It’s breathtaking.
And so big, so fucking big.
I run my fingers through my hair and adjust my shirt. I glance down, wondering if I’m underdressed. I thought about dressing up, looking professional, but the truth is that just isn’t me, and if I’m going to be working here, they need to know who they’re dealing with. And this is who I am. Loose black tee that dips down at the sides so you can see my sports bra underneath. Tight blue jeans and Converse sneakers. My hair, black as the night, is long, thick, slightly curled and mostly always down around my shoulders.
I don’t wear a great deal of makeup. My slate-grey eyes, olive skin, and full lips give me what Chantelle calls natural beauty. Fine by me. I’m not much of a makeup girl, to be honest. Hell, I’m starting to think it’s entirely possible I don’t actually own a dress. No lie. I’ve never been that kind of woman, much to my mother’s horror. Not like my sister. She’s the perfect female in every way.
And I’m just ... me.
And that’s completely okay.
I walk up to the front doors and notice a bunch of bikes parked off to the left. Harley Davidson’s. Very nice. The owner must be a collector or has a whole lot of friends who ride. Either way is cool with me. I love bikes. And cars. And anything that makes an angry sound while you’re operating it. I walk up the front steps, glancing around. It sure wouldn’t be awful to live here. Man, I can’t even imagine what the inside looks like.
I reach the front door and knock, then I step back and wait.
For a moment, I think no one is going to answer. Then, the door opens, and a man fills the large gap. And boy, does he fill it. For a second, I just stare at him because, well, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything in my life that looks like him. Ever. Not ever. My mouth drops open, and I just stare, completely blindsided and shocked.
He.
Is.
To.
Die.
For.
I’m not even joking.
He would have to be the scariest man I’ve ever laid eyes on in my entire damned life, and yet he’s so incredibly gorgeous I can’t even swallow. I don’t even want to. I just want to stare at him for the next ten minutes with my mouth hanging open, dreaming of all the incredibly hot things a man that looks like him could do to your body.
He has olive skin, really olive, and it’s the soft kind, flawless. His eyes are bluer than the sky with a hint of silver. He has a jagged scar on his cheek which only adds to his dangerous looks. His hair, dark, thick, and by the looks of it, long. Possibly braided down his back. Holy hot. I don’t usually do hair on men, but on him ... breathtaking. His face isn’t clean shaven, and he has bits of stubble darkening his face which, honestly, makes my legs shake a little.
Oh, boy.
I need to say something.
My eyes drop to the leather jacket he’s wearing, and my mouth finally closes. I study it, and I’m impressed when it becomes clear what it is. He’s a biker. I know the group: Iron Fury. Everyone knows them. Nobody really sees them, but I’ve always wanted to meet one. I used to try and sneak to their parties when I was younger, but nobody would ever take me. It’s like the moment people hear biker, they run for the hills.
Not this girl.
I’m utterly fascinated.
“You’re a biker,” I say, my voice softer than it usually is, which I need to correct quickly. I clear my throat, take a deep breath, and look into his eyes again.
Gosh.
Vagina.
Calm down.
“Got a problem with that?”
His voice.
Lordy.
Take me now.
I raise my brows and look past him to see four other bikers standing behind him. And holy wow, they’re equally as good looking. I can’t begin to take them in one by one because I’ll probably pass out from the gorgeousness of them if I do.
“Where do they breed you lot? Hot biker fertility center?”
One of the bikers snorts like he’s surprised by my outburst.
I look back at the one standing at the door.
“No, it’s not a problem, in fact, I am super excited. When I was younger, I used to try and get into your parties, but nobody would ever take me. This is awesome!”
I step past the man at the door staring oddly at me and walk up to the four others now watching me, all of them slightly guarded. Did they think I was going to run for cover? Hell to the no. This is super cool. A biker’s maid.
Imagine that.
“How’s it going?” I say to them, stopping in front of them, getting a good look.
Yum.
“I’m Saskia.” I extend a hand to the one that has “President” plastered onto the front of his jacket. “And before you laugh, I didn’t get a choice, okay?”
He studies me, and oh boy, is he to die for. Dark hair. Green eyes. Body like stone. Tattoos. Lordy. Then he grins and extends a massive, ringed hand, curling it around mine. “We all just lost a fuck load of money, but pleased to meet you, darlin’. I’m Malakai.”
“Make a girl blush, using words like that.” I grin at him. “And how did you lose money?”
I move to the next one, the only fair haired one in the group. Dirty blond, honey-colored eyes—man, they just keep getting better and better.
“We made a bet on how long you’d stay before runnin’ out the door. Mason over there has lost three already the moment they saw him, and I’m Koda. I just got all the cash these fuckers bet, because I said you’d be cool with it.”
I shake his hand, grinning. “Three? Well, you are a scary bunch, I won’t lie, but it takes a little more to scare me.”
The next one steps forward, quieter and more reserved. I can’t really tell the color of his eyes, but they look almost ... yellowish. He has dark hair, too. Curling slightly at the ends. And he’s incredibly good looking. “Boston,” he says, shaking my hand.
“Did you lose much, Boston?”
He grins at me. “Didn’t bet much, lady. Smart.”
I smile at him. “I like you.”
I step to the last one, and my brows go up. “Well, well. I’ve seen your face before. Maverick, right? You’re the one who caused all the heat with Scarlett Belle. Nice work. That was one hell of a story.”
He grins at me, and it is obvious immediately he is related to Malakai. The two look very similar, only Maverick’s hair is shorter, and he isn’t loaded with as many tattoos. But he’s still big, and still gorgeous.
“That’s me.”
“I have to know.” I grin, crossing my arms. “Are you still with her? I adore her!”
“Sure am, and I’ll have to introduce you.”
“Really?” I cry out, clapping my hands. “Awesome.”
I turn and face who must obviously be Mason. The owner of this massive house. He’s staring at me, eyes so intense I fight the urge to look away. I don’t, though; instead, I just watch him until he finally speaks. “You got experience?”
I cross my arms. “Well, I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Not what I asked.”
I narrow my eyes. “Yes. I have experience.”
“You got a criminal record?”
I snort. “No, not unless you count stealing a bra when I was twelve, but granted, it was really pretty, and I didn’t embrace the boobies at that stage in life, so I wanted to hide them.”
He blinks, someone behind me chuckles.
“You an alcoholic?”
“Only on the weekends.”
He presses his mouth together. Somebody else laughs.
“Smoke?”
“No, sir.”
“Into drugs?”
“Does coffee and chocolate count? Because honestly, those two things are pretty addictive ...”
He just keeps on staring. It’s like trying to crack a brick wall with a feather duster.
I’m intrigued.
I like a good challenge.
“Is that all, or would you like to know the color panties I’m
wearing, also? They’re pink, before you ask. And no, I’m not usually a fan of pink, far too girly, however, they were the only ones I had left at such short notice.”
Another chuckle behind me.
Mason continues to stare.
Like he’s never met anyone like me before.
That’s not unusual. I get that a lot.
“I can cook, thanks to having a Maltese mother. I can clean like a champ. I’m a hard worker, and best of all, I’m not even the slightest bit scared of you. So, I think you and I both know you’re going to give me the job.”
Mason’s brows go up. “That so?”
I cross my arms. “That’s so. I don’t lie. I don’t steal. I don’t cheat. I’ll respect your house and do the job you give me. Easy as that.”
“You don’t hire her, brother,” Malakai says, stepping up beside me, “I fuckin’ will.”
“Well, your chance is nearly gone, in that case,” I point out to Mason. “Malakai here might just have a better offer ...”
Mason looks to Malakai then mutters, “Full-time. You know the pay. Live here. Stay outta my way and do what I ask and we’ll have no problems. You’re hired.”
I beam and clap my hands together, turning to Malakai. “Is he always so pleasant?”
Malakai grins and says, “Always, darlin’.”
Well.
This is going to be a hoot.
~3~
SASKIA
“So,” Chantelle says, skipping into my apartment later that night.
Of course, she doesn’t knock, she doesn’t have to. She’s like part of the furniture. She just comes as a part of me. Where I am, she usually is. What’s mine is, more often than not, hers, too. That’s fine with me. I enjoy her company and, mostly, she makes me laugh. She’s the best friend a girl could ask for, and I honestly don’t know what I’d do without her.
My family isn’t exactly what you’d consider the best family to be raised into. My mother is spoiled, my father is a bit of a dick, and my sister, well, it embarrasses me that we’re related, let alone that I have to take claim to her. She’s selfish, cold, and the cruelest human being I’ve ever met. I’m not sure how, considering we were raised the same and I managed to keep my morals. Sure, I can be selfish when I need, and I don’t take a lot to heart, but her ...?
She’s a different kind of evil.
So, it’s safe to say Chantelle is the only family I have.
And I adore her.
“You’re never going to believe it,” I tell her, eyes wide, rushing over.
“What? What? Share with me, woman!”
“The man who owns the house, the one looking for a maid, is a biker!”
She stares at me for a second, and then blinks. “A what?”
“A biker. You know, like leather jackets, motorcycles, clubs. Biker.”
“Oh, my lord,” she squeals. “I paired you with a dirty old biker? That’s classic.”
“No, no, no,” I tell her, grinning. “Not dirty and old.” I lean in close. “Fucking hot.”
“What?” she squeals, jumping backward. “Okay. I need to sit down. This just keeps on getting better. Share more. Hot. How so? Tell me everything.”
We both sit on my old, faded, baby-blue sofa that’s probably breeding its own type of semen it’s been fucked on that much—not by me, of course—but I do enjoy a party here and there, and old blue here seems to attract the best of them.
“So, this gorgeous biker answers the door. And when I say gorgeous, I mean to die for. Dark features, scar on his face, like a freaking God. All broody and quiet. That’s not the best part, the best part is the rest of them that appeared. There were like freakin’ four of them. They’d made a bet to see who could guess how long it would take me to run. Apparently, all the other maids took one look at Mason, the owner, and ran.”
Chantelle grins. “Not you, my tiger.”
“Not me, sister. I waltzed in there, completely fascinated. I mean, bikers! And hot bikers! I needed to know more. And lord, they were so fricking good looking, it hurt my eyes to stare at them. But, you want to know the best part?”
She shakes her head, eyes wide.
“It’s the biker club that one of the members is with Scarlett Belle! You remember reading about that?”
Chantelle’s hand flies to her mouth, and she screams behind it. “No. Freaking. Way!”
“Way!” I chirp. “I kid you not. He was there, and let me tell you, he’s as hot in person as he was on television.”
“Oh, my god! Why didn’t I pretend I was a maid! I need to meet these bikers. I need to know more. I need to know all of it! And, most importantly, I need, like desperately, to meet Scarlett Belle.”
“That’s what I said.” I grin.
“So, tell me the most important part.” She shifts so she’s directly facing me. She places her hands on my knees. “Did you get the job?”
I grin, huge, and nod. “I did!”
“Oh, my god! Oh. This is the best day ever. My best friend is going to be living with hot bikers. Hot. Bikers. And I’m going to get to meet Scarlett Belle. I can’t even right now.”
“I know.” I laugh. “I’m super excited and the pay is excellent. And do not even get me started on the house, Chan. It’s massive. I can’t believe this is happening!”
She claps her hands. “I knew that newspaper fell into my hands for a reason. I knew it! When do you start?”
“Well, I’m going to trial it for a month before I move out of this place and live there permanently. I told him I didn’t want to give up my apartment until I was confident we could work together. He was fine with that. I’ll stay here Mondays and Tuesdays and then stay at the house the rest of the time. Those two days I just have to do basics, the other days I’ll work there, doing things for him, but he’s flexible. He said if I do everything needed then I’m free to go and do whatever I want.”
“That’s awesome,” she beams. “This is amazing.”
I nod, then I lose my smile just a little. “What do you think Enzo is going to think about it?”
Enzo.
The man I can’t get over. The man my heart throbs for. The man I know I should despise. I despise my sister for sleeping with him, so why in the hell can’t I hate him? Because I love him? Because I can rationalize it? I don’t know, all I know is that I’m unable to stop my feelings, and that makes me feel pathetic, insecure, and weak. More than anything, I just want answers from him.
But he is so angry at me.
So angry.
And I don’t know how to get around that. What he did was awful; what I did was worse. I knew he was in trouble with the cops for selling drugs, and I gave them the information in a hot rage that got him locked up for six months. Sure, it isn’t life in prison, but it was enough to get him behind bars.
All because I was hurt.
And now my sister is out there, still skipping around with her nose stuck up in the air, and I’m still here, hurting, wondering what the hell I’m supposed to do to fix this mess.
Chantelle’s face scrunches up. “You’re my best friend, Sas, and I adore you but, honestly, screw Enzo. I know you want to pay off his debt so when he gets out he’s fully free, but the fact of the matter is, he screwed Yolanda right under your nose, and didn’t give a shit when you found out.”
“That’s not entirely true, I’m still not sure he actually knew—”
“No, bullshit, no,” she cuts me off. “He played it off, made you feel bad for reacting, made you question yourself, but the fact of the matter is he did it. He chose to do it.”
“But—”
“No, no buts. Stop making excuses. I know what you’re thinking, but you also know he knows better. He knows you. He made a choice. And now he’s fuming because you dobbed him in. I would have done a whole lot worse. He’s in prison, it won’t hurt him, he was getting involved in risky business, it’s not a bad thing he got locked up. As for you paying off his drug debt so he can come out clean, I don’t
agree, but I also know you’re headstrong and are going to do it anyway. But I don’t think he deserves it. I don’t think he deserves you.”
She’s right. Of course she’s right. He doesn’t deserve me. But, once again, my stupid heart has other ideas. Maybe I’ll never forgive him or this brutal hurt will never go away, but I need to do the right thing for myself. And I believe the right thing is making up for what I did. So, that’s what I’m going to do. Pay the money, and when he gets out in five months, it can be with a clean slate. What he does after that I guess is on him.
“I know you’re right,” I tell her, standing and walking into my kitchen, grabbing a bottle of vodka and pouring us both a glass, “but I can’t help the way I feel. Don’t get me wrong, I despise the pain he caused me, and I was angry enough to do what I did, but that anger, right now, is just hurt. And it does hurt, Chan. It fucking kills. I see it every time I close my eyes, and I can’t fucking escape it.”
Her face softens, and she takes the glass of vodka. “I know, hon. I know how much it must hurt, and that sucks. I just don’t want to see you waste another second of your life on that scumbag when you deserve so much better.”
“I’ll do this, but I never said I was going to take him back.”
She raises her brows. “If he came running back right now, I’m scared you would.”
The worst part about that? She could be right.
I’m still not one hundred percent confident I wouldn’t take him back.
And I hate myself for that.
Dammit.
I really do.
~*~*~*~
SASKIA
“Oh. My. Lord.”
Chantelle’s hands press over her mouth as she stares at the four men who climb out of the massive black truck that just pulled up in my drive. The men are helping me move a few of my things over to Mason’s house today for my month’s trial. It isn’t much, one load, but my car is tiny, and it’ll take me all day to go back and forth with clothes, and shoes, and other things. So, they’re helping.