Riding Dirty Read online

  Riding Dirty

  A Dark Mafia Biker romance

  Danika Fox

  Contents

  1. Chrissy

  2. Crush

  3. Chrissy

  4. Crush

  5. Crush

  6. Chrissy

  7. Crush

  8. Chrissy

  9. Crush

  10. Chrissy

  11. Crush

  12. Crush

  13. Chrissy

  14. Crush

  15. Chrissy

  16. Crush

  17. Chrissy

  18. Crush

  19. Chrissy

  20. Crush

  21. Chrissy

  22. Crush

  23. Chrissy

  24. Crush

  25. Chrissy

  26. Crush

  27. Chrissy

  28. Crush

  1

  Chrissy

  It’s funny how one small decision can change your whole damn life.

  Most people hate having to cover a shift for a coworker, but most people don’t work at a place where your chance of getting your ass grabbed is “part of the job.” If it hadn’t been for the fact that I already owed my friend Roxy a HUGE favor, I would’ve been home in bed. Instead, I was going to be handing out drinks at one of daddy’s strip clubs from six p.m. to two-in-the-morning.

  At least I was going to get paid. The tips were good, and this was a little money daddy didn’t have to know about. Besides… I was feeling like having a little fun tonight.

  I slipped in as nonchalantly as I could, trying to avoid the manager—a fat, greasy man by the name of Gary. That wasn’t too hard, because as far as I could tell, he never hauled his fat ass out of his little office. Of course, trolls can still cause trouble even if they stay under their bridge. He was the reason Roxy was so desperate for me to cover for her. This would be her third strike for missing a shift, and Gary was the kind of guy who’d fire someone at the drop of a hat. He treated running a strip joint like it was some big deal—which I guess made him feel better about where that fancy degree in business management got him.

  I logged into the computerized attendance system using Roxy’s employee number then went in back so I could change into her tight little corseted uniform. This wasn’t the first time I’d pulled this little stunt, and it wouldn’t be the last.

  “Chrissy!” came a shout from somewhere behind me just as punched the clock. I couldn’t shake the fear that someone was going to rat me out, and that Gary would be breathing down my neck at any minute. “What’re you doing here?”

  I turned, and to my relief saw one of the dancers walking up, still dressed in her street clothes. I marveled at how different she would look once she got through putting her makeup and outfit on for the stage. I envied her in a way, dancing brought better money than waiting tables, but I wasn’t sure I was the kind of girl who’d ever cut it as a stripper. Besides, daddy would kill me if he knew I was in one of his clubs handing out drinks… and if he heard I was shaking my ass for dollars…

  Let’s just say I wouldn’t be the only one who’d pay for that little indiscretion. That was the kind of thing a big mafia boss did, when he wasn’t busy neglecting his real family.

  “Can you keep a secret, Melody?” I asked, glancing around conspiratorially. “I’m not really here.”

  “Right,” she said, eyebrows raised. “I must have hit my head on the drive over.”

  “I’m covering for Roxy,” I said, giving her a soft shove on the shoulder. “She can’t make it, and—”

  “And Gary will kick her ass if he finds out she isn’t here. Got it.” Melody nodded. “In that case, you’d better get out on the floor and keep your head down. He’s on the phone with ‘the Boss,’ and he’s never in a good mood after he gets his teeth kicked in. He’ll be in there all night drinking away his sorrows.”

  “Thanks for the heads-up,” I said before heading to the changing room and then out onto the floor.

  Roxy’s “uniform” was a pair of high-waisted short-shorts with a corseted top that did wonders for my cleavage—not that I needed any help. It was trashy, but I could only cling to the small comfort that I wouldn’t have to take it off in order to earn my keep.

  Once I was dressed and out on the floor, I was in the clear. The one good thing about covering a shift in a dark dining room was that that it was easy to stay hidden while everyone’s eyes were plastered on the naked woman up on stage. I was starting to think I wouldn’t run into any problems at all, until another waitress grabbed my arm.

  “Hey, I need another girl to help me serve the V.I.P. room,” she said, already tugging me in that direction.

  I hated the V.I.P. room because the men who booked it thought their money bought them anything they wanted from any girl they wanted. One snap of a man’s fingers and a working girl would be crawling under the table. I’d seen enough of that last time I’d covered for Roxy. For a second or two, I wondered if she’d ever spent any time bent over one of the VIP couches.

  I shook my head. That was her business, not mine. I wasn’t here to get used and abused, no matter how much money was on the line.

  Nobody gets a piece of Chrissy Falcone… unless I want them to have it.

  Luckily for me, the lights were on when we walked in back, and the deep pockets that booked the room hadn’t arrived yet. I helped the girls set things up, happy for a little break from the pounding music on the main floor.

  “This seems a little pricey for someone’s bachelor party,” I said, noting the expensive bottles of champagne—the kind my daddy used to drink whenever he had “guests” over. The sight of it brought back bittersweet memories of my childhood—ones I wasn’t entirely comfortable thinking about while two dancers were pulling their tops off.

  “It’s not a bachelor party,” the other waitress said, drawing my attention away. “There’s some big meeting for a friend of the owner.”

  “The mysterious owner, huh?” I said, rolling my eyes. It was no secret that the man who owned Earthly Delights didn’t want their name attached to it. I understood the reason why. Daddy didn’t put his name on anything. That’s what kept him out of prison. I couldn’t have given less of a damn, honestly, so long as I had some daddy-don’t-know money at the end of the night.

  One of the dancers laughed. “I’m convinced whoever does own this shithole is some douchebag in a polo shirt who thought owning a strip joint would be a good investment.”

  I snorted.

  Wonder how daddy feels about his investment now. This place is dead tonight.

  “They’re here,” Gary called out from his office, breaking up our little rebellious fun without leaving his big filthy leather chair. “Make sure he’s got everything that was on the list. Mr. Santorini gets anything he wants. Do I make myself clear?”

  I felt the blood in my veins run cold at the sound of that name. It was one I’d known since I was a little girl. Mr. Santorini. Tony Santorini—or as I’d known him for most of my life, Uncle Tony. We weren’t actually related, but that just made things even worse. If he saw me in here, it wouldn’t be long before daddy would know all about it.

  My heart raced and my brain went into full-on panic mode. One of the girls flicked the lights off, the ethereal blue under-lighting kicking on, casting everything in an oddly spectral hue.

  “I need to get out of here,” I whispered to the other waitress, grabbing her arm.

  “Oh, come on, Chrissy! I need the help!” she pleaded. “I need someone to pour the drinks.”

  “I know, and I’ll find someone to take my place, I just… I know the VIP, and if he sees me dressed like this, things are going to get really uncomfortable…”

  “Just go,” she sighed, shaking her head. “But you’d bett
er send another girl back quick.”

  “I owe you my life,” I said, pulling her into a quick hug before I slipped out of the VIP room through the kitchen access door, back out onto the dining room. I made my mind up right then and there. I was going to get the hell out of here. Roxy was just going to have to understand.

  That’s when I saw him.

  There was a man posted up next to the bar, standing there in well-worn leather and tight jeans that clung to his muscular thighs, leaving nothing to the imagination.

  My breath caught in my throat, and my mind went blank. To say I’d always had a thing for a big bad biker was the understatement of the year.

  Oh… my… god…

  A familiar feeling crept up inside me, a deep mix of raw desire and mischief… and a little bit of fear. He was exactly the kind of man that was totally off limits. If daddy knew the things I was already starting to imagine, he’d kill us both.

  Maybe I could stay a little bit longer… I thought to myself, catching my bottom lip and giving it a little bite.

  2

  Crush

  I’d been sitting at that damn bar for what felt like an hour, and I was already on my third drink. I wasn’t in the mood to be kept waiting, but I knew that if the Hounds were going to get what they wanted out of these assholes, then I had to play ball.

  Keep it cool, Crush, I thought as I finished off the last bit of my Jack and Coke. Just wait it out. Worst they can do it say no.

  Strip clubs weren’t my scene, despite what people might think about bikers. I was the kind of man who preferred a quiet, out-of-the-way dive. Those places always felt more… intimate.

  Just goes to show what happens when you open your big mouth, I thought, ordering another drink. The pretty young thing who delivered it was too good for this place. She was putting on a brave face, running her fingers over my thigh as she leaned over to place the bottle on the counter. I could see right through her little act. She could barely even look me in the eye as she pulled her hand away quickly. I watched her ass bounce in those tight little shorts as she went, and felt my cock twitch in response.

  I had bigger things on my mind than getting my dick wet, so I forced myself to look away. Soon enough, I’d be sitting in a dark room with a goddamned mobster trying to talk him into spending a little money on my club. I needed to stay focused.

  I turned around on my barstool to look out over the rest of the club, resting back on my elbows as I surveyed the scene. The lights were low, with cuts of bright neon disrupting what might have been an almost romantic accent to the already erotic nature of the place, painting everything in shades of hot pink and iridescent blues. In places the neon cast the club in an eerie pallor, under-lighting peoples’ faces and afflicting them with more skeletal qualities. It made the place seem otherworldly, in a way, like I was sitting here while damned souls danced provocatively for the living who might join them one day. But fire and brimstone might have been preferable to the smell that actually permeated the joint—a bouquet of sweat, tobacco, and stale beer.

  Earthly Delights. Yeah, this place sure as hell lived up to its name.

  I watched as a woman on stage swung around a gleaming pole, performing feats of acrobatics I couldn’t deny were alluring as she climbed up its length and spun down again, holding on by the strength of her legs alone. Then she crawled toward the slavering men who lined the front of the stage, sauntering on all fours, her eyes locked on a man I couldn’t even make out beyond his silhouette.

  The longer I watched, the more frustrated I became, and not in the way one might expect. It’d been more than an hour, and this asshole was just going to make me wait? I wasn’t the kind of man who put up with that kind of “power play” bullshit. The club could borrow a little money from people who knew how to show a little respect.

  I paid for my drinks and pushed up from the bar as I heard the DJ announce the next dancer—Vanity—was ready to grace the main stage. I afforded the girl a cursory glance as I headed toward the door.

  Even that momentary distraction was enough for me to bump right into a man I hadn’t even seen a moment ago. He was wearing a floral-patterned Hawaiian shirt in an ungodly shade of red, a pair of tan Bermuda shorts, and for a second, I thought I was hallucinating. Here he was, a Chad in the wild, in full Chad costume. Was this guy for real?

  “How about you watch where the hell you’re going, jackass?” he snapped as he turned toward me, his shoulders rolled forward as though he was about to throw a punch.

  I looked him up and down. The curl of my lip was the only reply I deigned to give him.

  Some expression shuddered across his face then, something akin to outright panic, and I was wondering what backwater, Midwest gopher hole he’d crawled out of to find me that scary when I realized he wasn’t looking at me anymore. He was looking past me, over my shoulder, but his gaze only remained there a moment before he turned tail for the exit.

  I turned my head. Two men in black shirts, both of them muscled to the point of nearly bursting at the seams, were moving quickly towards us. Wasting no time, the asshole scampered as quickly as he could out of the club.

  Maybe he got a little handsy with one of the dancers…

  I had an off feeling about him, as I watched him push through the double doors. No good way to describe it, outside of thinking he didn’t belong here.

  I moved to follow him out. But a hand grazed the small of my back, stroking along my spine. I stiffened, goosebumps rising on my skin. If it was that pretty little waitress again, I might just find a little time for her after all…

  The girl I found behind me was wearing nothing but a set of black lingerie with blood-red lace trim. It was one of the women I’d seen dancing only a few moments ago with a cheeky grin curling her full, scarlet lips.

  “You must be Crush,” she purred, making a show of running her tongue over her teeth as she studied me head to toe. “My name’s Ruby. Mr. Santorini told me to bring you into the VIP room for your meeting.” When her gaze snagged on the front of my jeans, I could practically feel the heat that rose in her body, but the growing bulge she was smitten with wasn’t for her. I glanced past her shoulder and caught the pretty little waitress staring again. I gave her a quick smile before Ruby reached up and caught my chin with a finger, dragging my gaze away.

  “You feel like a little private dance first? I can get you nice and relaxed.”

  “I think I’d like to see Mr. Santorini,” I said, trying to catch another glimpse of my pretty little waitress, but she was nowhere to be seen.

  “Whatever you say, sir,” she replied, her tone so sultry it would have made me putty in her hands at any other moment in my life.

  It wasn’t going to work. Today I wasn’t just Crush. Today I had to speak for my brothers… and I wasn’t going to let them down chasing some easy tail. I shook my head softly.

  Ruby led me through a door behind the DJ booth, up a short flight of stairs, and into a room that overlooked the stage. The room was completely dark save for the blue neon that lined the perimeter and glowed from beneath every piece of furniture. If I had thought that the main room had looked like a scene out of Dante’s Inferno, then this had to be the final layer—a cold, forgotten place where only the worst kind of people were imprisoned.

  On either side of the massive window, one which I had mistaken for a mirror when I’d seen it from the other side, were two dancers, each engaged in the same hypnotizing display I’d seen downstairs, save for the fact that they were both glowing in the dark. They were covered in what looked like glow-in-the-dark body paint, their naked forms in stark contrast against the dark room as they gyrated and curled around their individual poles.

  “Crush, right?” came a growling voice, heavily accented in what I could only peg as a weird mutation of Italian. The sound brought my eyes to a rather long couch that stood in the center of the room, set up at an angle to face the massive window and the women dancing on the other side of it. The man sitting there was m
assive, not only in girth but in height, an absolute mountain of a human being who would have seemed tough at a distance, were it not for the incredible amount of sweat pouring over his skin, shining even in the dim light of the room.

  “Please, have a seat. I hear you’d got a favor to ask of our mutual friend, Nicky.”

  I sat down on a chair just opposite Mr. Santorini, trying not to let my misgivings get the better of me. He looked about how you’d expect a washed-up mobster to look—fat, old, and wearing an ill-fitting suit that probably cost more money than my bike. His thinning gray hair was slicked back in a sorry attempt to cover up the growing bald spot that took up a good portion of his scalp already. I knew all too well that his appearance didn’t mean shit. Sometimes, it’s best to let the world underestimate you.

  “I really appreciate that you and Mr. Falc—” I began, but Santorini held up a hand to silence me.

  “Let’s cut the shit,” he said. “I don’t wanna hear about how much you appreciate being here to take my friend’s money. Just tell me your idea and then maybe—maybe—I’ll let Don Falcone know what you had to say. But this shit had better be fuckin’ good. I don’t like the idea of my friend gettin’ in bed with a bunch of bikers like that schmuck, Carliogne.”

  “Don Carliogne told the Hounds of Hell that Mr. Falcone would give us the money we needed for our proposal,” I shot back, leaning toward Santorini. Heat rose in my nape, prickling the small hairs there to attention. “We were promised—”

  “You were promised an audience,” he interrupted again, a sneer spreading across his chubby face, “and here I am. But you sure as fuck weren’t promised a red fucking cent. Now, how about you cut to the fucking chase? What can you, do for me?”