Resist Me(6)

By: Chelle Bliss



“Tsk, tsk,” he said, shaking his head. “I know all about me. I want to know about you.” His eyes bored into me as he started to slide his hand up my leg before settling on my thigh.

I swear to shit I wanted to rip Flash’s dick off and shove it down his throat. I didn’t care if I ever fucked him again. His cock was not worth this bullshit.

“I’m a tattoo artist,” I said with a sigh while looking into his eyes, knowing that I wasn’t going to get out of the situation without being cordial. It wasn’t one of my better traits, but I knew how to play the game. “It’s my life.” I plastered a fake smile on my face, trying to maintain eye contact with him. I wouldn’t show weakness. I was a Gallo girl, not a shrinking violet.

“I love a girl who does ink. Maybe I should come to you next time I need some work done. I wouldn’t mind dropping my drawers for you, beautiful.”

I wanted to heave. The mere thought of seeing any of this man’s junk or ass made me gag. “I’m between gigs right now,” I lied, biting the inside of my cheek.

“The MC has a shop. Job’s yours if you want it.” Rebel squeezed my thigh, running his hand farther up my legs, stopping mere centimeters from my pussy.

“Just like that, huh?” I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. I didn’t want to seem too eager to please, or too easy. “Maybe my skills are shitty. Then what?”

He inched his chair closer, squeezing my thigh again. “If your ink skills are shitty, I’m sure we can find other ways for you to earn.”

“Listen,” I said, about to lay into him and give him the nicest “fuck off” he’d ever had, but the sound of Flash slamming the drinks on the table stopped me from finishing the statement.

“Flash, you fucker,” Rebel said, releasing my leg and leaning back in his chair. “You spilled my beer,” he growled, wiping the glass with his finger. He turned to me, drawing his fingers into his mouth and sucking them as he stared.

Sam, a.k.a. Flash, didn’t speak. Cool biker nicknames were reserved for badasses, and Sam had lost that right when he’d pussied out on me. He hadn’t stood up for me, and left me high and dry in the hands of Rebel.

As Rebel grabbed the bottle to bring it to his lips, I turned and gave my “I hate you” scowl to Sam. He shrugged, grimacing before giving me a halfhearted smile. I closed my eyes, trying to calm the fuck down, because at this point, I wanted to tell Sam exactly how I felt and get the fuck out of the shitty-ass bar. I counted to five like they’d taught in a college psychology course I’d taken on a whim. I slowly opened my eyes to find Rebel staring at me again.

Sam leaned down, resting his hand on my shoulder, and whispered in my ear, “Want to get out of here?”

What a clusterfuck. Would he have balls big enough?

“I’m getting tired,” I complained, standing to say goodbye. Before my ass was five inches off the chair, Rebel had his hand on my wrist, pulling me back down.

“I wasn’t done talking to you.” He smiled, licking his lips.

My eyes flickered to Sam, who now had wide eyes and an “oh fuck” face. I narrowed my eyes at him, wishing he’d man the fuck up, but nope. He must’ve checked his cock at the door. I turned back to Rebel, looking down at his hand, which was still wrapped around my wrist. Be diplomatic, Izzy. Do not piss off the MC vice president.

I turned my wrist, breaking the hold he had on me. “I-I,” I stuttered, trying to figure out something other than, “Keep your fucking hands off me.”

Just as I opened my mouth, a voice called out to Rebel. “Leave the fucking girl alone, you horny ol’ bastard.”

I turned to look in the direction of the gravelly voice, where Rebel’s attention was now focused. My breath vanished and a dull ache settled in my chest as I sat there wide-eyed and in shock. The blue eyes shooting daggers across the table at me I’d seen before—I knew them. They were mine looking back at me.

The smile I loved so much and the handsome, boyish looks were gone. His features were hard. Small lines had formed around his eyes since the last time I’d seen him. He didn’t look like man who had pushed me on my swing set and taught me how to throw a punch to defend myself. The man’s lips were set in a firm line as his glare focused entirely on me. He didn’t look anything like the brother I remembered, like the Tommy I loved.

“You want a piece of this ass?” Rebel asked, looking from me to Thomas. “I wouldn’t blame you, Blue. It’s mighty fine,” he said as he turned back toward me, running his finger down my jaw.

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