Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Dean
“Are you ready for this?” Mac asks as he takes the seat next to me at the VIP table.
I shake my head as I swirl the glass in my hand before taking a sip of the amber liquid.
I’ve spent the night mingling with customers while keeping one eye on the dancers and waitresses.
Sloan has been hidden away in the back, helping the dancers navigate their wardrobes and song choices.
But knowing it’s almost time for her performance, I decided to have something stronger than the water I’ve been sipping all night.
I’ll need it to stop myself from shooting the first fucker who catcalls her the way the men have been doing to the other dancers all night.
“Incoming, boss,” my doorman says through the Bluetooth com in my ear. “Riders. A lot of them, pulling into the lot now.”
My gaze shoots to Mac, knowing he would have heard the same message.
He pulls his phone out to check the security feed while I go to war with myself.
Half of me wants to run to the entrance to see who’s coming in; the other half wants to stay in front of the stage to protect my woman when she steps out.
“Hounds or Soldiers?” I ask Mac, referring to the two motorcycle clubs in Tennessee.
The Forged Soldiers are local, and I’m hoping with everything in me, it’s them since they have an honor code I can get behind. I don’t want the Hell Hounds anywhere near Sloan in general, let alone when she’s dancing to entice men to want her.
“Both,” Mac replies and I watch as his dark skin pales. “It looks like the Soldiers got word the Hounds were on their turf and they’re following them in.”
“Fuck!” I bark, slamming my glass on the table as I get to my feet.
The last thing I want is a war between the two clubs in my club. I knew there was a chance this could happen, but I didn’t expect it on opening night. I fire off a text to Sloan as I follow Mac toward the main entrance.
You’re not dancing tonight. Send out the best three dancers to finish the night on stage and go to the office.
I watch for the green light indicating that she's read the message. When it hasn't appeared by the time we reach the door, I let out another curse before shoving the phone in my back pocket. If she didn’t see the message, that means she’ll be on stage within the next minute.
That's not enough time for me to defuse what's going down in the parking lot.
“If this goes sideways, you get Dahlia to the safe room,” I tell Mac as he places his thumb to the scanner to open the door.
When he faces me with a raised brow, asking if I'm sure I don’t want him to stay with me, I nod before stepping out into the cool March air.
The lot was already full, so the Hell Hounds pulled their bikes behind the cars parked closest to the entrance.
Before any of them can dismount, the Forged Soldiers pull between them and the door, cutting them off from the easy access they were attempting.
The last motorcycle to pull in is an Indian belonging to the owner of the auto shop next door.
Slade pulls up directly in front of the door and gives me a nod before shutting off his bike and standing with us at the door.
We haven't formally met, but I know that Mac has done some work for him, increasing security around his shop and the tattoo parlor across the street.
Apparently, Slade has been doing his own investigation into Maxine Talbot's attack, and if he finds the culprits before the cops do, they'll wish they were behind bars.
Because I'm pretty sure this monster would put them six feet under.
We don't bother with introductions since the rest of the riders have dismounted and are in multiple disputes about territory.
The noise dies down as the two Presidents face off.
Victor, with his shaggy ponytail and Lester, with his military crew cut, look like two sides of the same coin.
But they couldn't be more different in morals and honor.
They size each other up before Victor breaks the stare off to look toward the four men standing guard.
“This is some welcome party, D,” Victor shouts, louder than necessary in the now quiet parking lot. “Me and the guys wanted to check out your new digs since you ghosted us.”
“I didn't ghost shit,” I scoff. “I told you I was branching out. I'm not a member of your club. I'm a freelancer. You knew that wasn't gonna change.”
Victor just shrugs as he attempts to step between two of the Soldiers' bikes. I say attempt because his path is blocked by Lester and his VP.
“This ain't your town,” Lester snarls. “We know how you treat women. That shit won't fly in there.” He nods toward the building behind me.
Slade stiffens beside me at the mention of mistreating women. Knowing what happened to his woman across the street, I doubt he'd think twice about burying a Hound or two if they step out of line.
As much as I hate to do it, I'm going to have to let them inside.
The fact is, we need guys like them to draw out the ones we're investigating.
I look toward Mac and give a subtle nod toward the door.
If I'm walking in with two dozen bikers, I want him close to my woman, who is no doubt on stage, thinking I forgot about her performance.
Once he steps through the door, I turn back toward the motley crew growing closer to a brawl with every second.
“Let them through,” I say to the President and VP of the Forged Soldiers.
“We're nearly at capacity, but it's almost closing time.
We can accommodate all of you for the rest of the night as long as no one brings any bullshit inside with them.
No weapons. If you're carrying, leave it with your bike.”
“You sure about this, boss?” My doorman asks nervously.
“Yes. If they pay the cover, let them in,” I tell him before shouting toward the crowd, “You're just in time to catch the main attraction. But if anyone touches my Dahlia, I'll send them out in a body bag!”
I turn toward Slade with a nod before walking back into the club with him right behind me.