Free Death Lords Motorcycle Club: Chelsea and Wrecker (The Motorcycle Clubs Series) by Ella Goode

throat, crotch. Those are the soft vulnerable places. Their words of advice pound at the back of my head. I clutch my purse tighter to my side.
    Since I’ve come to Fortune, I’ve lived my life under the umbrella of the Death Lords MC. No right-thinking person would dare hurt me so I’ve never had to protect myself. But Sean Ellerby isn’t thinking straight which makes him dangerous.
    I stop several feet away. The best defense is to never allow yourself inside the zone of danger.
    “Shop’s closed,” I call out.
    “Not here for a cut or curl, Chelsea.”
    He steps forward and I’m surprised at how much effort it takes for me to stand my ground and not flinch backward. I do it because I don’t want Sean to see he scares me.
    “What are you here for?”
    “Money,” he says bluntly.
    Oh, so this is going to be blackmail. Lovely. I don’t need the men in my life telling me that giving in to Sean’s demands is a bad idea but I tally up the money in my bank account regardless. I don’t have a lot. While I don’t pay rent, I have a car payment and my job as nail tech isn’t super-lucrative.
    “How much?” It’s stupid. If I pay him once, he’ll come back. I know this yet I seem unable to extricate myself in any other way.
    “Five hundred.”
    “Jesus,” I gasp. “That much?”
    “Two eight balls.”
    “I’m not a user so I’m not hip to your street lingo,” I say sarcastically even though I know exactly what it means. An eight ball is an eighth of an ounce. It’s what heavy users buy. A single eight ball is around 60 hits but by the size of Sean’s buy I’d guess he needs a lot more to get high and sustain his high.
    “Give me $500 now and you won’t see me for a week.”
    “I’m not paying you $500 a week. I don’t have that kind of cash.”
    “Better think about new employment opportunities then.” He takes another step toward me and despite the distance, the smell of him is so strong he nearly makes me gag.
    “I don’t have the money on me,” I lie. I have the petty cash in my purse. It’s kept in the safe of the Cut-n-Curl. When Helen called to tell me she was coming over for some of the money, I’d taken it out.
    “Hand me your purse.”
    I’m not giving Sean my purse. He’d take all of the money. Knowing I’m dooming myself, I reach in and pull out five bills and lay them on the ground, holding them down with a rock. “Don’t come over here until I’m around the front,” I say.
    He licks his lips eagerly and nods. It’s as if he can taste the meth in his mouth already. I turn around and see Helen driving down the opposite end of the alley.
    Fuck me. Without turning, I call back to Sean. “Get going.”
    He laughs at me. “Don’t want to be seen with me or afraid of what I might say? See you later, Chelsea.” His words sound as ominous as he intends.
    I jog toward Helen’s car trying to cut her off before she can see who I was talking with. Her car slows down and then stops. Leaning out the rolled-down window, she peers beyond me. “Is that Sean Ellerby over there? What are you doing with that lowlife?”
    Against my better judgment, I look over my shoulder. Sean is leaning against his car. The five hundred is fanned in his hand and he’s slapping it against his mouth. Forget Grant, I’m going to find Sean and beat him bloody.
    “Nothing,” I say tersely. Helen looks at me with disbelief and suspicion. “Can you drive me home?”
    “Sure,” she says drawing the word out slow. Reaching forward, she starts her car.
    “How much do you need from the petty cash?”
    “Fifteen hundred.” After landing that bomb, she backs out onto the street and guns the engine.
    “Are you kidding me?”
    “We’re getting a full hog, steaks, corn on the cob, potato salad, desserts, and it all adds up.”
    “I told Danilo that we should do a potluck,” I say grumpily.
    “Why are you so tight with that money? It’s not yours. Judge told me you had two grand so you’ll still