Twist the Knife (Lost Kings MC #24)

Fuuuck, that’s fucking hot.

Good to know maybe this relationship—no, arrangement—will last as long as the life of a shirt.

Me: You’re hot as fuck. No, that sounds fucking juvenile. I erase it.

Me: Your lips will look so good around my cock. Christ, that’s even worse. I delete that too.

Me: I can’t wait to see you again.

Little Lady Death: Looking forward to our next lesson.

I can’t believe I’m willingly doing this, but I open my camera app and hold my phone out to take a selfie, making sure to capture the rows of washing machines in the background. Am I really turning into a guy who sends pictures of himself to chicks?

Send.

Apparently, I am.

Little Lady Death: You really are at a laundromat.

Did she think I was lying to her?

Me: Not a titty in sight. Nope. Delete that. No reason to remind her I’ll be working shifts at a strip club later this week.

“What’s with the goofy look on your face?” Eazy steps next to me and tries to peer at my phone. “You’ve been staring at your screen for like ten minutes.”

I click it off. “No, I haven’t.”

“Were you watching porn?”

“What? No, you fuckin’ creep.”

“Were you talking to that hottie from the wedding? Margaret?”

I don’t bother correcting him. No reason for him to know her name.

“Nope, not Margaret.” There, now I didn’t lie to a brother. I don’t even know a Margaret. Heh.

“You done with those lint traps?” I ask.

He holds up a fluffy tumbleweed-sized ball of gray, black, and white lint. “Want me to knit you a sweater with it?”

“Fucking throw it in the garbage, dumbass.”

The bell over the door jingles and I groan when I see the tall, slender brunette walking through with her little sack of laundry.

“Hey, Jigsaw.” She wiggles her fingers at me. “I didn’t know you’d be here today.”

As if you didn’t notice my bike parked right outside. “Hey, Tara.”

She’s not exactly a muffler bunny but if she blows another couple of brothers in the back room, she might as well be.

While she makes a show of bending over to toss her dainties in the washer one by one, I stay behind the counter, pretending to be completely fascinated by a three-day-old copy of the Union Reporter.

Rare virus found in horses in Union Point.

Scintillating stuff.

“Who the fuck still reads newspapers?” Eazy rips the paper out of my hands. “Ooo, better stop fucking horses, the article says humans can catch this virus.”