Hunter: MC Romance (Hell Reapers MC Book 1) Read Online Free
Author: Liz Lorde
name, much to my chagrin. "I'm gonna need to see your I.D before I let you in there," he had the most intense brown eyes.
"Oh, right," I said, fishing around through the small, functional slit in my yellow ochre dress for my ID. The dress itself was a high-low chiffon skirt, fashioned in the style of a shift; the outfit, though loose, wrapped itself snugly around me to accentuate my curvaceous figure. What nobody else could see, was that I happened to be acting – and consequently feeling – like a spy today; fitted snuggly around my right thigh was a Velcro holster which held my smart-phone. I’d had to do my homework for this job.
Grabbing my ID, I handed it to the man.
His eyes scanned the card and glanced between me and the card. I could tell that he thought I didn't notice, but I could see that his eyes were looking at my cleavage from time to time. They were probably my strongest physical asset, and made me hugely popular throughout high school; though there was a time I thought I’d always be known as the flat chested freak. “Jessica Ivesss,” the man said, my name rolling off his tongue, “what d’you do for a living, pretty thing.”
I’d prepared for this question, which I was sure I’d inevitably get. “I’m a singer,” I said without missing a beat, pushing my chest out a bit proudly. Sure it was a lie, but it was a beautiful one. I’d never had the voice for singing, but there was scarcely a night or a day that I wouldn’t go without singing something. So long as I was alone, at least.
“Singer eh?” He looked impressed, “take it’s not anything I’d listen to,” he tilted his head.
“Probably not,” I gave a small chuckle, “you look like the punk rocker type.”
The door man shrugged, “Don’t write me off so easily, pretty thing, I’m a country boy through and through.” Bullshit, dressed in leather and spikes and all man and muscle?
“I would have never guessed,” I put on my most polite face and tried once more to go inside the club; his hand brushed against my midsection, and our eyes locked. For a nightclub, it sure was hell getting inside. How’d Amanda put up with this shit?
“What’re you here for?” He asked, a genuine curiosity coloring his voice, though his eyes told the tale better than his mouth.
“Just here for a good time like anyone else, a girl can’t get laid?” I shot him a flirting glance, eyeing him from toe to head. He wasn’t my exact type, but he hit a few good marks. Tatts, muscles, height.
Come on Ives, stay focused here. You’re a professional. I could feel my internal self judging me then, I was anything but professional. I’m just a girl chasing paper for a better life.
The door man nodded his head and moved his arm away from the door, “Be careful in there,” he warned, “they’ll eat you up and spit you out. Animals,” he cursed beneath his breath.
“Thanks for your concern,” I replied, “but I’m used to bringing pups to heel.” The last thing I saw before I passed through the double doors was the man grinning from ear to ear. When I got inside, it was like I was entering a whole new world. Smoke fills the air and dozens upon dozens of party-goers pulse to the beat. I could feel the bass running through my bones; the crash of rhythmic cymbals and the thundering boom of kicks. There was a wicked sounding synth that held the beat and a melodious, almost angelic piano that played the lead.
Green lights, purple lights; shafts of gold lit up certain parts of the dance floor. Some of the dancers wore glowsticks on practically every part of their body. Padding my way around the outskirts of the dance floor, I kept my eyes peeled for anyone that might even remotely look associated with the Reapers. Most of the people that I spotted were dressed up in nice shirts and party type skirts. Occasionally though, I could catch a glimpse of people moving through the crowd and hanging out in the darker parts of the club. They'd
"Oh, right," I said, fishing around through the small, functional slit in my yellow ochre dress for my ID. The dress itself was a high-low chiffon skirt, fashioned in the style of a shift; the outfit, though loose, wrapped itself snugly around me to accentuate my curvaceous figure. What nobody else could see, was that I happened to be acting – and consequently feeling – like a spy today; fitted snuggly around my right thigh was a Velcro holster which held my smart-phone. I’d had to do my homework for this job.
Grabbing my ID, I handed it to the man.
His eyes scanned the card and glanced between me and the card. I could tell that he thought I didn't notice, but I could see that his eyes were looking at my cleavage from time to time. They were probably my strongest physical asset, and made me hugely popular throughout high school; though there was a time I thought I’d always be known as the flat chested freak. “Jessica Ivesss,” the man said, my name rolling off his tongue, “what d’you do for a living, pretty thing.”
I’d prepared for this question, which I was sure I’d inevitably get. “I’m a singer,” I said without missing a beat, pushing my chest out a bit proudly. Sure it was a lie, but it was a beautiful one. I’d never had the voice for singing, but there was scarcely a night or a day that I wouldn’t go without singing something. So long as I was alone, at least.
“Singer eh?” He looked impressed, “take it’s not anything I’d listen to,” he tilted his head.
“Probably not,” I gave a small chuckle, “you look like the punk rocker type.”
The door man shrugged, “Don’t write me off so easily, pretty thing, I’m a country boy through and through.” Bullshit, dressed in leather and spikes and all man and muscle?
“I would have never guessed,” I put on my most polite face and tried once more to go inside the club; his hand brushed against my midsection, and our eyes locked. For a nightclub, it sure was hell getting inside. How’d Amanda put up with this shit?
“What’re you here for?” He asked, a genuine curiosity coloring his voice, though his eyes told the tale better than his mouth.
“Just here for a good time like anyone else, a girl can’t get laid?” I shot him a flirting glance, eyeing him from toe to head. He wasn’t my exact type, but he hit a few good marks. Tatts, muscles, height.
Come on Ives, stay focused here. You’re a professional. I could feel my internal self judging me then, I was anything but professional. I’m just a girl chasing paper for a better life.
The door man nodded his head and moved his arm away from the door, “Be careful in there,” he warned, “they’ll eat you up and spit you out. Animals,” he cursed beneath his breath.
“Thanks for your concern,” I replied, “but I’m used to bringing pups to heel.” The last thing I saw before I passed through the double doors was the man grinning from ear to ear. When I got inside, it was like I was entering a whole new world. Smoke fills the air and dozens upon dozens of party-goers pulse to the beat. I could feel the bass running through my bones; the crash of rhythmic cymbals and the thundering boom of kicks. There was a wicked sounding synth that held the beat and a melodious, almost angelic piano that played the lead.
Green lights, purple lights; shafts of gold lit up certain parts of the dance floor. Some of the dancers wore glowsticks on practically every part of their body. Padding my way around the outskirts of the dance floor, I kept my eyes peeled for anyone that might even remotely look associated with the Reapers. Most of the people that I spotted were dressed up in nice shirts and party type skirts. Occasionally though, I could catch a glimpse of people moving through the crowd and hanging out in the darker parts of the club. They'd
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