Home > Havoc (Storm MC #7)

Havoc (Storm MC #7)
Nina Levine



She had to be fucking kidding me. Rubbing her hand against my crotch, she begged, “Come on, baby, take me back to your place and show me how well you can use this.”

No way was I fucking this crazy bitch. I knew women like her. They were always on the lookout for a man to pay their bills. I would never be that man again.

Her hot breath on my ear turned me way the fuck off. Pushing her hand away from my body, I muttered, “I can use it really fuckin’ well, just not with you.”

She took a step away from me, eyes wide, stunned at my refusal. Her face clouded over in anger. “Well, aren’t you a prick,” she spat. “Leading me on like that and then telling me no. I’ve wasted my time on you, time I could have spent finding a man who knows a good thing when he sees it.”

Fuck, bitches like her pissed me off. Usually, I wouldn’t waste my breath, but I’d had a shit of a day, and she’d just pushed me that bit too far. “Let’s get something straight. I didn’t fuckin’ lead you on. I didn’t buy you a drink, didn’t do much talking and I sure as hell never gave you the impression I wanted to fuck you. I’ve met too many women like you, so I know what you’re after, and there’s no way you’re ever getting it from me. Been burnt once in my life, not going back for seconds. So move the fuck on and leave me the hell alone.”

She stiffened as her mouth fell open. She recovered quickly though, and narrowed her eyes at me. “Fucking asshole,” she snapped, before giving me one last glare and stalking off. I pitied the poor bastard she latched onto next.

Turning back to the bar, I motioned to the bartender to bring me another scotch, and contemplated why the hell I was back in Brisbane. It had been six months since I’d been home, and a year before that. It was never long enough between visits as far as I was concerned, but my sister had her own way of bringing me back every now and then. When she’d called to tell me our father wasn’t well, I hadn’t hesitated to return home. However, as much as I wanted to check on him, I didn’t intend to stick around for long; too many bad memories lived in Brisbane.

The bartender brought my scotch over and as I threw it back, a woman settled onto the stool next to me at the bar. I didn’t look at her, but I knew it was a woman by her smell. Balenciaga. The same fucking perfume my ex-fiancée had worn. I loved it, and yet I hated it, simply because it reminded me of her. Raising my chin at the bartender, I indicated my desire for more scotch. I’d knock myself out with alcohol before I’d dredge memories of that bitch up.

“So you’re with Storm, are you?”

I turned and scowled at her. The cut I wore had a tendency to attract women but tonight I just wanted a quiet drink. “I’m not interested. I just want to have a drink in peace. You think that’s possible?”

She didn’t flinch, just raised a brow at me, and returned my scowl. “Hate to break it to you, Romeo, but I’m not interested either. I was just asking a question.”

I’d fully intended on turning away from her and minding my own business, but her smoky voice stopped me. It was the kind of voice that commanded a man’s attention, and it got mine. My gaze lingered on her face for a good while. It was her green eyes that did it; there was something there that called to me. Sadness perhaps. Definitely pain of some sort. Whatever the hell it was, I wanted to know more about her and that was without even taking a look at the rest of her.

“Yeah, I’m with Storm,” I answered, my gaze steady on hers.

She nodded, and then broke eye contact to ask the bartender for a drink. I let my gaze drop to her chest and then lower. She wasn’t my usual type; her breasts were smaller than I liked them and she wasn’t as curvy as I preferred. And she was a brunette; I always went for blondes. But fuck, she had something that made my dick get hard and I needed to know what it was.

Turning back to me after she’d ordered her drink, she asked, “You know where the ladies' room is?”

I nodded in the direction. “Over that way.”

She moved off her stool and slid her bag along the bar towards me. “You watch that. I’ll be right back.” Without waiting for my response, she took off in the direction I’d indicated. I watched her go, finding something about her that was definitely my type. Her ass. It had to be one of the best I’d ever seen. Desire slammed into me. I wanted to hold that ass in my hands before the night was over.

“You want another drink, buddy?” the bartender asked.

I dragged my gaze from her ass and answered, “Just keep ‘em coming.” I retrieved some cash from my wallet and placed it on the bar. “Keep hers coming too, until that runs out.”

She surprised the hell out of me by only taking a couple of minutes. I raised my brow at her while she settled herself back on the stool. “That was quick.”

Reaching for her drink, she said, “I did what I needed to do. Besides, I needed this drink so there was no time to waste.” Her words had barely left her lips when she sculled her drink.

“I’ve never known a woman who didn't fuck about when they went to the ladies'.”

She placed her drink on the bar and slid it towards the bartender who nodded and began making her another. “Yeah, well today, I couldn't give a shit about my hair or makeup. And that’s saying something because if you knew me, you’d know I normally spend hours on my appearance. You know what, though? Today I realised what complete asses some people can be, and I just want to sit here and stew in my own misery.” She paused for a moment before continuing, “And drink. I want to fucking drink until I can’t remember his fucking name. And then tomorrow, I might go around to his place and trash it and fuck his car up. That’ll serve the asshole right.” Again, she paused before her face lit up and a wicked grin crossed it. “Fuck, and then I’ll send my brother over to finish the prick off. He won’t know what fucking hit him.” She raised her glass at me. “Cheers!” She lifted the glass to her lips and grinned at me before throwing it back.

I returned her smile. “Remind me to never piss you off.” The hostility she displayed towards whoever had screwed her over caused desire to coil in my gut. I wanted to help her fuck the asshole up. “What did he do?”

A frustrated sigh escaped her lips, and she ran a hand through her long hair. “What they all do. He cheated on me.” She leant forward and pinned me with a hard stare. “Do all men cheat? Is it like an impulse they can’t control or something, because I gotta tell you, just about every guy I’ve dated has cheated on me.”

“You’re dating the wrong men, darlin’. I’ve never cheated, and never contemplated it. Sure, I don’t miss a beautiful woman when she walks past, but my dick stays firmly where it belongs.”

She assessed me for a few moments before leaning back away from me. “I actually believe you because there’s no reason for you to lie to me. But you’re fucking hot, so I’m kinda struggling to believe women don’t throw themselves at you.”

“Just because a woman is up for it doesn’t mean a man has to go there.”

“Out of all the relationships I’ve had, I think only three of them didn’t cheat on me.”

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