“Hey, Meyah!” Dakota called waving me over from behind the bar. I gathered the last few dirty glasses from the table I was at and headed over to her. The club was still reasonably empty, but within the next hour, I would be huffing and puffing as I tried to keep up. So I took the opportunity and perched my ass on a stool to rest my feet.

Dakota leaned forward so her breasts were sitting on the countertop, so she could talk to me over the pounding music which was vibrating through the air around us. I stifled a giggle and placed my tray down, sliding it down the bar so I could lean forward and hear what she had to say.

There was already sweat collecting between my breasts and at the small of my back, the short crop top and booty shorts doing absolutely nothing to make this place any cooler. Especially, when you’re not just running from one side of the club to the other, but also carrying and trying to balance drinks. At least I wouldn’t have to visit the gym to keep in shape.

“Dave asked to see you in the office for a few minutes before we get busy,” she shouted. “I have a feeling another girl called in sick, and he’s probably gonna ask you to dance.”

I sighed and leaned back.

Dakota saw the reluctance on my face and shrugged. “It’s money, girl, and you could really use it if you plan on continuing this epic battle for your independence.”

Screwing up my nose, I tapped my nails nervously on the varnished bar top. She was right.

“I’ll go have a chat with him,” I shouted, taking a deep breath and forcing myself to climb down off the stool. Even though the music drowned out almost every other noise in the club, I swear I could hear the clip of my heels against the wooden floors as I made my way down the back hall to where Dave had his office.

I kept trying to tell myself I just needed to say no. No matter whether I enjoyed it, or how much money it made me, I kept imagining my mom’s face, or Uncle Leo’s face if they found out I was dancing on the pole for a few extra dollars.

Uncle Leo was more accepting, given the club owned their own strip club and the girls there, from what I could tell, were treated really well, but would he want his niece to be up there grinding and thrusting while men grew hard-ons? Hell, no.

I’d never hear the end of it.

And then my mom? She’d probably lock me away in my room and never let me leave her sight again.

Who would want to know that old men are going home and masturbating to someone that you care about?

I shivered. The more I thought about it, the more it seemed like a bad idea.

Then there was Ham. I forced myself not to think of what his opinion would be. Whether he’d screw up his nose, disgusted he’d ever touched me, or whether he’d try to swoop in and tell me to quit, force me to give up just because he didn’t like it.

The first would hurt, I couldn’t deny that.

The latter would make me think twice.

Then again, I was a woman now. I wasn’t some young girl anymore, and if that’s what I had to do to get by, then that’s what I had to do.

Fuck.

Even as I pushed open the door to Dave’s office, I still didn’t have an answer. I wanted to be strong, independent, and live a life where I didn’t have to worry about my mom being disappointed or judging me. I wanted to prove to everyone that I could be strong enough to stand on my own two feet. Dancing made me feel beautiful, it made me feel strong and powerful.

What woman doesn’t want to feel that way?

Especially after everything that had happened with Ham, the way he’d made me feel so unworthy, used, and unimportant.

After that, it was nice to have men look at me like they would kill to be with me, or that they would treasure me and that I was worth the time in their day.

I lifted my chin and walked into the office, closing the door hard behind me. It was cool, the air-conditioner running on high, the loud humming sound making me wonder how the hell Dave ever got any work done. It would drive me fucking crazy.

When I’m focused, I need absolute silence. One small noise while I’m studying and instead of writing my paper, I’m on YouTube, ten videos deep on how bubble wrap is made.

“Hey, Dave, you wanted to see me?” I announced, noticing he wasn’t in the office, but the small bathroom off the back had a light on.

Water began to run, the toilet flushing. “Hey, babe, one second. Take a seat,” he called back.

“No problem,” I replied loudly, making my way to the bright green couch which sat against the wall next to Dave’s private bar. “I don’t want to be off the floor too long, the crowds will be coming in soon.”

I heard his deep baritone laughter, and he appeared in the doorway, flicking off the bathroom light as he exited. “See, I knew I loved you for a reason. You’re a hard worker, Meyah.”

Grinning, I sat a little straighter. Even if it was coming from a man who owned a bar slash strip club, and had girls working here who had obviously had too much hair dye seep into their brains, I still felt proud that he noticed I worked hard.

“That’s why I’m so upset I have to let you go,” he continued, and my heart stopped beating in my chest. My mouth fell open, and I gripped the chair beneath me so tightly I knew I was going to break a damn nail.

“I’m s-sorry. What?” I stammered, fighting to get my tongue around the words. “Are you kidding? Is this about the other night up in the VIP area?”

He shook his head back and forth with a deep accentuated frown as he flopped back into his leather business chair. “No. No, babe. Trust me. I fought for you. I really did.”

I sprang to my feet, storming toward his desk with purpose, my anger rising. I needed this job, and you know what, I kind of liked working here. If I was going to be fired, there needed to be a damn good reason. “What do you mean? You own this place. The decisions about who works here are yours, so don’t try—”

“Actually, he doesn’t own this place,” a gravelly voice said from behind me. “I do.”

I spun around in my shock and outrage. I hadn’t noticed the door open behind me.

Talk about a knife to the gut. Bikers didn’t scare me, not usually, not like they should, but there he was standing there in all his glory, his club cut worn proudly across his shoulders and the fierce glare on his face which told me he had balls bigger than a fucking elephant.

My heart skipped, and I unconsciously took a step backward, the backs of my thighs hitting Dave’s desk. Two more men stepped into the room behind him, one older with long gray hair that was plaited tightly and hung over the front of his shoulder. Huntsman may be one scary bastard, but this guy made my stomach churn for a different reason, one I couldn’t quite pinpoint. His eyes looked haunting but familiar, and the way he watched me sent a sharp shot of electricity up my spine, forcing me to stand a little straighter.

The second guy closed the door before turning to face the room. He was younger, mid-twenties. He had dark, almost black hair which was long but swept back from his face to reveal a deep-set brow. He stared on with more curiosity than anything else, but I could tell he was a serious kind of guy, one that didn’t smile often.

I needed to say something, and I needed to say it quickly.

Licking my lips, I tried to find the words on the tip of my tongue. My brain couldn’t figure out why the hell he was here, in this office, basically telling me he’d had me fired. Most likely he was just pissed that I’d almost castrated one of his men. He’d seemed pretty unimpressed at the time, and I’d been home in Athens since that happened. This was meant to be my first day back at work. The whole situation was almost laughable.

Almost.

I was pretty sure they wouldn’t see the funny side.

Sweat was building even faster. My body growing hotter and hotter by the second as all the eyes in the room stayed glued to me, just waiting, ready to pounce. My gaze drifted to the tattoo on the back of his hand, the one so detailed and so unique there was no mistaking who he was.

“I… I don’t underst—”

“You know me somehow,” he interrupted, the statement one I couldn’t argue with even though he gave me a few seconds to do just that before he continued, “Why are you so interested in my tattoo?”

I pressed my lips together.

This was bad.

This situation was really bad.

The Exiled Eight Motorcycle Club wasn’t one to be fucked with.

I’d Googled them, and while my uncle's club—The Brothers by Blood MC—were a prime example of don’t believe everything you read in the press, I couldn’t help but be floored by these men and their reputations.

The question now was, how much did he know already? And did I go with the truth or risk trying to talk my way out of this, and hope he really had no idea who he could be talking to right now.

“A picture,” I croaked, before taking a deep breath. “I saw your tattoo in a picture.”

“And where did this picture come from?” Huntsman enquired with not a change in his voice.

I screwed up my nose, staring directly across the room at him, noting that even in my heels I was still nowhere near his height and stature.

He raised his eyebrows. “You either tell me now, or we can go somewhere a lot less comfortable and make this experience one you won’t want to ever remember.”

The man behind him with the long braid grew a grin, his eyes lighting up at Huntsman’s words.

They should have scared me, but all they did was light a fire in my gut, and suddenly I couldn’t stop myself from saying the words. “My mother gave it to me. Apparently, there was a time where you stuck your dick in her and left her high and dry.”

He took a step forward, I stood my ground. “Excuse me?”

Now, I wanted to vomit, but there was no going back now. “I have a picture, and you have your arm around my mom down at the Las Vegas strip.”

“Could be any fucking bitch,” Braid man muttered, following Huntsman forward.

Huntsman ignored him, his fists clenched at his side, he shook his head. “Fucking impossible. I ain’t fucked no bitch without a condom except my wife.”

The reference to his wife made me cringe, but I refused to let him see how his words hurt me.

“Well here’s a Sex-Ed lesson for you,” I threw back sarcastically. “Condoms are only ninety-eight percent effective, and that’s in the best case scenario. In reality, about fifteen out of a hundred people—”

“Enough,” he roared, taking two giant steps forward.

With nowhere to go, I could only stand in shock as he reached out, his thick, calloused fingers wrapping around my throat and pressing tightly. I lifted my chin, trying to keep my airway open as I shoved at his chest. It was like he didn’t even notice, leaning forward and placing his mouth beside my ear. “Are you trying to tell me that you’re mine?”

“I don’t know,” I rasped, my fingernails digging into his inked forearm as I tried to yank his hand away and give myself some fresh air. I had no doubt if he wanted to suffocate me in that moment, he could have done so quite easily. But instead, he just wanted me to feel intimidated, scared, and severely uncomfortable.

Mission accomplished.

“I need to see the photo,” he growled, his gaze burning holes into me, his hand clenching that little bit tighter.

Someone behind him cleared their throat. “Prez, this could be a trap. We don’t know who this girl could have been sent—”

“I want to see the fucking picture,” he roared, the smell of liquor and cigarettes drowning me momentarily.

“It’s in my dorm room,” I whispered. Suddenly hoping like hell that my mom was wrong, that this wasn’t my father. His grip slowly lessened, and when he finally released me, I sat back against the table, my hands going to my throat to soothe the burning sensation he’d created. Tears brimmed my eyes, and I fought as hard as possible to keep them at bay. No doubt my eyes were red and bloodshot, but if anything, I refused to let this man see me cry.

“Let’s go,” he ordered, nodding toward the door.

“I want my job back,” I demanded, forcing my shaky legs to hold me as I pushed off the desk and stood to my feet, my chin held high.

At this point, I really felt like I had nothing to lose.

Huntsman’s eyes roamed my body, not in a dirty way, but assessing. “You’re not mine, you can do whatever the fuck you like,” he said finally. “You belong to me, no way in fucking hell you’re wearing this outfit ever again. And hell fucking no will you be dancing.”

My body warmed slightly, the fact that he cared what decisions I was making was something I’d never had from anyone but my mom. Uncle Leo was more into encouraging me to do what I wanted to do and live a little on the wild side. He let Hadley teach me how to shoot a gun, something which I’d come to fall in love with and I’d become pretty good at.

This was a whole new experience, one I was still unsure of, and it scared the hell out of me, but that I knew I had to take if I was ever gonna fill that void I felt in my chest. This could all be some massive misunderstanding. It might not be Huntsman who I’m looking for. He might not be the one to fill it, but he was a step in the right direction, and one I knew I had to take.

With that in my head, I took a step forward. “I’ll borrow Dakota’s car, and you can follow me,” I told them, striding one foot in front of the other toward the door. “Then when we figure out what to do, we can negotiate my job.”

I was sure I heard Huntsman laugh under his breath as he fell into step behind me, and I couldn’t stop the tug at the corner of my mouth. This wasn’t exactly how I wanted things to happen, but this was the hand I was dealt.

And I was about to lay my cards on the table.