Chapter Fourteen
T hey stopped once for food and a bathroom break, and reached Reno late afternoon. The GPS coordinates led them to a gated community. The grey two-story house was trimmed in white and had a red front door. Lorelei’s eyes were wide as she gawked. He parked and exited the car, walking around to help her out. Never in his wildest dreams did he think he’d be living in the suburbs, but here he was, apparently living the dream. Expertly manicured lawn. Lush, green grass. White fluffy clouds in the blue fucking sky. His well-worn jeans, black t-shirt, and tattoos definitely stood out like a sore thumb.
“Evren did this on purpose,” he told her sourly. He punched in the code Evren had texted him, and the door swung open to a large foyer with marble tiles and chandelier. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
A staircase curved up to the second floor, and beyond that was a small hallway that opened to a large kitchen. And by large, it was fucking huge. Granite countertops, stainless steel appliances. The stove alone had eight burners.
“Do you know how to cook?” he asked her.
She shook her head.
“Neither do I,” he said with a shake of his head. “I mean, I can scramble some eggs, but that’s about it.”
A pantry the size of a bedroom lay on one side of the kitchen, while a dining room lay on the other. They found a den, a library, and an office, with a separate set of stairs that led to the second floor, where he counted six bedrooms. Six! The master had enough room for a marching band, with a glass fireplace and balcony overlooking a small lake. He could see ducks and dragonflies enjoying the peace of the water.
“Why in hell would two people need this much house?” he asked, frowning. Lorelei turned in a circle, and he was consciously aware of the big freaking bed behind her. “If you’re not happy here, I can ask Evren to find a new one.”
She shook her head. Then she took a deep breath, pointed to herself, to him, and finally to bed. Instantly, his dick hardened behind his zipper.
“Yeah, baby, I plan on us sleeping in the same bed.” She ducked her head, red tinging her cheeks. He placed a finger under her chin to make her look at him. “Don’t be embarrassed. I’m gonna admit I’m not used to living in a house. Growing up, I tended to sleep wherever I found myself. I’ve crashed on couches of people I didn’t know, all in the name of staying as fucked up on drugs as possible. I hated my life back then.”
She brought his hand to cup her cheek and kept it there with hers. He understood what she was trying to convey, that he never had to go back to that dark place ever again.
“If you want to stay here, we’ll stay. If you want to move, we’ll move. It’s you and me now. I know we don’t know everything about each other, but that’s what life is for. Right?”
Lorelei nodded. Then she reached up to his forehead and he felt her there, sinking into his head to make sure the static wasn’t there. He took hold of her hand to pull it away, kissing it before placing it on his chest. Directly over his heart.
“I’m good, Sweetheart,” he murmured. “I’ll let you know when—if—it ever comes back.”
Her smile blinded him. Something squeezed his heart, the pain easing up. His past had always defined him, which made for a fantastic president of a motorcycle club since he never gave a fuck about anything. He had never felt remorse about the people he’d killed, the women he screwed, or the drugs he peddled. Nothing more than a soulless monster until Vivi Wence unlocked something. She’d given him guilt. Shame. Compassion. At first, he had hated her. Hated remembering and feeling . The damage, however, had been done. He’d been set adrift until the very moment he gazed into Lorelei’s wide grey eyes, and all the riotous emotions settled into one thing—to take care of her.
“Will you teach me how to be a better man?” he asked, and even to his own ears he heard the uncertainty. The fear.
She placed an X over her heart with a finger.
****
J eremiah’s gentlemen’s club had nothing to do with refinement. It was a plain and simple dive bar, complete with bikers, criminals, and whores. Oh, my. When he walked through the front door, honkey-tonk music spilled out and a glass bottle went flying by him. On the stage was a so-called dancer fucking her nasty old cooch with a dildo, looking either drunk or stoned. Maybe both. Whatever the fuck she was doing wasn’t legal as well as being disgusting.
A group of men fought over a pool table. Knives out and pool sticks acting as bats. He spotted a few guys drinking beer, that if they were over twenty-one, he’d eat his own dick. A few others shooting heroin into their arms right out in the open. Women walked around, barely dressed looking for johns. There was a gangbang going on at a table, with men who weren’t participating jacking off to the fake moans of the woman being plowed.
It all reminded Cross of the Heart of Darkness clubhouse. He was going to have his work cut out to make this place decent. There were so many code violations happening he was surprised it hadn’t been shut down by the health department. He headed toward the bar and signaled for the bartender. The woman wore a low-cut tank top that showed off her ample tits, and she wore an exasperated look on her face.
“What can I get ya?” she asked over the horrible music.
“Where’s Torrance?”
She blinked, and the irritation on her face dropped away. Instead, she looked hopefully at him. “You the new security man?”
“I am,” he replied. “Is it like this every night?”
“Just about,” she replied, shooting a look of disgust toward the patrons. “This used to be a good place to work, once upon a time.”
“What changed?”
“Incompetence. The original owner was a little too addicted to his own vices. He was the one who hired Torrance.” The disgust in her voice was unmistakable.
“Not a fan?”
“Nah. He’d rather shoot his veins up rather than run this place.”
Cross made a snap decision and held out his hand. “Aera Cross.”
She ran her hand down her jeans and then shook his. “Mabel Snow.”
“You seem to know what you’re doing.”
Mabel shrugged. “I’ve had to step in to keep the doors open. Ordering the alcohol, staying friendly with the vendors. Paying off the EHS when they come around, because none of this would pass inspection. I just can’t get the scum out of here.”
He nodded. “That’s my job.”
She gave him a crooked smile. “Torrance is in that pile of dicks banging the drunk chick. He’s the shorter bald man.”
“Awesome,” he muttered. He pulled his phone out and called Jeremiah. “It’s me.”
“What in the fucking hell is that garbage you’re listening to?”
“It’s in your dive bar. I think you got fleeced, brother. This place is nothing but a cesspool.”
“Where’s Torrance?”
“Standing in line to fuck some chick on a table, jacking off while he waits his turn.”
Jeremiah let off a litany of curses, which had Cross smiling in glee. Anything to get a rise out of the man.
“I might have a replacement for Torrance,” he said once Jeremiah quieted down. “If you want me to clean this place up instead of torching it.”
“Tell me, do you think it could make money?”
Cross glanced around. The club was located in a decent place, had ample parking, and the bones looked good. “Yeah. I think it would if the right management was behind it.”
“Then make it happen.”
Jeremiah ended the call. Cross smiled at Mable. “Would you like a promotion?”
Her eyebrows shot up. “To what?”
“You’ve been managing without being a manager. I think it’s time you stepped higher on the pay grade.”
“Are you fucking with me?”
“Do I look like someone who kids around? Yes or no?”
“Yes!” There wasn’t any hesitation.
Cross acknowledged her acceptance, then headed over to find Torrance. The woman at the bottom of a topper party moaned like a porn star and had to be over fifty. Her bleached hair lay in greasy strips. Her makeup resembled the Joker. Her tits sagged to the side and a sour smell radiated from her overused cunt.
He kicked the man rutting away between her legs, pushing him so hard he fell to the side. The group of men blinked at him, unsure of what just happened.
“The train is over,” he snapped. “Get the fuck out.”
“Who the fucking hell are you?”
The man who started to talk abruptly stopped when Cross brought up his 9mm and aimed it at the man’s naked junk.
“I’m the Devil,” Cross snarled. “You can either walk away or become a eunuch. I don’t care which, but if you don’t make a choice, I’ll make it for you.”
A short bald man he assumed was Torrance came stumbling forward. “Listen here, assho—”
“Torrance?”
The man suddenly looked uneasy. “Yeah?”
“You’re fired. You have five minutes to get your shit and get out. If you come back, I’ll make sure you disappear off the face of the earth.”
Torrance sputtered like he had a leg to stand on. “I’m the manager of this establishment.”
“Not anymore,” Cross told him. “Mabel is. You now have four minutes.”
“Are you ... him?”
Cross raised an eyebrow. “Him?”
“The man Mr. Delance said was coming.”
“My brother, Jeremiah Delance, is the new owner, and he’s ordered your termination. What type of termination depends on you. Three minutes.”
A man tried to creep up on him, and Cross whipped out his switchblade, flicking it open and sailing it where it hit the would-be attacker in the stomach. It said something when the woman screamed and ran away, titties flapping in the smoke-filled breeze.
“Well, that’s one problem down,” he said sarcastically. “Anyone else want to bleed?”
The men disbanded, hurrying away. One man’s pants fell to his knee, tripping. Cross turned to free his knife, all the while keeping the barrel of his gun trained on Torrance.
“You now have two minutes to get the hell out.”
Torrance turned tail, and with his small dick wiggling around, made his escape.
Cross slid his gun back into the holster under his leather jacket. One problem down, only about a hundred more to fix. His next stop was by the teenagers’ tables, demanding to see their license. When they handed him fake ones, he grabbed one of the boys and hauled him up by his t-shirt.
“If you don’t want to go to jail, you’ll get the hell out of here. If I ever see you again, I’ll make sure you get thrown behind bars with a man who’ll fuck you up in all the ways you don’t want to be fucked. Understand?”
The kids nodded and tripped over themselves as they practically ran out of there. Then he noticed the man sitting in the dark corner counting money. The whores kept throwing fearful glances at him, so Cross figured that was the pimp. He made his way over, grabbed a chair, turned it, and straddled it. Leaning his folded arms on top of the back.
“Can I help you?” the pimp asked.
“You can get the fuck out of my club.”
“Uh. Your club?” He laughed and looked around. “Get out of my face, asshole. Where’s Torrance?”
“Torrance is gone, and I’m telling you to get your fucking ass out of here, or I’ll make you get out of here.”
The pimp stood and brandished a knife, holding it out like he had no idea how to use it. Quick as lightning, Cross stood and grabbed the arm holding the blade. Then he grabbed the back of the pimp’s head and smashed his face down onto the Formica-laminated tabletop. When he yanked the man’s head back up, blood poured from the now broken nose, and he screamed so loud that every eye in the place suddenly looked at them.
“Yep, my club,” he emphasized. Then he glanced around, making sure to stare at each troublemaker he’d targeted before he dragged the pimp by his hair toward the door, where he opened it and tossed the man out. “If you come back here, it won’t be just your nose broken.”
Then he closed the door and headed back inside the club.
It was going to be a long night.