Three Kinds of Trouble by Anne Malcom

Chapter Four

Hades helped me with my groceries. Well, actually, he refused to let me carry a single one, somehow performing the act of bundling them all in his strong and capable arms before depositing them on my kitchen counter. This was done after he’d had me unlock the house so he could do a ‘walk through’, whatever that was. I was ordered to stay outside while he did that. Because I rarely did as I was ordered, I followed him. As did Sirius.

I got a glower for following him. Sirius got a rub on the head.

It was unnerving, watching Hades prowl through my home, looking for what, I wasn’t sure. He went into every room. It was an invasion, but it was also something else. I’d never be able to look at a corner of my home again without seeing Hades’s shadow. It was extremely strange, to watch this man in his leather cut—underneath of which was a gun holster, full-on like the ones they wore in moves. I’d peeked as he’d moved through the house—with his imposing presence, muscles and a general air of danger.

My house was unapologetically girly. In a classy, understated way, I personally thought. When I’d first moved here, I put a lot of money into renovations. I’d also paid a good amount of money to make sure the renovations were actually done within my time frame. I’d lucked out, since Kallum ‘knew a guy’ who also ‘knew a bunch of guys’ who did good work and turned up when they said they would.

The house itself had a beautiful exterior. It was long and wide, a circular driveway in front of it complete with a fountain in the middle. There were flowerbeds all along the front of the house, flowerboxes underneath the windows. All had been empty when I bought it but were now thriving. You walked up steps to the double doors which opened to a hallway. To the left were my bedroom, an office, a spare room and afilming area. To the right were the doors to the laundry, a bathroom and then down some steps was the open plan living area, a huge kitchen at the back with a butler’s pantry and a giant island. There was a formal dining area to the left, and then my living area. French doors opened onto a patio with an outdoor fireplace and a seemingly endless desert.

Yes, the bones of my house were breathtaking. The inside had been bachelor central, so I’d had to make a lot of changes to suit my style. I’d never had the money or the home to do this with, so I went a smidge crazy.

Which meant that I had a pink bathroom. A shower tiled floor to ceiling complete with a waterfall showerhead in brass—all of my fixtures were in brass—and the claw sink was also pink. My hand towels were white, cost a bomb and were gorgeous. A Heartleaf plant was snaking down from a ledge I’d had built especially for the plant. There was a standalone, vintage tub that had been outrageously expensive but was worth every cent since I used it at least three times a week.

I’d even splurged and given myself a princess vanity with a large, circular Hollywood mirror lit up with lights and a plush, velvet chair in front of a desk full of perfectly organized perfumes, lotions and makeup brushes. The adjacent drawers were packed full of makeup.

Then, of course, what was supposed to be a third bedroom was my filming room. Lights, camera and background setup to perfection. I’d purchased a comfortable armchair for when I was editing and a desk with two computer screens where I worked the stock market and edited videos.

The rest of the house was just as girly and glamourous with a Bohemian edge. Even though I hadn’t been here long, I’d trusted my gut in thinking I’d found a place to put down roots, so I’d thrown everything I had into making this a home. I’d entertained, had parties, dinners. So I was used to having people in my home, loved it, in fact.

Until right this second.

Until Hades, wearing all black, stood in my pink bathroom looking for intruders, murderers, hitmen.

Because of how I’d grown up, I threw myself into this house, making it mine. So much so that I’d put all of myself into my house. Hades walking through it was like him going through my underwear drawer or seeing me naked. I was suddenly uncomfortable, feeling self-conscious about what conclusions he was drawing about me from my pink bathroom or the red, neon light in my office that read ‘Bad Bitch.’

Then there was the fact that since I was following him around during the ‘walk through’, I was in my bedroom with him. Alone. Not counting Sirius.

I knew I should’ve been thinking about the people who may or may not be hiding in my house, but all I was thinking about was Hades being in my room, a room where there was a bed, one I’d masturbated in thinking about him for the past month.

My heart suddenly became very loud, very rapid, my palms starting to sweat, and I suddenly had trouble stringing a thought together. Fortunately, Hades was not interested in making conversation of any kind, being solely focused on his job. Whatever that was.

After the ‘walk through’ I followed back to the front door, him on the outside, me on the inside, without a word said about the décor, not even a raised eyebrow. I’d been so caught up by having Hades in my house, I hadn’t even thought of the logistics of what tonight would entail. He’d said he was going to be here all night, but where exactly was ‘here’? On my sofa? Or in my office on the daybed that pulled out?

In my bed?

Was he going to demand some kind of sexual payment for the protection detail?

My stomach dropped even thinking about it.

“I’ll be out here all night,” Hades jerked me out of my fantasy, nodding to where his bike was parked beside my car.

Something inside of me loved the way they looked together, despite the situation I’d found myself in. I knew what the barrel of a gun felt like against my temple because of the man who owned that bike.

However, I had also been closer to death tonight than I ever had before in my life. And although I’d thought near-death experiences made you want to hide in a dark room with a bottle of wine while re-watching Gilmore Girls, right now, I really wanted to be fucked by the guy with the cheekbones, the muscle and the ability to kill. Plus, he just so happened to be standing in my driveway.

“You don’t have to stay out here.” My voice sounded slightly husky, need throbbing between my legs.

Hades clenched his fists at his sides, his brows narrowing and his eyes darkening. I knew he did not miss the sex in my tone and the invitation in my eyes.

Hades didn’t answer for a long moment, the tension building in the air, my body taut and coiled, desperate for release. Desperate to give up control to someone. To him. To submit to this man completely.

For a second, he looked like he was going to do just that, right there in the driveway, and I would’ve let him.

“Yes, I do,” he refuted, ice coating his words, his features closing up. “Get back in the house, Freya”

That was an order. It might’ve even been some kind of threat. Danger threaded through his tone, and not the kind I wanted right now. Not the kind that I could handle.

I held onto his gaze for a moment longer, then I turned on my heel and walked inside. I locked the door. Not because I didn’t trust Hades, but because I didn’t trust myself. I had a cold shower then I snuggled up with Sirius, a bottle of wine, a family-sized bag of peanut butter M&M’S and Gilmore Girls. And I got up at least four times during the night. I’d left my floodlights on, to make sure he wasn’t sitting in the dark, even though I got the feeling he might’ve liked that.

Each time I peeked out my window, he was there, smoking, leaning against his bike. There wasn’t a gun in his hand, but I knew he had one. Every time I peeked out my window, his head turned in my direction and we locked eyes from across the courtyard. Like a scared schoolgirl, I darted back to my bed.

Despite the man I suspected Hades was, despite what had happened tonight, when I finally did fall asleep, I slept better than I had in recorded memory. With the enforcer of the Sons of Templar in my driveaway, armed and ready to kill someone.

He was gone when I woke up, a young, attractive man covered with a blond crew cut, tanned skin and muscles now there. Not a tattoo to be seen. He looked more like a J-Crew model than a biker. His name was Anderson, he was twenty-two, had a nice smile and chatted about his pregnant girlfriend, Hannah, over the coffee and pancakes I made for the two of us. They were literally night and day, Anderson and Hades. The bright-eyed, young man with an easy smile and the brooding sex god who spelled destruction.

I went about my day as usual after breakfast, including a walk with Sirius that Anderson accompanied me on, chatting with me the entire time, telling me how he got himself involved with the Sons. Apparently, he’d wanted to join since he was in high school, being a local here and idolizing the Sons like the majority of teenage, wannabe badasses in the area.

He came from a good family who sounded normal and who were horrified over their only beloved son wanting to join a motorcycle club. They’d convinced him to go to college, get out of Garnett, get a degree and see if four years in the real world would change his mind.

He came out of college with a business degree as well as a renewed hunger to join the Sons. His parents were not happy. But they also loved their son, and he quite obviously loved them.

The more I got to know him, the more I liked him. Which was why I really hoped that whoever had made the threat last night did not choose to try to make good on said threat and get this kid—well, badass biker man to most people but when compared with the other Sons, somewhat of a kid—killed or maimed.

As it was, I got my wish.

The day passed without incident, and I got ready for work while Anderson was playing with Sirius or ‘walking the perimeter’ or eating the banana muffins I’d made earlier.

I waited for some kind of comment about my job from him. Even the best of guys had something to say, an eyebrow raise or something glazing over their eyes when they figured out I was a woman they didn’t have to work to get her clothes off of. Not when it was what the woman in question did for a living. Somehow, figuring out a woman was a stripper, brought out the inner sleazebag in almost every man.

So I waited. For some kind of gaze up and down the outfit I was wearing to work—a skintight, white, high necked, sleeveless dress that molded to my every curve and would have shown the label on whatever underwear I was wearing if I hadn’t found a very special, barely there pair. I was not a woman who went sans panties. I actually had no idea how women did that. To each their own, of course, but even if I had been that kind of woman, I wouldn’t have been able to go without panties unless I wanted everyone to know my waxing preferences. And unlike a lot of women in my profession, I did still have some hair ... down there.

Anderson did look at me when I emerged from my bedroom at nine that night. His eyes trailed up my snakeskin stiletto boots to the sliver of skin between the boots and the hem of my dress. Then up my body, to my face where they stopped. There was no inner sleazebag though, not even a drop.

Sure, there was a definite kind of male appreciation, but it was detached, and it disappeared from his face in just a handful of seconds. This was a decent man who was most definitely committed to his pregnant girlfriend.

I liked that for her. And for him.

“Ready to rock and roll?” he asked.

I tilted my head. “It’s nine and you’ve been here since I woke up which means you’ve been my bodyguard for the past twelve hours. Now you’re going to a strip club with me where I don’t get off until at least one usually two. If not three. And you have a pregnant girlfriend at home. I really don’t think you need to come with me.”

Even though I’d had an armed, unfamiliar man following me around all day, routinely ‘checking the perimeter of my house’, I’d all but forgotten I’d had a gun held to my head yesterday. Yesterday.

The power of the alpha male biker.

In the daylight, after a night’s sleep, I wasn’t afraid of whoever it was that was possibly coming after me. The man with the gun had wanted me to deliver a message. I’d done so. The Sons obviously weren’t planning on listening to the message, which meant I was in danger. Maybe. I didn’t ask much about it.

I wasn’t sure whether that was stupid or naïve of me. Or maybe it was stupid or naïve of me to think a bunch of bikers—albeit sexy, brooding bikers with perfect cheekbones—were going to keep me safe. It was definitely stupid to trust them with my life. But that’s what I was doing, wasn’t it?

Anderson’s boyish face turned hard. “I do need to go with you,” he countered, his voice suddenly two octaves deeper and a heck of a lot more dangerous. “I’m willing to do anything for the club, to make sure no one hurts it or you. Everything about him told me he was resolute. Devoted. Blindly dedicated to his club. Or cult, since it seemed to have followers willing to do anything and everything without question.

That should’ve worried me, scared me, made me more cautious. But instead, it intrigued me. Parts of me felt inexplicably jealous of them. It was a family. One that was willing to fight and die for one another.

“Besides,” Anderson continued. “I’m only following you to Fate. Hades is takin’ over once we get there.”

My heart stopped.

“Hades is meeting us at Fate?” I repeated.

He nodded once.

“He’s going to be there, at the club, the whole night?” I clarified.

Anderson nodded again, but this time, I swear I saw a hint of a smirk. “The whole night,” he confirmed.

Fuck.

* * *

“Baby, are you okay?” Marilyn asked, looking at me in the mirror. We were sitting side by side, touching up our makeup before we went on stage.

The music was thumping outside as Carmen finished out her set. I was next, and my hand was shaking as I applied a fresh coat of blush.

“Does you being quiet have anything to do with the brooding badass you arrived with?” she prodded, leaning forward to touch up the edge of her blood-red lipstick. It was her signature, along with the beauty spot above those red lips. And the tight curls she wore every day, mimicking her namesake and all-around idol, Marilyn Monroe. Her eyes met mine once more. “The one with the jaw and the cheekbones and the hair?”

I nodded. “The one with the jaw and the cheekbones and the hair and the muscles and the hands,” I sighed. “And the tattoos.”

She grinned wickedly. “I thought you were going to stay ‘far, far away from the Sons of Templar’.” She mimicked my voice, repeating what I’d said verbatim when they’d come into the club my first week in town.

I groaned, sinking back in my chair, giving up on my makeup. “I was. I am. It’s complicated.”

She raised a brow. Or as much as she could since she’d had a fresh injection of Botox last week. “I bet it is, honey.”

“I have no idea how I’m going to dance with him out there,” I whispered, glimpsing at the door to where, in five minutes, I was going to have to strut out, shake my ass and take off my clothes.

Hades had, as Anderson had promised, been waiting in the parking lot when we arrived. Leaning against his bike, looking like pure fucking sin. I’d actually released a little sigh when I pulled up beside him. An audible fucking sound that was dangerously and embarrassingly close to a moan. My entire body had tensed up and relaxed at the same time.

As he watched me exit my car, his gaze was visceral. I felt his eyes travel all the way up my legs. All the way. When my eyes locked with his, my stomach dropped. Like all the way to my snakeskin heels. There was heat in it. A fucking inferno.

Then there wasn’t.

In an instant, he shut it down. It’s how I imagined it might’ve happened in an airlock when all the oxygen was sucked out. I hoped that I kept a poker face at what this did to me, what he did to me, but I feared I wasn’t anywhere as good as he was.

I used a goodbye to Anderson to distract myself, hugging him and promising to set a date for him and Hannah to come over to my place for dinner.

When done, I turned back toward Hades, finding his dark brows furrowed above the glare he directed at me. I’d done something to piss him off yet again. My cheeks heated with the force of that glare, my body responding in a way that was not at all healthy.

Since arriving, he hadn’t spoken to me, and I’d done my best to pretend he didn’t exist. I couldn’t do that now, though.

“We are going to have brunch, and you’re going to go into detail about him,” Marilyn told me, eyeing me in the middle of my nervous breakdown. “There is no time for details right now.” She put her hand on my leg, squeezing for reassurance. She pointed a long red nail toward the stage. “You have all the power here. So go out there, show that to him. Make him think you’re dancing for him even though you dance for yourself. Men are never weaker than when they’re watching a woman take her clothes off.”

She gave my leg one last squeeze before letting go.

“You’re a bad bitch, you’ve got this,” she continued, her voice confident, sure.

I nodded. “Yes, I am,” I agreed.

Carmen came strutting backstage with a wink and a G-string full of cash. Then the song came on.

My song.

“Toxic” by Britney Spears.

Yes. With Britney, I could do this.

HADES

I had no idea how I fucking survived it. How any man in this place with his eyes all over her survived it. The only way I was able to keep from killing every motherfucker in this joint was to stay completely and utterly still, my hands around the single glass of whisky I’d ordered. I hadn’t taken a single sip, though my body was crying out for the burn in my throat, something to dull the edges. But even if I’d downed the whole bottle, with her up on that stage, one tiny scrap of fabric away from being completely fucking naked, I knew nothing could’ve dulled the edges. The only thing whisky would’ve done was take away the miniscule amount of willpower I was clutching on to.

I’d dreaded coming here. Would’ve preferred anything else. A dangerous run that had a high chance of some kind of gunfight. An enemy to torture. Fuck, I would’ve loved either of those. I had not wanted to be here and hadn’t planned to. Until every fucker in the club volunteered for this protection duty. Well, everyone but Hansen and Jagger whose Old Ladies wouldn’t have been pleased with either of them being on protection duty on this particular night. Not that either of them wanted to be in a strip club on a Friday night. They were so fucking in love I’d think it was been pathetic if it weren’t for the fact that I was actually happy for my brothers. And I actually liked Macy and Caroline. It was impossible not to.

And, apparently, it was impossible not to like Freya. Which made me want to pummel every single one of the fuckers who raised a goddamn hand.

As much as I didn’t want to be here, no way in fuck were any of the other fuckers near her. I’d made that clear when Swiss—the piece of shit—had casually mentioned that he might head over here for a drink and backup ‘in case you get stabbed again.’ My reaction had amused and surprised everyone, the way I’d slammed my fist against the table.

Hansen had even raised an eyebrow.

Luckily, no one said anything, but I knew that Swiss would have plenty to say when I got back to the club. I figured I’d be able to handle it by then, having had time to lock myself down. But right now, I didn’t know shit aside from knowing that I didn’t trust myself to move my hands from the cool glass.

Nor could I take my eyes off her.

I hadn’t been able to since she’d gotten out of that car in that dress. That fucking dress. With those fucking legs. Those tits. That ass.

That smile.

The one she offered freely to Anderson along with an invitation to dinner and a fucking hug. Again, I’d had to lock myself down, watching the prospect’s arms going around her. The only reason those arms were still attached to his body was because they’d stayed well north of her ass, and his eyes had been locked with hers. I had kinda liked the fucker before tonight, even though he never shut up about his Old Lady and their baby. The only reason he was on this detail today was because he went on about his woman so much. I figured he was the safest choice around Freya. Even then, my mind had tortured me all fucking day about how quickly another woman could disappear from a man’s mind in the face of someone like Freya.

Which was why I’d been busting my ass all fucking day, tracking down the fuckers responsible for this entire situation. And trying to figure out how they’d factored Freya into the situation. They obviously had eyes on us. Bad ones though, to pick Freya as a woman attached to the club. Or maybe they wanted to make a statement and were too cowardly to threaten someone like Macy or Caroline. If that had happened, not only would we find the men responsible, we’d make sure their deaths lasted fucking months.

As it was, I was really fucking looking forward to killing the man who was stupid enough to think he could get away with doing that and living another day. We were closing in when I got the message from Anderson that Freya was getting ready for work.

We had to find him tonight, because no way me or my cock would survive another night of this.

Three other women had danced before her. I hadn’t seen them. I couldn’t tell you the color of their hair or any other kind of physical detail. Then she came on.

Wearing white.

Wearing fucking white.

That should’ve been illegal.

I’d been planning on staring at the bar, counting the bottles on the shelves, watching the entrance to make sure no Segadores Sombríos came in the door. I didn’t need to get in any deeper with this woman. It was the smart thing to do. Safest for both me and her.

But something inside of me reacted, something impossible to control despite the fact that my life only worked because of the way I could control myself, and to a point, others around me.

Until Freya.

Until fucking Freya.

The dress she was wearing was sheer. Lace. I’d situated myself in the corner of the room, as far away from the stage as I could, considering I had to be ready to take down anyone who tried shit with her.

But despite my distance, I could see her nipples, hard and exquisitely pink. My grip on the glass tightened. I was close to breaking it in my palm, but I fucking welcomed that. I needed the pain of glass embedding itself into my skin, anything that wasn’t the agony of watching her strut down the stage with her perfect nipples illuminated for the entire club to see.

Her blonde hair was piled on top of her head, so as she rounded the pole, I traced the curve of her neck, imagining my hand around it as I fucked her from behind. Her skin was tanned, smooth perfection. It glistened in the light, and it was fucking hypnotizing.

I knew there was music, I swear I’d heard it moments ago. People had been talking too. Murmuring to each other. Laughing. Talking about what they’d do to the women on stage, the ones they’d never get. I remembered thinking that if I heard them talking that way about Freya, I wouldn’t be able to control myself.

But I hadn’t needed to worry about that since there was only a dull roar in my ear and everything else had blended into a blur. There was only Freya.

She was afraid of me, that much was clear. And because I was a fucking evil asshole, I liked that. I needed that. Needed her fear of me to mute her down. Otherwise, I’d turn into a fucking caveman.

Since she was terrified of me, I’d expected her to avoid my gaze while she was up there. I’d prayed for it.

But God didn’t listen to demons, devils, sinners, or members of outlaw motorcycle clubs. Freya did not avert her eyes like she had in the parking lot or the night prior when she’d lingered by the bar, talking to Kallum, who I also wanted to fucking kill.

No, she only had eyes for me.

They were right, the fucking religious nuts. Hell did exist, and it was Fate, this fucking club. Heaven existed too. And it was also here in this fucking club at this fucking moment.

FREYA

I had not planned on taking Marilyn’s advice. Usually, she was great at giving it. But this ... thing, this connection—one sided, of course—was not like anything I’d ever experienced, and I wasn’t articulate enough to explain it to her. Certainly not in the five minutes I’d had before I was due to go on stage.

I’d planned on completely avoiding the corner of the club where Hades had situated himself. I’d stripped in front of people I knew before, even a couple of times in front of people I’d dated—which none of them had been able to handle. At first, it was kind of awkward, but I was a veteran now and wasn’t ashamed of my body or my job.

The problem was, Hades had a magnetic pull. The second I walked out on stage, it was impossible not to look at him. Not to move for him. Not to breathe for him.

And I was not ashamed. Or afraid.

I was powerful.

It was like sex. That sounded insane, but there was no other way to describe it. Never in my life had stripping been sexual to me. At first, it had been my rock bottom, the only way to pay the bills. Then my secret shame. After that, it became a job. A great workout. The thing that paid for my lifestyle. Yes, it had been many, many things. But it had never been sexual.

Until this moment.

Until his eyes followed my every move. Tracing my skin as I moved up and down the pole. The thin lace covering my body was suddenly too heavy, too stifling, too arousing against my hard nipples. My body swayed with the music, pulling off the fabric slowly, sensually. My heartbeat seemed to pulse everywhere in my body, all my muscles coiled tightly, reacting as if Hades’s lips were moving all over me, coaxing me to a climax. Although he was in shadows, he seemed to be etched from stone, every detail of his face stark, irresistible.

He had been hunched over his table when I began, clutching his glass, glaring at the stage, glaring at me. For less than a moment. Then I started. Then we started. Something moved in his eyes, something sparked. He sat up straighter, let go of the glass, both of his palms flat on the table. He turned so I could see him open his legs ever so slightly. An invitation. I was instantly wet. I must’ve imagined it, since it was impossible to see such things with the low light from that distance, but I could’ve sworn I saw the outline of his cock. His very large, very hard cock. That only made me crazier.

I moved like the pole was his body. Like I was involved in some kind of crazed mating dance. It would’ve felt ridiculous and desperate had I not been so turned on.

Only him and I existed. My skin was damp, clammy and on fire by the time I’d shed my clothes and finished my set. I felt like one fucking touch, the tiniest bit of friction, and I’d explode. It was all I could to do to walk backstage and not launch myself across the crowd to let Hades fuck me right there.

Marilyn, who had been watching from backstage, gave me a wink and mouthed, “I told you so” as she swatted my ass and began her set.

I stumbled to the bathroom on unsteady legs, barely able to lock the door before I pressed myself against it and touched the one area that was begging for attention. I cried out as I came the second my fingers touched my clit.