Chapter 7
Dash sidled up to the bar and hopped on one of the few empty stools, doing his best to pretend Emerson wasn’t there. After waving one of the bartenders over, he ordered a beer before checking some of the other patrons nearby, looking to see if any of them looked like Jaye Lachlin.
Once a bottle was placed in front of him, he slid over a twenty. “Keep the change.”
The bartender lifted his brows. “Thanks.”
Dash lifted his phone and showed the alpha a photo of Jaye. “Do you know this man?”
The bartender looked for a split-second, scoffed, and said, “Nope.”
Dash sensed it was a lie. “You sure about that?”
The bartender eyed him. “You with the Guard?”
“Used to be. Not anymore,” Dash said, deciding to go with the truth. It always went over better than a lie.
The bartender took an order from an alpha who slid up beside him. He pulled out a stainless-steel mixing cup and tossed some ice inside.
“I’m not here to cause trouble,” Dash said as soon as the alpha beside him started chatting with a friend. He lifted his phone again. “I’m a private detective. He’s missing. I’ve been hired to find him.”
“Missing?” the bartender asked, frowning. He lowered the liquor bottle in his hand. “How long?”
“Two weeks.”
The bartender cringed before pouring a shot into the cup. “Two weeks?” he shook his head. “That was about the time we had our last raid, I think.”
“Was he here that night?”
The bartender shrugged, continuing to add things to the cup.
“You sure it was two weeks ago? I heard the last raid was about a month ago.”
“It was both. The Guard comes here more than some of our regulars do,” the bartender said, sarcasm lacing his tone.
“Yet you’re all still here,” Dash said.
“Why shouldn’t we be here?” the bartender asked, cocking a brow. “Fuck the Guard.”
“I just meant… they come but they don’t shut you down?”
“They like the payoff money too much to do that,” the bartender muttered while adding another ingredient to the cup.
Dash shook his head. It was part of the reason he’d been so willing to leave when they’d offered early retirement.
Lower levels of the Guard were corrupt from the inside out—and he’d not been sure how high it went.
Taking payoffs every few weeks from an illegal club they refused to close?
It was indefensible. “I’m sorry that’s happening. ”
The bartender shrugged.
“I used to investigate that kind of corruption within the force when I was with the Guard—and I did my best to stop it. I still know some good people there. I can send word for them to check into the locals here.”
“We’re not legal—because we can’t be,” the alpha said. “They’d shut us down for good if you did that, so don’t.”
Dash sighed. That might not be incorrect.
He hated the idea of the club being exploited every few weeks into infinity—and hated that the local crooked Guardsmen benefitted from that ongoing abuse.
It went against everything that made him him, but they worked in a gray area.
Bringing light there would only cause more problems than he’d solve.
The bartender shook the drink, the ice dancing inside the cup. He eyed Dash while doing it, as if sizing him up. After he poured it and slid it to the patron, he moved in a little closer. “He’s been coming in a lot the last few months. Almost every weekend.”
“Have you seen him tonight?” Dash got a shake of the head. “Was he here last weekend?”
The bartender shrugged. “I’m not sure. We serve so many that some weekends are a blur. Last weekend was chaos.”
“That busy? Right after a raid?”
The bartender chuckled. “I sometimes wonder if half of these assholes enjoy the adrenaline rush they get from running away more than actually being here. A night at the Lucky Dragon can sometimes be a full contact sporting event.”
“Gotcha,” Dash said. “Anyone else here who might’ve seen him around?”
The bartender chuckled. “Take your pick. Everyone here knows Jaye. He’s always up for a good time. And he tips exceptionally well,” the bartender said, pouring mixer into another stainless cup. His smile faded a bit. “I hope you find him. He’s a good guy.”
His father doesn’t seem to have the same opinion. “I hope I find him, too.”
Dash moved down the bar to speak to the other bartenders and asked the same questions but didn’t get much more insight.
After conversations with a few of the servers, it sounded like Jaye might’ve been there the night of the last raid but there was nothing definitive.
If he’d been there, maybe he’d been picked up by the Guard—but that didn’t explain a two-week absence.
If he’d been arrested, there would’ve been a record, too—a record the previous investigator should’ve easily found.
He’d check, though. Dash had never heard of the other detective, so he didn’t know the quality of his work.
Wandering through the crowd, Dash searched for other servers he might question.
He sipped his beer, trying to blend in. He’d already noticed a few watching him closely and feared he might end up back out in the alley at any second.
After walking near the stairs that led down to the dancefloor, he swept his gaze down over the booths on either side, looking for an entrance into the kitchen.
If he stood outside it, perhaps he could snag a stray server for some questions.
From his vantage point, someone in the crowd pulled his notice. The guy had his back to him, but Emerson Walker was a good head taller than most of the other alphas. It made him too easy to spot. He scowled, wishing the alpha wasn’t so easy to find.
Dash watched Emerson dancing with that same languid grace he’d noticed the first time they’d met.
How someone so big could move so smooth, he didn’t know.
Dash had two left feet and stepped on toes—and he was nowhere near as tall and broad as Emerson.
As he lifted the bottle to his lips, he watched a hand snake around Emerson’s waist and slide up to rest on the middle of his back.
His hand froze before the beer made it to his mouth.
Emerson turned enough that Dash saw he was dancing with another alpha. Another alpha who was draping himself all over Emerson and smiling up seductively.
Of course he wasn’t dancing alone. Why would he be?
Dash should’ve realized that fact but for some reason it hadn’t clicked until he’d seen the other alpha clinging so close.
Something twisted inside Dash. He narrowed his eyes as he watched the pair, a growl of disapproval rising up his throat.
Before even realizing he was in motion, he found himself storming towards the dance floor.
As he neared, Emerson spun the other alpha away and dragged Dash into his arms, swaying to the slow song and forcing him not to follow the other man.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Dash demanded.
“Saving you from getting thrown out of here,” Emerson whispered against his ear.
“For what?”
“Starting a fight,” Emerson said.
“I wasn’t!” Dash said. “I don’t start fights.”
Dash had never started a fight in his entire life. He’d been in a few as a kid, but not a single one he’d caused. As an adult, he’d been trained to deescalate—and how to quickly end a fight if he had to defend himself, skills he’d rarely used unless pressed.
He didn’t start fights.
“What were you coming over here to do, then?”
Dash opened his mouth, but an answer failed to materialize. What the fuck had he come over to do?
Tear the man’s hair out… for touching what’s mine.
Dash blinked, confused. Hell no. That’s not what he’d been doing.
Yes it was.
Dash stared at Emerson, not liking who he was when they were near one another. He wasn’t a hot-blooded brawler who started bar fights over a man, let alone an alpha. He’d come to the Lucky Dragon to work, not fight.
Nor to dance. Yet there he was, being twirled around the dance floor, held in Emerson Walker’s arms. Emerson held him close, his arms tight. He smelled so fucking good, too.
His lips were mere inches away. If he rose up on his toes, he might get a chance to steal that kiss he’d wanted so desperately.
All the fantasies suddenly coalesced in his mind—the ones he dreamed up for his late night and early morning masturbation sessions, using a replacement cock for the hard one nudging against his belly.
Feeling Emerson’s throbbing ache against him sent him spiraling.
He looked up into Emerson’s face, etching it into his memory to help the next set of fantasies to come.
A wave of heat raced through him, warming every inch.
Emerson drew him even closer, dropping his forehead to press against Dash’s.
He closed his eyes for a few seconds, pressing his body a little closer.
Leaning in, Dash nuzzled against Emerson’s neck, pressing the tip of his nose to the junction where neck met shoulder.
He breathed deep, the scent of wood and spice reminding him of their first meeting.
Dash closed his eyes again and allowed himself to be claimed by the fantasy for just a minute more.
And then he’d leave when the song was over, before he got himself into trouble.
Emerson moved him across the floor with ease, clearly talented enough to make a non-dancer look good—or feel that way, anyway.
Dash melted into him, too lost in the moment to care that they shouldn’t stand so close together.
He stared up at Emerson’s lips, aching for the kiss that he’d almost gotten.
What a waste. He should’ve at least stolen one kiss that night—but once he did, could he walk away without wanting more?
One was simply too dangerous.
Mouth dry, he eyed his hands and realized his beer bottle was gone.
Where was it? He was pretty sure he’d been gripping it as he’d raced down the stairs, but where it had gone from there, he couldn’t remember.
He looked up at Emerson, confused. He almost felt drunk, though he’d only had a few sips of his missing beer.
The song ended, and Dash knew he needed to walk away then and there. He wasn’t himself. His control was clearly slipping. He stepped back, searching Emerson’s face, demanding he say goodbye.
Goodbye wouldn’t come.
Another song started, a faster one, and the dancers around them picked up the beat, swirling around them. He and Emerson remained frozen in place, staring at one another. His gaze dropped to those firm lips he regretted not kissing. Dash licked his lips, hungry for a taste.
Emerson snatched his jacket and dragged him closer, lowering his head. Inching closer, they neared the point of no return. Dash’s lips parted on a sigh, more than ready to taste the man against him.
But before they kissed, a yelp sounded—pulling them apart.
Another cry came.
The music stopped.
“Raid!” someone screamed.
Time slowed for a second. Dazed, Dash blinked, watching chaos erupt around them. People ran in all directions. A metal banging sounded from afar. The door? Was the Guard just outside? Were they beating it down? He thought he heard the muted sound of a siren in the distance.
Someone yanked his arm, dragging him toward the stage.
He looked over and found Emerson with a panicked expression, screaming for him to run.
The alpha yanked his arm. Understanding finally hit, and time sped up really fucking quick.
He ran in the direction Emerson pulled him towards.
They sprinted through the crowd, side by side.
Emerson yanked him through one of the curtained walls, only it wasn’t a wall at all.
They emerged in a long, dark hallway behind dozens of other patrons.
At the end, a door was opened and men shoved their way out. Whistles sounded from that end and screams rose ahead of them. The Guard had been lying in wait.
Emerson yanked him through a door in the hallway. They slipped into an office, of sorts, and back through another. He slid a partition in the wall over, and another hidden hallway appeared. Emerson pushed Dash inside and urged him on.
Heart pounding, Dash ran for his life, terrified one mistaken dance would ruin everything.