CHAPTER 18
A silent observer says the least but sees the most. Remember that.
Joining Dozer’s gym, Coal & Iron Fitness, is a strategic move on my part for multiple reasons. It gives me a place to keep an eye on the HOCs in an environment where they feel at ease, somewhere where I can observe their dynamics, and interact with them outside the strip club.
I need them to see me as more than a dancer, in a way that’s organic, earned, not forced.
Dozer carries weight in the club. Getting him to not only like me but trust me could mean a great deal when shit inevitably hits the fan.
He wasn’t a member I wanted to fuck with, but rather one I’d want on my side in the days to come.
The second I step inside, I find him exactly where I expect—front and center, a towering presence. His gaze cuts to me the moment I enter, even before I’ve fully crossed the threshold. No makeup, and out of my usual environment, yet he instantly recognizes me.
He straightens from where he’d been leaning over the front desk, seemingly in the middle of reviewing something with the receptionist, but I have his full attention now. His sharp, gray-blue eyes flick over me, taking in the plum-colored sports bra, matching leggings, and white sneakers.
A slow grin spreads over his lips, one that carries just the right edge of amusement. “New recruit?” His voice is rough silk, laced with interest. “I’m guessing I have Raven to thank for the business?”
I drop my small gym bag at my feet, meeting his gaze without hesitation. “That’s right. Asked for the best gym around. She pointed me here.”
His grin deepens. “Smart woman.”
“You wanna check it out for the day or—”
I shake my head before he can finish. “Full membership, please. I’m a sucker for pasta, and if I don’t get at least a few solid workouts in a week, on top of dance practice, this body will rebel and pack all those calories into my ass.”
He lets out a deep, easy laugh and crosses his arms over his chest. This move draws my eyes to the arm porn that is his extremely large biceps. “Not necessarily a bad thing.”
I smirk. “Maybe not for you.”
His eyes glint, but he doesn’t push it. Instead, he nods toward the receptionist. “Megan here will go over membership options and get you set up in our system. After that, if you want, I can give you the tour.”
Smooth. Direct.
And exactly what I was hoping for.
I smile graciously up at him. “I don’t want to put you out. I’m sure you’ve got better things to do.”
He waves me off. “Don’t mind at all. And I’d do it for you regardless, bein’ a friend of Raven’s and all.”
“He does a tour for pretty much everyone,” Megan pipes up. “Especially the pretty newbies.” Her eyes dance with amusement.
“Shut it, you,” Dozer growls playfully at her.
The two banter back and forth. Megan seems like more than an employee.
She appears to be a friend. She’s around the same age as me, mid-twenties, and wears a sizable sparkly rock on her ring finger.
Based on the amount of flirting between them, which is nil, my guess is she’s either happily married or doesn’t swing that way.
Because with Dozer’s looks, his contagious smile, and the body of a God, any woman with a working libido would fall over themselves around him.
And the various tattoos representing his time as a SEAL only add to his attractiveness.
It’s not just his all-American fallen hero vibe, though—it’s his posture, his confidence, his boldness, and all the head-on fucking eye contact.
He’s not shy and doesn’t mince words.
Knowing what I know about him—his military record and prior to that, his stellar football history in this town, not to mention the fact he’ll be the one running the club when his old man, Cap, steps down—I imagine he’s got quite a slew of females falling over themselves to get his attention.
Thankfully, I’m not one of them, but that has more to do with me than him.
Megan does her thing and gets me all set up. Within ten minutes, Dozer takes over and leads me around the club, pointing out the various areas and exercise rooms. He explains certain equipment and their hygiene practices in the main workout room.
We pass one Grinder, but Dozer doesn’t interrupt him.
Probably because he’s in the zone. Where Dozer is clean cut with Viking-like features, Grinder has short, somewhat curly brown hair, and half of his face is covered in burn scars.
He’s curling weights in each hand and staring intently at himself in a large floor-to-ceiling mirror, singularly focused on his reflection in the mirror and whatever is playing in the earbuds he’s got in his ears.
We move along quickly, and Dozer introduces me to two of his personal trainers—one male and one female. He shows me the new addition to the gym, a boxing area with eight different spaces, hanging bags, and a boxing ring in the corner.
It’s here where a few other HOCs have gathered. Taz, the club’s enforcer, a guy with short dark-brown hair styled in a mohawk, is battling a speed bag with such rapid movements that the bag blurs.
His body is a work of dark art, completely covered in intricate ink, mechanical, machine-like designs. They crawl up his neck and the side of his face, which is dripping with perspiration. His dark brows are pulled together in concentration, and his mouth is set in a firm line.
When we get within a few feet of him, he stops punching and stills the bag with one hand before giving me a critical once-over.
Dozer kicks his chin. “Lily, Taz. Taz, Lily. She’s the new dancer at Tips.”
Taz smirks sardonically. His eyes are so brown they’re almost black, and they’re a bit disturbing as he levels me with his stare. “Yeah, I know. The new girl with the nice rack,” he says, before resuming his workout on the bag.
Dozer exhales through his nose, a half-laugh, half-grunt, as he grabs the sides of his waist and drops his head. He shakes it back and forth. “Don’t mind him. He’s an acquired taste. One I’m still trying to get used to.”
“Same, Frogman,” Taz fires back.
“Better a frogman than a conman.”
“Acquitted.”
Dozer chuckles. “Ah, well. The system doesn’t always get it right.”
Taz grumbles under his breath and puts more force into his next dozen hits.
Maverick Gunn is a few feet over and is a vision in nothing but gray sweats and a silver chain necklace that holds the club’s winged-skull pendant at the end.
He’s not as massive as Dozer or Taz, but he still stands close to six feet.
His hair’s shaved short, jet-black against his darker skin, and a thick layer of scruff shadows his sharp jaw.
Across his back, a huge HOC tattoo stretches from shoulder to shoulder.
One of his arms is covered in colorful tattoos, while the other has an angel and a cross.
He drops one gloved hand at our approach and hits me with his intense amber stare, barely acknowledging me when Dozer introduces us.
I get a simple “Hey,” before he raises his hand and returns to pummeling the heavy bag in front of him with powerful jabs, one right after the other, as if he’s trying to knock out some unseen enemy.
I don’t say it lightly, because I’ve seen my fair share, but Mav is by far one of the sexiest bikers I’ve come across.
The girls at the club overlook his attitude and fall all over him.
They also refer to him as “Ricky Boy,” where most of the guys refer to him as “Rick the Dick.” And he is that.
From what I’ve witnessed, he’s as broody as the day is long, and not someone you can easily approach.
He’s less outspoken, has a standoffish air about him, and often wears a dismissive scowl.
I know from his file—and what Deed’s has relayed—that he’s the club’s SAA, and Cap’s right hand. He supposedly took over the role of the sergeant-at-arms when Edge, Dozer’s cousin, got locked away a few years back.
Mav’s file also told me he has a degree from Cornell, healthy financials, and various business dealings. He’s successful, educated, and has a heavy religious background.
Then there’s Bodie. His workout, if I’m not mistaken, includes either watching the ceiling or it’s quite possible he’s sleeping. He’s shirtless, wearing ripped jeans and nothing else, lying on his back in the middle of the boxing ring.
Above all the others, he’s the most unpredictable guy out of all the HOCs. Not necessarily dangerous, because he’s kind of a sweetheart and charmer. But you never quite know what will fly out of his mouth or what he’ll do next. Like right now. He’s barefoot and lying starfished in the ring.
In a way, he reminds me of myself. He struts to his own beat, colors outside the lines of normality, and goes full out on life.
He’s not everyone’s cup of tea, yet he doesn’t let criticism dull his shine.
His loud and crazy nature drives some of the other guys bat-shit crazy, Finn especially, but I kind of think Finn needs that.
Maybe they all do, so they don’t take life too seriously.
Bodie stirs as Dozer calls out to him, groaning loudly and miserably before lifting his head to look at Dozer, who hangs his arms on the ropes. “Did it help?”
Bodie lays his head back on the mat with a thud. “While I was getting my ass beat, sure, but now. Not so much. What the fuck am I going to do? Three days!”
I’m a little lost about what they’re discussing until Dozer fills me in. He peers down at me and explains. “His wife is taking off to her mom’s place for a few days and leaving him with the kids.”
“How old are the kids?” I ask.
Bodie leans up on his elbows. Both of his eyebrows pop up. “Well, look who it is. My favorite flower. You wouldn’t by chance know anything about wee ones, would you? Like, say, feedin’ them bottles and shit? Changin’ diapers?”
I laugh outright. Surely he’s not serious. Dozer chuckles, and they both stare at me. “No, sorry. I’m definitely not your girl for that. Clothes, fashion, music, and women, I can give advice on. Kids… that’s a no.”