Page 5 of Filthy Devil

I’m kind of excited to see what happens next.

Gathering the peanuts, a bag of peanut butter M&Ms, and a bottle of water, I make my way toward the counter. There still isn’t anyone there. I haven’t even heard any noises from someone else anywhere in the building, let alone seen anyone around.

Looking over my shoulder, my gaze shifts to the gas pumps. The bikes are there, and so are the men. They’re all standing around bullshitting, and I use the moment to not just look at them but to see them for the first time.

They’re older and rough, but they are also tall and strong, and I would venture to guess that they could hold their own any time of the day or night. A noise to my left causes me to jump and takes me out of my ogling.

Turning, I watch as a man walks through a door, his eyes finding mine. Instantly, something ugly slithers over my skin athis gaze. I’ve already placed my items on the counter, and my leg begins to shake with nervousness at this man’s sheer demeanor.

“Hey there, little lady. It’s awful late for you to be out here. Ain’t it past your curfew?”

Forcing a smile, I shake my head once but don’t say anything. I just want to pay for this stuff, run out of here, and never look back. He doesn’t scan my items or give me a total, though. Instead, he just watches me.

Shifting my attention to the gas pumps, I check to see if my biker or any of the others notice me standing here silently, freaking out.

They don’t notice a damn thing.

Then I feel cold, clammy hands wrap around my forearm. He roughly tugs me forward, half of my body sliding across the countertop. Before I realize what’s happening, his face is just inches from mine. I let out a sharp cry from the mixture of surprise and pain.

“Listen, bitch,” he hisses. “You’re going to come around the counter and suck my dick, or I’m going to let those guys outside fuck you until you’re bleeding from every orifice. Do you know who they are?”

I’m too stunned to answer him. So, instead, I just stare wide-eyed at this crazy crackhead as he continues to explain to me who these men outside are. Men who haven’t done anything to me at all—yet, and haven’t given off even half of the creep-fest vibes this asshole has.

“They are the…”

What happens next is so fast that I still don’t realize what’s really happening until it’s already happened.

A loud pop sounds from somewhere behind me.

The man’s lips part, and he makes a gurgling sound in the back of his throat before he drops to the floor, his hands releasing my arm when he does. Thank god.

“We’re the fucking Dark Horse MC,” a deep voice rumbles behind me.

Spinning around, I see my biker in front of me. He’s holding a gun in one hand and wearing a fury-filled expression.

It’s hot as shit.

Damn.

I’m in so much trouble. I’m not even fazed that there is a dead man behind me. No, not me. James Bishop doesn’t care about that. Instead, I’m turned on that this old badass shot him right in the freaking head for touching me.

Shit.

This is bad.

So damn bad.

And so fucking good.

NASH

“You good, babe?”

James’s eyes are wide, her lips parted, and her nostrils flared, but I’m not sure it’s in fear. She inhales a deep breath then moves toward me, her tits almost pressing against my chest. Instead of pulling her against my body, I wrap my fingers around her wrist and take a step backward.

“You need to get out of here, and we have some cleanup to do,” I grunt.

“What?” she breathes.

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