My Bare Lady Read online

  My Bare Lady

  Scorned Women’s Society Series Book #1

  Piper Sheldon

  www.smartypantsromance.com

  Copyright

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, rants, facts, contrivances, and incidents are either the product of the author’s questionable imagination or are used factitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead or undead, events, locales is entirely coincidental if not somewhat disturbing/concerning.

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  Copyright © 2019 by Smartypants Romance; All rights reserved.

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  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, photographed, instagrammed, tweeted, twittered, twatted, tumbled, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without explicit written permission from the author.

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  Made in the United States of America

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  eBook Edition

  Dedication

  To J.R., always

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Sneak Peek: Happy Trail, Book # 1 in the Green Valley Ranger Series by Daisy Prescott

  Chapter 1

  Suzie

  In the drop-down mirror of my car, I puckered my lips to add another coat of lipstick. My complexion was flawless and my eyeliner smooth despite my shaking hands. My whole face was perfectly primed, painted, and plumped. Not that nobody ever looked at my face for very long.

  I might be bad at most things but at least I looked good doing them. I guess, at some point, we all just start playing to our strengths. And my strengths are dancing on a pole and looking fine. There’s not a person in Green Valley that’d argue with that. Suzie Samuels and stripping go together like bacon and grits. But not after tonight.

  I hoped.

  The thrum of activity at the G-Spot hit me before I even left my car. The bass vibrated the dashboard almost enough to cover my own wobbling insides. I smoothed my hair one last time. I’d spent an hour straightening and then curling it into the perfect waves for that just-out-of-bed look. My outfit was a complicated crisscross of elastic straps all over my body meant to emphasize my dancer figure. It was a twofold benefit; the material helped protect my skin on the pole and the straps held a lot more cash than a G-string.

  Plus, I looked damn hot in it.

  I sauntered toward the door with my most eye-catching sway because Ka-Bar sat on a stool outside. I wasn’t part of the Iron Wraiths Motorcycle Club anymore, in fact, I’d gone to their rivals, the Black Demons, but he’d always been good to me, so I gave a little show. Plus, acting real sexy tended to calm my jitters. It was a cold October night and I fought to keep from shivering.

  “Hey, Ka-Bar.” My five-inch platforms wobbled in the gravel leading to the door but I didn’t falter.

  Ka-Bar looked like most of the Iron Wraiths; tattooed, scraggly beard, and leather from head to toe. A giant knife tattoo taking up the length of his arm and the dog tags around his neck distinguished him. He looked me up and down and licked his lips like he wanted a taste.

  “Hey, gorgeous.” He leaned in for the kiss I ghosted over his cheek. “Little early for your shift?”

  “Well, I never get to see you when I come in later.” I leaned out of his embrace noting the familiar smell of exhaust, sweat, and smokes.

  “Shucks.” He put a hand over his heart.

  “Also, I need to talk to Occum before I go up.” I shrugged like I wasn’t sick to my stomach thinking about it.

  I was high up on the Black Demon’s Motorcycle Club food chain but I was still just a stripper. Stripping was supposed to be temporary, a means to an end after I made some bad life choices. One life choice named Jethro Winston. But I wasn’t thinking about him right now.

  “He should be in the office.” Ka-Bar thumbed toward the building. “Meeting with some suit from the city as we speak.”

  “No shit?”

  “Yeah, something for the new renovations. Heard it wasn’t going well. He’s a real hard-ass.”

  The same renovations I was here to talk about. I wanted to ask more but didn’t have the chance. Two regulars walked out of the bar; Rooster and Cueball. The Iron Wraiths insignia on their vests was as good as waving a gun in the air. I recognized their swagger as an attempt to hide sloppy drunkenness. G-Spot was neutral territory for several of the local MCs, including the Black Demons and the Iron Wraiths. It’s the only place the MCs tolerated each other, far as I knew. Everywhere else they’d pick a fight over the color of the sky. Here, business was business and us women were business.

  “Look at this one.” Rooster—named for his short red mohawk and hooked nose—looked me up and down. These bikers weren’t exactly blowing any minds with their nicknaming skills.

  “Where were you, baby? I’d pay extra for some time with you,” Cueball added. Cueball was—you guessed it—pale with a shiny bald head and round enough to roll down the Smokies.

  What I wanted to do was roll my eyes and tell them their wedding rings weren’t just for decoration. But Occum's rule for dancers was “shut up and look pretty,” so I couldn’t go pissing off his clientele. And Lord knew I was already on thin ice for my sharp tongue and quick temper.

  I smiled and tried to go in past them. If I couldn’t say nothing nice … I’d kick their bikes later.

  “Come on now, how much for a quick BJ in the parking lot?” Cueball was so drunk his eyes couldn’t focus on me as he asked.

  My teeth ground together. I knew everybody thought dancers were hookers but we weren’t. At least, not all of us.

  “You can’t afford me, sweetie.” I winked.

  “Hey, aren’t you Short Fuse Suze?” Cueball asked. I knew they’d recognize me sooner or later. I was almost a Wraith girl a million years ago. “Careful. You know what she did to Jethro Winston.”

  “I don’t care. I still want a piece.” Rooster just about had me in his grip when Ka-Bar got ‘em.

  He was faster and stronger than these drunks would ever be. He had the redhead face-first against the club exterior faster than you could say Mississippi mud pie.

  “No hands.” His voice was cool but the threat was clear.

  “You can’t fucking touch me,” Rooster said, his cheek smashed against brick.

  Cueball looked back and forth, fists balled and ready for action.

  “You know the rules. Get your asses home,” Ka-Bar warned.

  Rooster stood up and shook out his leather jacket. “Don’t forget who you’re fucking with. Razor’s gonna hear about this.”

  My cheeks burned. I dug my fake nails into my palms to keep from clawing their eyes out.

  “Big mistake.” Cueball spat on the ground as they made their way toward their rides. When he was a safe distance from Ka-Bar, he shouted something about me being a cocktease.

  I picked up the
stool Ka-Bar had been sitting on and lifted it over my head, fully intending on nailing the suckers as they hightailed it out of there.

  “Easy girl.” He grabbed me around the waist, pulling me back out of sight. He ripped the stool out of my tense grip.

  “Just one good smack. Teach ‘em a lesson.” I glared after them until their rumbling engines were out of earshot.

  Ka-Bar rubbed my shoulder. “Don’t get any ideas, Short Fuse.”

  Set one bike on fire and suddenly you had a reputation. Okay so maybe I had been thinking about setting them on fire. If I couldn’t do that I’d whack ‘em with a stool.

  “Mother clucker,” I swore under my breath.

  Ka-bar raised an amused eyebrow at me.

  “I’m trying this new thing where I don’t swear as much. And come on, he’s Rooster. It’s funny.”

  “I sure miss your crazy antics.” He shook his head. “Get in. You’re shivering.”

  Making him smile helped ease my tension but my fingers still trembled as I ran them through my hair. I should be used to this behavior from men. I’d been ogled since thirteen when my natural Ds sprouted overnight. Still, it was nice to have Ka-Bar around when men got ugly. Not all the Iron Wraiths were so bad.

  Inside, bass thumped through my chest to “Bad Girls” by M.I.A. All around, girls in thongs and bikini tops served drinks, danced, and ground themselves on the customers. The air was heavy with smoke so thick the dim lights created a reddish halo on each table. It took shampooing my hair twice after every shift to get the smell out. The vibe here was dirtier than the Pink Pony but guaranteed a good time for the right price. My palms tingled as I made my way through the crowd toward Occum's office. Busy was good. Busy meant more money and hopefully a good mood.

  I was about to bust into the main office when a loud bang through the door made me jump. It had sounded like a fist slamming down on the desk. Occum did that a lot when he got worked up. I was very familiar with that sound.

  “That’s not gonna work,” Occum growled.

  Whoever was in there was doing fine work pissing him off. I shot a quick glance over my shoulder to see if anybody was coming. His office was way in the back where the music hardly reached so hopefully nobody would catch me being nosey. I tiptoed closer to the door in between a stack of lumber and a stepladder.

  “The work you laid out doesn’t align with what you detailed in this report. When you’ve updated the blueprints to show the true structural changes being made, I’ll review the site again. If the work is satisfactory at that point, then I’ll sign off on the structural modifications.” The voice was calm, not as deep as Occum's but smoother, and oddly confident considering it sounded like Occum was two seconds from steaming out his ears. There was something about it that caused a tiny shiver to go down my spine. It was flat but rich. There was no catch at the end of his sentences like he was asking a question the way most folks talked around here.

  He was a Yankee.

  Color me intrigued. I moved closer to listen. This man better be careful. One, because Occum was likely to get violent and two, I didn’t want him getting my boss all riled up. Not now.

  “Those changes’ll cost a hundred grand easy,” Occum spoke dangerously slow.

  “At least,” the stranger responded.

  The office chair creaked and I pictured Occum leaning back, staring at the ceiling with fists clenched behind his head.

  “How much is this going to cost me?” Occum asked.

  There was a slight pause. “I believe you just estimated. Though to be honest that sounds on the low end to me. You’re cutting corners. Or you could just update the blueprints to reflect the actual changes being made and add a few safety precautions like—”

  “How. Much. Do. You. Want?”

  There was another pause. My ear now pressed flat against the door.

  “I can recommend a company but I don’t have a crew myself.”

  I covered my mouth to hold back a laugh. Either this guy was thick as molasses in winter or he had cojones the size of bowling balls.

  “I want to pay you off so you’ll sign the goddamn papers and I can finish this fucking remodel!” The sound of a chair slamming back into the wall had me jumping back about a foot. “How much do you want?”

  “I’m sure you aren’t suggesting I risk my career and reputation for a measly payoff.” The voice was closer this time when it spoke so I tucked myself against the wall and out of the way in case he came out.

  “Fuck you. I’ll find someone else to pay.”

  “Good luck. I’m the only certified building inspector within two hundred miles with the authorization to sign off on this.” There was another shuffle and the voice was closer. “And no person with any morals would sign off on the shoddy work I see here.”

  The door opened so abruptly after that bold statement I jumped and hid my face to the wall. I didn’t know why. I never hid myself. If anything, I showed too much of myself but for some reason, I didn’t want this stranger seeing me or knowing I had listened in. His confidence in the face of Occum was unsettling; his voice, a little too intriguing.

  He brushed past me with a polite, “Excuse me, ma’am,” taking care not to touch me, which was tricky with the construction material taking up all the hall space.

  He muttered something about fire hazards before melting into the darkness of the bar. I couldn't tell much from his retreating figure; his dress pants and collared shirt were a little too fancy for this place. His hair was salt and pepper, but that was about all I could see. Shoulders back, his stride was as cool as his voice had been, confidence oozing as he disappeared. My jaw hung slack like a largemouth bass.

  Then his words registered. I was half tempted to chase after him just to smack him upside the head. “Ma’am”?! Me? I was equal parts confused and offended. My outfit hardly covered my nipples and he called me something we call ol’ Mrs. Albensi when we saw her at the Piggly Wiggly. I’m not a ma’am, I’m a miss. I’m still in my twenties! Technically. Though, my hangovers were lasting a little longer these days and I did pluck a grey hair this morning.

  I debated chasing after this stranger to give him a piece of my mind when Occum shot out the office.

  “Goddamn!” His face was twisted with rage.

  That’s when I should have skedaddled but I was stuck like a bunny on a state route—too afraid to move and about to be roadkill. Occum’s head was shaved completely bald but what he lacked up top sprouted from his face like Rip Van Winkle. The thin tip of his beard reached all the way down to his belt buckle.

  He spotted me still half turned facing the wall. “What in the hell are you doing, Short Fuse?” Before I could make up an answer he added, “Get your ass on stage, right now.”

  For somebody with a reputation for talking too much, I struggled to find words. “I need to talk to you.”

  Now wasn’t going to be the best time to talk to him but the words had tumbled out after days of preparing them. I guess that’s why everybody told me God used a teaspoon to pour my brains in and had shaking hands.

  He had been looking down the hall after that ballsy fellow but this caused him to snap his head toward me. “You want to talk? What about, nail polish and blowjobs?”

  I ran my hand down his arm and squeezed his sinewy bicep. His cologne was overpowering this close. “I was thinking—”

  “That face ain’t for thinking.” He pushed me off his arm. “I have important clientele here tonight and I promised them a show. I’ve had enough backtalk from people for one day. Now get moving before the next song starts or I’m gonna have one of my new girls dance and you can bus tables.”

  I blinked back the hurt at his words. I batted my eyelashes and smiled to sidetrack his tension. “Okay, sugar. Whatever you want.”

  “That’s my girl.” He smacked my bottom as I walked away and headed toward the changing rooms.

  I'd talk to him after my set. I wouldn't lose my nerve. This was my life. I had gotten myself here wi
th my bad actions and I was paying for them. I wasn’t fit for anything proper, but maybe I could have this one thing just for me.

  Chapter 2

  Clifford

  I was meticulous about my hand washing despite the rage pumping adrenaline through me. I glanced at my bland expression through the splashes of God-knows-what on the mirror. I performed my counting mental exercises until my heart beat at a normal pace.

  The froth of bubbles was the perfect consistency and evenly distributed as I scrubbed clean. I’d felt dirty for hours now. Of course, there wasn’t a dryer in sight, nor a paper towel roll. The only option was an old-fashioned towel loop where the rag was a rainbow of putrid oranges, browns, and yellows. This whole establishment had been nothing but a disgusting disappointment from the moment I crossed the threshold.

  After seeing what happened here, I was sure there was no surface untainted.

  That barbarian thought that I could be bought. He’d thought I didn’t understand his fumbling bribery. I’d given him a chance to back out, to realize how fruitless his attempt would be, but he was too thick-skulled to recognize the opportunity.

  What would it be like to take the money, to be crooked and betray my own moral code? The things I could do with that bribe. The research I could get funded. But I stopped that train of thought before it derailed. Imagine-the-headline was my favorite way to stop bad decisions.