Snare: Road Kill MC (A Novel) Read Online Free

my head. “Hell if I know. I did my bit in college, didn't want to be a citizen, patched in. Don't talk to his sick ass anymore. Denny and Micah are in the system. Probably better off not being around him.”
    Noose nods. “He's looking for her too, Snare.”
    I step back. The movement is actually closer to a stagger, like a drunk righting himself. “What?”
    “I have feelers out. But from the beginning, given your description and her shitty background, there's only a couple of things a chick can do that makes money.”
    His pause is significant.
    Fuck me running. I should have thought about it. Should have known. My heartbeats spasm, tripping over each other in response to my panic. My pits tingle with nervous sweat.
    “She's a stripper, Snare. Word on the street—a good one.”
    My head feels hot. Like bursting-into-flames worthy.
    A strong hand at my elbow jerks me to the couch where I just fucked Crystal. I land my ass on the cushion, and Noose puts my head between my knees.
    I can't breathe. I suck air anyway, sounding like a whistling train.
    “It's okay. I got Trainer tailing her naked ass.”
    “Naked?” I squeak between my teeth, my eyes trained to my boots.
    “Yeah, man, what part of titty bar didn't you get?”
    The part where the only woman I've ever loved is taking her clothes off for strangers.
     
     
     

4
    Sara
     
    “Meow!”
    High heels tap after me, and I roll my eyes. Lola is such a pain in the butt. But I love her.
    “Kitty! Wait up, you demented pussy!” That gets me turning with a smile.
    But I don't have an ass ton of time to chitchat. I gotta get Jaylin. My little girl's preschool is over in twenty. It's ten bucks every thirty minutes I'm late. I hate my hours. I barely get to share a meal with her and I'm back here at The Crawl.
    The Crawl used to be only a swank bar tucked in next to Pike Place market and the pier. Now it's got a high-class strip club attached to the original bar section of the old turn-of-the-last-century building.
    Whatever, it took me three years to climb the strip ladder. I'm not blowing it. Pays the bills and then some. I barely made it when I was pregnant with Jaylin, and I'm not going to quickly forget those days.
    I hike my huge purse on my shoulder, turning in her direction. “Lola—I can't talk, gotta get Jaylin.”
    She hikes the extreme arch of her eyebrow, a very 1940s old-movie-star look. Actually, Lola is a little obsessed with anything from the era. Big band, Marilyn Monroe, she digs it.
    I cross my arms. “What?”
    “Can you feed Rex?”
    I'm instantly suspicious. “Why?”
    “I got a date. I told you about him, remember?”
    I nod. I don't like Lola's dates very much. Don't date the Dicks . They can watch, they can give us the green, but don't date them. My voice is flat as a pancake. “You're dating a Dick.”
    Lola pulls an offended face. “Uh-huh. But he's different.”
    I lean forward. “They're all the same. It's a feather in their cap to date a dancer. Date a Penis, not a Dick.”
    She covers her mouth, but giggles escape, her platinum-blond hair bouncing at her shoulders.
    All the strippers call the clients Dicks. If they aren't patrons, they're Penises. It's easy. Same anatomy, different motivation.
    It's simple to me, anyway. But Lola does a lot of VIP work. Small rooms in the back where we do private dances. It scares the tar out of me, but it's where the real money's at.
    Money I might need.
    Jaylin starts kindergarten this fall, and I got her on the list for an exclusive, foreign language immersion school. She's at the top of the list. Tested gifted and she's a minority. I hated to pull the race card, but as a single mom, I need every advantage for my baby girl. And Native American female hits a lot of privilege buttons.
    I gulp down the pang of sadness. The lump of regret sticks in my throat. I need a moment to get over myself.
    “I'll feed Rex,” I say. After all, Lola and I live in the same building. And if she doesn't have