Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Bash
Sitting at my desk in my office at the Pretty Kitties, I shuffled through the first half of the night’s take when I noticed movement in my peripheral.
Glancing up, Gator was standing in the doorway.
“What’s up?”
Rolling off the doorframe, he came further inside and dropped his massive frame into the chair across from me.
“Not a goddamn thing,” he said as the bass kicked up from the main room and Def Leppard’s Cherry Pie thumped through the walls.
Raven must be on stage.
Nodding along to the beat, I went back to sorting through the stack of twenties.
“Isn’t it your night off?” I asked, knowing damn well that it was.
“Yeah, so?” he shrugged as his eyes kept drifting toward the door like he was waiting to see someone.
I bit back a smirk. My best friend since elementary school was built like a brick shithouse and meaner than a rattlesnake when you crossed him, but for all his toughness, he had it bad for one of our dancers. He just refused to admit it.
“Lavender’s working tonight.” I said casually, just to watch him squirm.
His jaw tightened. “I already fucking know that, shithead.”
I chuckled. Oh, I knew he knew. I just wanted to fuck with him.
Before I could bust his balls any further, Sassy poked her head through my office door.
Out of habit, my eyes raked over her platinum blonde hair that was teased to Jesus, and her makeup that was done all up in pinks, purples and turquoises.
I had to hand it to her; the girl knew how to get attention when she was on stage. But as high maintenance as she was with all the glitz and glam, she was one of the good ones.
She didn’t start shit in my club, and she kept her private life outside the doors.
In my book, that made her the perfect employee.
“Hey, bossman,” she said, her voice tight, like she was uncomfortable about something.
“What’s up, Sass?”
She shot a glance over her shoulder. “Thought you might wanna know Sosha’s ex just walked in the door and he looks sloshed.”
My brows snapped together. “You gotta be fucking kidding.”
“This fucker again?” Gator rumbled, climbing to his feet.
My blood was fucking boiling.
Sosha’s ex was a piece of shit who thought his fists were the answer to everything. The last time he’d shown up here drunk off his ass, the poor girl had ended up in the hospital with a broken nose and a concussion.
When she’d come to me and said she wanted to leave him, I’d never been prouder of the girl.
The club had set her up in one of the trailers we owned in town and helped her get a car.
Yeah, she didn’t have anything. Her fucking ex had made it his mission that she depended on him for everything. Cocksucker.
Now she was thriving and happier than I’d ever seen her. So, no. No fucking way was I going to let the asshole waltz back in my club and terrorize her. I don’t fucking think so. Not on my watch.
Shoving the money into the safe, I climbed out of my chair. “Where is he?”
“Main floor. By the stage.”
I was already moving with Gator hot on my heels as I ate up the distance between my office and the front of the club.
I spotted him immediately. He had Sosha pressed back against the wall near the stage, her dark hair falling in her face as she tried to make herself smaller.
Her ex, Dale, was leaning over her, one meaty hand planted on the wall beside her head, the other gesturing wildly as he screamed something in her face.
And the thing that sent me into a blinding rage?
She was crying.
Nothing, and I do mean nothing, pissed me off more than seeing a man make a woman cry. His only job in life is to provide and protect.
“Brother...” I heard Gator warn.
It didn’t matter. He was too late. I was ready to explode.
Without even thinking about the repercussions, I moved like a shadow, crossing the floor in seconds. Dale was so focused on intimidating Sosha that he never even saw me coming until I had a fistful of his hair.
“What the—” he started to say, but I cut him off by frog-marching his drunk ass to the exit.
“You’ve got exactly ten seconds to get the fuck out of my parking lot before I put a fucking bullet between your goddman eyes,” I snarled, my voice lethal as I shoved open the door and tossed him out into the parking lot on his ass.
He hit the asphalt hard, rolling once before coming to a stop on his side. When he looked up at me, his eyes were wild and unfocused, but I could see the moment reality started to penetrate his alcohol-soaked brain.
“You can’t... you can’t keep me from seeing her,” he slurred, struggling to get to his feet. “She’s mine. She belongs to me.”
I stepped closer, letting him see the gun tucked just inside my cut.
“That’s where you’re wrong, motherfucker.
She doesn’t belong to you anymore,” I growled.
“You had your chance to worship the ground that woman walked on, and you fucking blew it. Now, I’m not going to tell you again.
Get the fuck off my property of else I’m going to see you as a threat that needs to be eliminated. Permanently.”
Dale’s face twisted with rage. “This ain’t over,” he spat, pointing a shaky finger at me.
My eyes narrowed to slits. “Let me make something crystal fucking clear to you,” I said, my voice so low it was barely audible over the music spilling out of the club.
“If you so much as breathe in her direction again, if you even think about coming back here, I will end you. You hear me, motherfucker? Do we understand each other?”
Dale must have seen something in my face that sobered him up real quick, because he took a stumbling step back, his mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air, but no words came out.
He turned and lurched toward a beat-up pickup truck, fumbling with his keys before finally getting the door open. I watched him peel out of the parking lot, memorizing his license plate as he went.
I’d be having a conversation with Cyber tomorrow. We needed to see what kind of information we could dig up on Dale Morrison.
When I turned around, I found Gator standing in the doorway, his massive frame blocking most of the light spilling out from inside. Sosha was tucked behind him, her face pale but relieved.
“You good?” I asked her as I walked back toward the entrance.
She nodded quickly. “Thank you. I... I was so scared he was going to—”
“He’s not going to do anything,” I cut her off gently. “But Sosha? If he gives you even one more second of trouble—if he calls, texts, shows up at the trailer, anything—you call me personally. Not the cops. Me. Understood?”
The cops wouldn’t do shit to the fuck head until he hurt her again. Their hands were tied because Sosh never reported him before. So until he tried to kill her, she was a sitting duck.
Well not on my fucking watch. I didn’t have to operate between the lines of the law. I was a member of the Kings of Anarchy, and we had our own form of justice–an eye for a fucking eye. My hands weren’t tied, and I’d handle Dale if he bothered her again.
Tears streamed down her cheeks. “I will.”
I reached into my back pocket and pulled out one of my cards, pressing it into her hand. “My personal cell is on the back. Twenty-four seven, darlin’.”
The girls who worked for us were under our protection, and nobody fucked with the Kings.
“Go take a break,” I told her. “Get yourself together. Take all the time you need.”
She nodded and disappeared back into the club, probably heading for the dressing room to touch up her makeup and calm her nerves.
Gator stepped aside to let me pass. “Want me to pay Dale a visit?”
I considered it. Having Gator show up at the asshole’s front door would definitely send a message, but it might also escalate things in a way that could bring unwanted attention to the club.
“Not yet,” I decided. “But if he comes back...”
“He won’t make it out of the parking lot,” Gator finished grimly.
I nodded and headed back inside, the sounds of the club washing over me like a wave. The bass line from the next song was already starting, and I could hear the girls calling out to customers, and the clink of bottles and glasses. It was back to business as usual, which was just how I liked it.
No more drama.
Making my way back toward my office, I passed the dressing room and just happened to catch sight of the TV mounted in the corner.
“Turn that up,” I demanded, my chest tightening as I caught sight of a familiar face on the screen.
Hattie Lynn.
Seeing her face on the screen felt like a punch straight to my balls.
“...rumors are swirling tonight that country music superstar Hattie Lynn Jackson and NFL quarterback Shawn Henley have called it quits,” the TMZ host was saying with obvious glee.
“Sources close to the couple say Jackson discovered Henley in a compromising position with an unnamed woman earlier this evening.”
The camera cut to footage of Hattie Lynn leaving what looked like a high-end apartment building, her face hidden behind oversized sunglasses as she drove away from a crowd of photographers.
“The couple, who have been engaged for over a year, were expected to tie the knot this fall,” the host continued. “But it looks like this fairy tale romance has come to a very public end. And honestly? We can’t say we’re surprised. These two never seemed to have much chemistry anyway.”
The other girls in the dressing room were making sympathetic noises, talking about how awful it must be to have your personal business splashed all over the news.
They were right, but all I could think about was that my Hattie was single again. She wasn’t engaged to that fuckhead anymore.
My lips turned up.
Well fuck.