Chapter 33
Army
I give Hugo a discreet nod as I leave Leeva’s gated property.
He’s the second-in-command of the Saints—one of our closest allies—and Dom, the leader, sent him when I called in a favor.
Hugo and Dom will rotate to keep an eye on Leeva’s place for me since I can’t ask Digits or any of our MC members to do it right now.
Neither of them knows what’s going on or who they’re watching, though; I just called in a favor, and they responded. But this isn’t a long-term solution.
I considered calling Len to ask her and her team to handle the surveillance, but based on our last conversation, I know she has her own shit going on.
Len would do it for me, though; however, that would spread her thin, and with the kind of work she does, if distracted, it could end in her being killed.
Leeva is right, though; I need to talk to Ash and the rest of the Council about all this. But I’m delaying it because I know the fight I’m going to have with them when I do.
Even if Guerilla isn’t aware that Leeva is back yet, when he does find out—and when he discovers she’s the widow of a billionaire—he’ll do anything to sink his claws into her and assert his claim.
My greedy brother won’t give a shit that Leeva made Luthor sign a prenup so she wouldn’t make a total fortune when he died.
She’s still a wealthy woman, and all he’ll see are dollar signs and opportunity get more of the Wentzell fortune.
And with the old guard—particularly Razor and Thunder—likely to support Guerilla’s claim over Leeva, even without his tattoo on her, just to strike at Ash and me, internal war could be brewing.
But I don’t give a fuck.
Because I hadn’t lied to Leeva.
I won’t survive if I lose her again.
Instead of going to the MC clubhouse to talk to Ash, as I know I should, I go to my office at Vixen’s, our premier, upscale strip club, to get some much-needed work done.
Just like Hedon, this establishment makes us bank. People love their kinks and pleasures of the flesh.
But unlike many of our competitors, we operate without any predatory practices.
We don’t demand or expect our employees to serve the customers sexually; instead, we have strict policies in place to restrict it.
Another key difference is that our employees of all our businesses are paid exceptionally well, with benefits, sick leave, and pensions.
As a result, our turnover rate is almost nil.
Our employees thrive, but this isn’t some altruistic approach to business; it’s good for the bottom line to have a stable, loyal, and highly productive work force.
Since Ash took over as president and expanded what Zeus had originally set in motion, the Havoc Guardians are stronger and richer than ever.
I’m driving my truck today and pull into the parking lot alongside the other vehicles.
Some bikes are parked on the street, and I pass them as I head toward Vixen’s front entrance and the black door with an elegant V carved into it.
Inside, it’s dark and decadent, elegant in a way that mirrors Hedon without making it obvious that the two businesses are owned by the same entity.
Blaze, the head of Vixen’s security, greets me as I enter, “Good to see you, Boss.”
“How’s everything today?”
He glances toward the main part of the club and shrugs. “The usual. Business crowd getting their early afternoon fix.”
“Hey, we don’t shame, kink or otherwise.”
He smirks with a laugh. “No judgment here. Speaking of kinks”—he steps closer, so no one overhears—“have you relaxed the strict rule of no Havoc Guardians getting a membership at Hedon?”
It isn’t common knowledge that we own Hedon, but Blaze, just like Tats, is higher on the pecking order and privy to more than most.
“The rule still stands.”
Hedon is my playground, where I shed my inhibitions and the labels of who I am.
Plus, if Leeva is going to be attending with me, I don’t want anyone, especially any of our subordinates, to see my perfect woman. Even if we don’t do anything in the main room, I like the idea of her innocence being preserved in the eyes of others, and that it’s marred only for me.
A lady in the streets, a freak in the sheets, I inwardly smirk.
“You’re such a hard ass,” he complains, shaking his head.
“There are other clubs like it in the city, you big baby.”
He huffs out a shocked laugh. I get it; usually, I’m cool and aloof. But with life thrumming through my veins in a way that it hasn’t for years, I feel like I’m coming back from the dead.
“Get back to work.”
He smirks. “That’s more like it.”
Liam, one of our prospects, enters, and I acknowledge him with a dip of my chin, then walk into the club.
As Blaze said, it’s early afternoon, and the business crowd is getting their fix. The place is filled with men in expensive suits and several women in corporate power attire.
Instead of wandering the floor, checking in with staff and greeting patrons, I head directly for the stairs to my office. There’s a mountain of work waiting for me because I’ve only been dealing with the most urgent issues for the businesses I personally oversee for the MC.
On the Council, we divided oversight of our business operations to keep things manageable alongside our assigned MC roles. It’s a careful balance of managing both the criminal and legal parts of our empire, ensuring the weight doesn’t rest on any one person’s shoulders.
But it’s not just work I need to go to my office for; it’s a change of clothes.
I keep fresh ones in my office because more than once, I’ve crashed here instead of going back to the MC compound whenever the ghosts and memories of my little dove became too much.
But now that burden has been lifted in a way I never allowed myself to hope for.
Christ, I feel almost giddy.
My office doesn’t have much, just a desk with a computer and monitors running Vixen’s security cameras. Other than my desk chair, there’s only one other chair, shoved into a corner because I rarely have company up here.
This is my space, and the staff knows to leave me alone when I’m working. If I need to meet with a staff member, we do it downstairs in one of the staff-only rooms.
After I change into fresh clothes, I sit at my desk and fire up my computer, which makes me think of Digits. Which makes me think of the rest of the Council, particularly Ash, and my promise to Leeva about coming clean.
My jaw shifts as I pull out my phone and stare at it. But this conversation can’t be done over the phone.
Yeah, right. You’re stalling.
I totally am, I know.
However, I put my phone on my desk instead of calling Ash. I place it face up and turn on the ringer so I won’t miss anything regarding Leeva—either her sending me a dirty video, or anything from Hugo or Dom regarding their surveillance outside her house.
Then I lose myself in catching up on work. When there’s a knock on my door, I realize two hours have already passed.
“Come in,” I call out.
The door opens, and Pix waltzes in. Her blonde hair hangs loose, and her pretty face is clean of makeup. She’s dressed as she always is—boots, jeans, a dark shirt, and her cut. She rarely takes her cut off ever since Zeus gave it to her; she might even sleep in it.
Her loyalty to the Havoc Guardians runs deep and is unshakeable. Zeus saved her, and once she trusted that he, or any of us, would never hurt her, her loyalty became rabid.
I lean back in my chair as she shuts my office door. She doesn’t say anything, and since she never comes to Vixen’s, her presence alone is telling. I wait her out; this is either a recon mission or an intervention.
She goes to the corner and drags the chair from there to the front of my desk. Once she’s sitting, she crosses her arms, and her watchful eyes are serious.
“You doing okay?” I finally break the silence.
Her eyebrows lift. “That’s my line.”
“You don’t need to deflect.” Guilt settles in me that I’ve been so absent lately and haven’t checked in with her more to make sure she’s doing okay since all the shit went down with saving Slade.
“You’re one to talk,” she grunts. “Cut the shit.”
“I will if you do.”
Her jaw shifts back and forth as she stares at me. “I’m fine; I’m not traumatized after what happened. I’m glad I played a part in Slade getting her pound of flesh and taking those sick, rich fuckers down. So can you all stop fussing over me like a bunch of clucking hens?”
“We love you, Pix. That’s what family does.”
She looks away, and I lean forward, resting my elbows on my desk.
“You’re our sister—”
Her head snaps back to me. “Yeah? Tell that to Digits.”
Ah, yes. The delicate balance has been disrupted with Digits letting it slip that he thinks of Pix as more than a sister.
“Have you talked to him?” I ask, instead of outright asking whether she loves Digits as anything other than a brother.
“I didn’t come here to talk about his weird behavior.” Her scowl creases her forehead, and she looks at me with concern. “I came here about you. Talk to me.”
Well, here goes. I need to tell Ash today, but I’ll start with Pix. She and I are close, likely bonded over trauma we’ve both endured, and I know she’ll listen. She might be our psycho little pixie enforcer, but she’s one of the most level-headed people I know.
“I know where Leeva is.”
“You’ve been watching her?” she guesses.
“In a way…” Then I bite the bullet and confess everything, including Leeva being at Hedon.
Pix calmly listens without judgment. When I’m done, she drums her fingers on the arm of the chair. “Razor is going to be a problem.”
“Our club law clearly states: tattoo, old lady,” I argue, even though I know Razor and possibly Thunder will be trouble. “There’s nothing left of Guerilla’s mark on Leeva. It’s like his claim on her never existed.”
“It’s a loophole. And even the slightest blemish would be enough for others to side with Guerilla—especially if he returns, and especially if Razor tries to stir up shit against you.”