracted to think about me and what I’m doing. But I know these are Rider’s men, and they’ll help me.

Lifting my hand, I bang on the glass of the window, but I try not to make too much noise. I don’t know how long I do it, maybe five or six times, until one of them finally looks up to me. Frantically, I wave around. I know I look like an idiot, but I don’t think I care.

Call me an idiot, then.

I know the moment he’s seen me because his jaw goes slack, and he stares at me, mouth wide open and everything. A few moments later, all three of them are staring at me like I’m an exhibit at a freak show of some kind.

Then I see one of them lift his hand, his palm facing me. I try to open the window, but nothing happens. It’s secured shut. Tears streak down my face at the thought of being stuck in here. I don’t want to even know whatever Talon has planned for me, and I sure as hell do not want to see it come to fruition.

It’s my turn for my jaw to go completely slack-jawed and my lips to part as I watch one of the men climb the side of the house. I hold my breath, trying not to scream in excitement. He stops on the roof of the covered porch, and without a word, he wraps some fabric around his wrist and then punches his fist through.

The sound of glass shattering around me is all I hear. I watch as this man lifts his gaze to meet mine as he climbs through the broken window. He doesn’t say anything, and then, seconds later, his shoulder is shoved into my stomach before he hoists me over his shoulder.

I should probably be scared or maybe ask some questions. But he’s rescuing me, and that is all I care about right now. He’s wearing the same patches on his vest as Rider, so I know this is one of his friends. I’m trusting him, partially because of those reasons, but also because there is nobody else I can.

He’s saving me.

“Name's Brew,” he states as he begins to climb back down the side of the house with me over his shoulder.

As soon as his feet hit the ground, he slides me down the front of his body and places my feet on the ground. Looking up into his eyes, I open my mouth to tell him thank you, but instead, the sound of gunfire is coming from the house.

“Fuck,” he hisses.

Flicking my gaze to his vest, I notice there is a patch with the name Brew, in the exact place where Rider has Gnaw. That must be a name tag thing, then. I don’t get the opportunity to ask.

Brew releases me, and he’s gone. I watch as he hurries into the house, the other two men following behind him, but I’m not going to stand out here like a walking, talking target. Instead, I hurry into the van, climbing into the back and slamming the door behind me.

Before I realize what is happening, my head shifts, and I lift my eyes. Six pairs of eyes are staring directly at me. I open my mouth, then close it again. I don’t know what to say. They’re watching me, almost expectantly.

“What are you doing?” one of them asks.

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