Chapter 5 Ice
The throaty growl of my motorcycle dies as I kill the engine outside the skeletal frame of our future clubhouse. The buzz of saws and clank of metal greets me with the sound of progress, a symphony to my ears. I swing my leg over the bike, set my helmet on the seat, and stride toward the half-finished building. My boots crunch on gravel as the structure rises from the dirt like a phoenix.
“Yo, Ice!” Fang calls out from the guts of the place, his voice echoing off the exposed beams. His green eyes squint against the glare of the sun reflecting off his glasses as he maneuvers through the mess of cables snaking across the floor. “How’s Velvet treating you?”
“Smooth as a snake in oil,” I say with a shrug, watching him fuss over some wiring. He’s a tech wizard, making sure our communication setup will be top-notch. Can’t have any blind spots when you’re running a club like ours.
Fang grins, pausing to wipe sweat from his brow. His shirt is as ridiculous as always—today’s reads: PHP: Pretty Hot Programmer. I shake my head.
“Tank keeping things tight?” he asks.
“Tighter than spandex on a stripper. Besides, he wants to keep an eye on his girl.” I chuckle at how Tank shadows Vicki at Velvet, like a lovesick puppy chasing his favorite bone.
“Can’t blame the kid. Vicki’s hot enough to melt steel.” Fang chuckles. “But can he handle watching her straddle other guys?”
“Was a rough start.” I lean against a support beam, arms crossed. “Had to have a chat with him. Told him to man up—watching Vicki’s just part of the job. I told him I was counting on him to be my eyes and ears while I’m out. Things got easier once he saw how much cash she raked in, not just for herself, but for the club too. Men buy her drinks from the minute she gets in until right before last call. She never actually drinks any of them either. She manages to score a lap dance before she can even take a sip. The waitresses know how to get rid of those drinks, so they keep ordering more.”
“Nice.” Fang smirks. “Velvet’s running itself then? Everything’s cool there?”
An image of Isabella’s sultry dancing flashes through my mind. I quickly shake it away. Thinking about her becomes a problem if I let myself do it for too long.
“Club’s fine.” I try to keep my tone even, but my voice falters slightly.
“Really?” He arches an eyebrow, not buying it for a second.
“I said it’s fine. What?”
“Nothing.” He shakes his head, still smiling. “Why’d you stop by? Isn’t tonight one of the busiest nights of the week?”
“Just checking the timeline.” I gesture to the construction site. “I’m sick of living out of a motel room. I need my own space again.”
“Right, right.” I can tell he’s not convinced that everything’s cool at Velvet, but he knows better than to push me. For now. “We’ll get this clubhouse up and running soon. Just a few more weeks until the bunkhouses are ready.”
“Good. Can’t happen fast enough,” I mutter, already picturing the day we claim what’s ours.
“You seem more impatient than usual. Any particular reason, other then wanting your own space?” he asks.
“Can’t wait to have some fresh club chicks. Hope the walls are soundproof,” I joke, forcing a smirk as Fang’s thumbs fly over his tablet, checking the wiring schematics.
He glances up. “Ah, so that’s your real agenda, huh? Your sudden dry spell has absolutely nothing to do with Isabella, right?”
“Nope. I’d never mix business with pleasure,” I reply in a dismissive tone. The image of Isabella’s piercing blue eyes flashes through my mind, but I shove it away. “Besides, even if I did bang the strippers, I’d never sleep with the enemy.”
“Good. Remember that.” He taps the screen, then looks at me sharply. “Isabella’s dangerous. We still don’t know her game.”
“Found anything on her? Anything at all?” I ask, needing to know if she’s as much of a mystery to him as she is to me.
“Nothing. She’s a damn ghost.” He shakes his head, frustration etched into his features. “No digital footprint, no bank accounts. It’s like she doesn’t exist outside of Velvet.”
“Hum. What if Juan controls her money?” I muse aloud.
“Could be,” Fang agrees, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “Maybe she just wants something of her own.”
Is it that simple? Could Isabella be seeking independence by dancing for cash? If she was trying to hide the money from her brother, she wouldn’t have a bank account. Taking a job that trades time for cash would be perfect for someone attempting to hide their finances.
“That’s one possibility. But maybe it’s a ruse,” I counter. “A misdirection play.”
“Either way, you need to start asking questions,” Fang insists. “Get close. Find out more.”
“Close?” I scoff. “She barely looks at me, man. How am I supposed to get anything out of her?”
“Get a lap dance,” he suggests.
I burst out laughing. The idea’s absurd. Like she’s going to spill cartel secrets during a lap dance. That’ll never happen.
“You’re joking, right?” But the smirk on Fang’s face tells me he’s not.
“Figure it out. She’s your problem, brother. Fix it before she becomes the club’s problem.”
Before I can reassure him that I’ve got her under control, the foreman strides over. He interrupts our discussion with a question about the tech wiring. Fang turns his attention to the man, nodding along to the technical jargon I only half understand.
“I gotta go,” Fang says. “Good luck, brother.”
“I’ll find out what I can. Hurry this shit up, okay?”
“Yeah, yeah. Heard you the first time.” Fang turns his back, dismissing me.
Normally, he doesn’t pull that kind of shit, but I think I pissed him off. Oh, well. Maybe he’ll get the crew moving faster. The sooner this place is done, the better. With a sigh, I get on my bike and leave the construction site.
I ease off the throttle as I pull into the packed lot at Velvet. I find a spot on the far edge, next to the murky bayou. The familiar hum of my motorcycle fades into the background as I kill the engine. My boots crunch across the gravel as I survey the shadowy darkness, always on the lookout for danger. Maybe I should add a few more lights out here.
Walking past the men lined up waiting to enter, I stop in front of the bouncers guarding the entrance. Both sport the Underground Vengeance MC patch, their faces as hard as the steel they’ve got strapped to their hips.
“Evening, brothers.”
“Hey, Ice.” They part, making way for me. “Had to show one drunk fool the exit earlier. He got mouthy.”
“Appreciate you handling it.”
“Always,” one of them grunts, his face breaking into a rare grin. “Place is yours, we just keep the riff-raff in check.”
“Good man.” I clap him on the shoulder before pushing through the doors, the muffled bass of music greeting me like an old friend.
Inside, Velvet pulses with life, a beast feeding on lust and liquor. Neon lights wash over the sea of bodies, painting everything in shades of neon purple and pink. The scent of spiced rum and sweat hangs in the air, mixing with the raw heat of human desire. It’s business as usual.
Tank’s standing by the bar, towering over the regulars who sit on their usual stools. His long hair falls over his eyes, giving him that rock star look, but tonight, he’s all business.
“Everything running smooth?” I yell over the music.
“Smooth as a stripper’s ass,” Tank replies, his voice booming over the din. “The girls are cashing in big time tonight. Crowd’s eating it up.”
“Good to hear.” I give him a firm pat on the back. “Appreciate you keeping an eye out.”
“Anytime.” Tank’s ready smile tells me he means it. He’s loyal to the bone, even with whatever ghosts and graveyards lurk in his past. Tank never talks about his past, and we don’t push him for details. One day he might tell us about it, or maybe he won’t. Either way, he’s our brother for life.
“Thanks, brother,” I say, meaning every word. In this world, loyalty is the most important currency, and Tank’s as wealthy as they come.
I lean against the bar, allowing myself a moment to take it all in. This place isn’t just another club business. It’s one of the few legit businesses we own. My job is to make sure we don’t lose it. It’s a duty I take seriously.
I stroll over to the VIP booth and find it occupied by two suits. They glance up and spot the UVMC patch on my cut. They slide out of the booth without a word and slink away to join the other patrons by the stage. It’s subtle, but it’s respect, and in this world, that’s gold. Now that people know who’s running the place, we never have to ask anyone to get the fuck out of our booth. They just do.
Sinking into the plush leather, I let my eyes adjust to the dim lighting and take in the scene before me. The club buzzes like a living organism, thriving on lust and liquor. My boys are on point, mingling with the crowd, keeping the peace.
Vicki, Tank’s little firecracker, guides one of the suits toward a private room, a glint in her eye. The guy probably thinks she’s genuinely into him, but it’s all about the money. Vicki’s good at faking interest. The more they think she likes them, the more she makes. It’s as simple as that.
Unlike Vicki, some of the girls do more than dance in the private rooms. I’ve heard grunts and moans through the walls. For now, I’m looking the other way. If the girls are doing it willingly, who am I to interfere with their hustle? But if the pigs ever show up and start shit, I might have to put an end to the “extra services.” Until then, I’m not worried about it.
The spotlight shifts, and Isabella takes the stage—gorgeous as sin, twice as dangerous. Her body moves to the rhythm with a grace that can’t be taught. It’s like she’s become one with the beat, owning it, and making it hers. I can’t help but wonder what it’d be like to have that kind of fire wrapped around me.
“Fuck, I can’t do that shit,” I mutter. Getting a lap dance from one of my employees, especially her, is just asking for trouble.
As much as I’d rather avoid it, Fang’s right. I need to talk to her. But not here. Not out in the open, where every pair of eyes could dissect our interaction. There’ve been some squabbles among the girls—territorial disputes over tips and clients—but nothing major yet. Favoring Isabella with special attention would be like tossing gasoline on a simmering flame. I don’t need that kind of drama.
So, I wait, patient as a hawk, until the last note fades and the applause dies down. Isabella’s wiping the sweat from her brow, still breathing hard from her performance, when I catch her eye and motion her over with a tilt of my head. This isn’t about desire, it’s about information. And if I have to wade through a bit of temptation to get it, then so be it.
She strides toward me, all long legs and wary eyes, like she’s stepping into a lion’s den. I straighten in my seat.
“What do you want?” Isabella asks, her tone guarded. She doesn’t sit. Instead, she stands there, challenging, as untouchable as ever.
I lean back, giving her a once-over before meeting those piercing blue eyes. “A lap dance,” I blurt, completely overriding my feeble attempt to control my impulse. “But not out here. In one of the private VIP rooms.”
Her reaction is immediate, a mix of defiance and disgust. “I’m not going into a private room with you,” she snaps. “And just so we’re clear—I’m not fucking anyone. Not you, not anyone. The other girls might be, but that’s not me.”
“Relax, Bella,” I tell her, a smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth. “Why would you jump straight to that? And in case you’re wondering, you’re not my type.”
“Then why do you want to go into a VIP room?” she challenges, folding her arms over her chest.
“Because I need to talk to you, privately,” I say, locking eyes with her. “Just a few questions, nothing more.”
“Talk?” She scowls, skepticism written all over her face. “That’s all?”
“That’s all,” I confirm, leaning back. I don’t miss the way her gaze flicks around the club, cautious even now.
“Fine,” she says after a tense pause. “But let’s make one thing crystal clear, I’m not going in there to fuck you.”
“Understood,” I reply, my voice low and firm. “No fucking. Just talking.”
With a hesitant nod, Isabella signals for me to follow. As I rise from the booth, I can feel the weight of curious stares on us. I know this isn’t smart. Taking one of the dancers into a private room screams favoritism, but the need for answers outweighs the risk.
Following behind her, I try not to focus on the sway of her hips or how that barely-there outfit hugs her curves. But damn, it’s hard when every step she takes radiates sensual energy. The taut bounce of her ass-cheeks against her tiny bikini sends blood rushing south. I can’t seem to look away, even though I know I should.
I close the door behind us with a soft click. I hit the button to signal that the room’s occupied. For safety reasons, none of the VIP rooms lock from the inside. We can’t risk some girl getting trapped with a psycho. There are discrete panic buttons next to the sleek benches where the girls are supposed to be dancing, but many of them end up fucking. For privacy reasons, there aren’t any cameras in the VIP rooms, just a few outside in the hallway. Customers wouldn’t want to be filmed in compromising positions, so after a lot of debate, we decided to hold off on installing any in here. Now I kind of wish we had. I might have to reevaluate that decision.
She slides onto the bench and pushes herself back into the corner where the wall intersects the bench. She eyes me warily. We sit silently for a few seconds before I decide to break the tension.
“How’s work going?” I ask, trying to keep my voice neutral.
“Fine,” she replies curtly, then adds with a laugh, “at least the money’s good.”
“Are you making as much as you’d hoped for?” I prod.
“Yes.”
“Are you getting along okay with the other girls?”
“Why all the questions, Ice? If you want a lap dance, you can have one. You just need to pay like everyone else. Don’t ask a bunch of bullshit questions and fake like you give a shit about me. I see you watching me. I know why we’re really back here, but all you get is a dance. No fucking. Think you can handle that?” she asks, taunting me.
“If that’s what you really want…”
“It’s what you want. Don’t get it twisted.” Her response is clipped, yet there’s a slight shift in her posture, a readiness that wasn’t there moments ago.
Music pulses through the speakers, adding to the erotically charged atmosphere. Isabella stands, her movements fluid and deliberate. With each step toward me, the air thickens. She slides onto my lap, and damn, she smells good enough to eat. Vanilla, honey, and a hint of something darker, something sexy, a heady blend worthy of a goddess. My body reacts instantly, traitorous and hungry.
She dances, her rhythm in tune with the thumping bass, a siren’s call that has me entranced. Her back arches, pressing against me, and I’m damn sure she can feel how much I want her. How could she not when every inch of me is screaming for her touch?
“Enjoying yourself?” she murmurs, breath hot against my ear as she rolls her hips in a slow, torturous grind.
“More than you know,” I manage through gritted teeth, my resolve cracking by the second.
“Good,” she whispers, and there’s a hint of victory in her tone, like she knows she’s got me right where she wants me. “Because I’m not here to fuck you.”
“Never asked you to,” I growl, my hands skimming her hips, testing boundaries I have no business crossing. But hell, the heat of her skin under my fingertips is a temptation too strong to resist. I running the pads of my thumbs across her shimmering flesh.
She leans in close, her lips a breath away from mine. “You’re just like everyone else in here. You can’t keep your hands off me,” she taunts, her voice a devilish caress that threatens to undo me completely. “But don’t worry. I won’t tell.”
“Bella,” I whisper. It’s both a warning and a plea, a single word laced with lust and longing. This isn’t why I brought her into the room, but now I can’t even remember why we’re here. All I can think about is pulling that scrap of fabric away from her sweet pussy and feasting on her the way I’ve dreamed about. I’m completely losing control. She knows it… and I think she likes it.