24. Dallas
DALLAS
“Dallas!”
I turned at the sound of Deacon’s voice. “What?”
He waved his hand in the air. “Get these men out of here. Go have lunch.”
I smoothed my hand over our new bar top. “Everything all right?”
Deac walked up to me and lowered his voice. “Doc threw the signal.”
My eyes widened. “He fucking what?”
His phone lit up in his hand. “That’s Gauge. Get these men out of here so I can talk with him.”
“On it.”
A screeching whistle wafted through the air, catching the attention of the contractors hauling shit in to start the demolition of the stage.
I waved my hand at them before pointing toward the front door, and the five men followed me out into the front parking lot.
I knew exactly where to take them for food.
Lone Star’s kitchen was surely already up and running for the day.
So, I turned toward the working men and thanked my stars that I’d have some distance from Char.
I mean, the fucking nerve of that woman, insinuating that I’d even touch something as dirty and disgusting as fucking drugs.
“All right, guys, lunch is on me today,” I said as I made my way toward my bike. “Then, you guys can get started on the demolition. Follow me.”
Some of them asked questions, but I didn’t give a shit about what they wanted to know. All I needed was to get away, and this was the perfect excuse. Not that I wouldn’t be walking back into a shitton of extra drama with what Deac had just told me, but that was for after lunch.
And when I finally took my rightful seat in the dark corner of our other bar, Lone Star, my favorite waitress brought me my whiskey neat.
“There you go, Big Dee,” she said with that beaming smile of hers.
I nodded. “Thanks.”
“You hungry? I could have the kitchen whip up your favorite.”
I took a long pull from the drink. “Just another one of these on deck.”
She leaned her broad hip against my table. “And, uh, the other guys?”
I peered over at the contractors who had bellied up to the bar. I couldn’t blame them, either.
Our hottest bartender was on the clock.
“Just make sure they don’t do anything stupid,” I said as I polished off the rest of my drink.
She giggled as she plucked the glass from my hand. “Another one of these and a water, coming right up.”
Hearing that bar top being ripped right out of its socket had been music to my ears, and I knew that stage demolition would be the same way. Maybe they’d let me help. I still had anger coursing through my veins. My palm still radiated heat from the feeling of Char’s neck helplessly beneath my body.
I stretched my hand and shook it out, hoping that the sensation would go away.
Hoping the pain of her words would go away.
The waitress came back with another whiskey neat and a tall glass of water, and I wasted no time in getting that alcohol into my system.
I needed to relax. I had to settle down.
The last thing I needed to be was distracted, and Char was good at that.
Distracting me, that is. It was probably for the best anyway, our fight.
The less we interacted, the more I could pour my efforts into other things.
Like figuring out why the hell we were being watched again.
Lunch came and went much too quickly, though.
Those idiots wolfed down their food and chugged their beers within the span of twenty or so minutes.
I had hoped to sit there for at least an hour.
Long enough to get water into my system.
Two whiskey neats on an empty stomach was never a good idea, so when I saw them pushing away from the bar, I grabbed the water in front of me and chugged.
I chugged until it burned, and then I took a long enough pause to settle the tab before going back for the rest.
“All right, you guys,” I said as we headed back to our vehicles, “let’s get to work.”
With the clown car of men behind me, I led us back to Bottle Grounds.
We worked our way inside and I couldn’t help but admire the shiny new cherry mahogany bar top.
I walked over and placed my hand against it.
I lifted it up, watching as it moved smoothly off its surface.
No sticky sounds. No jagged edges tearing at my skin.
I felt better already as I turned around and watched those men have at it with their sledgehammers.
That is, until I heard a yelp.
My ears twitched. I turned toward the sound and held my breath, but no one seemed to react other than me. The guys didn’t stop battering that stage with their hammers, so I figured I must have been hearing things.
Until I heard that sound again.
“Good job, guys,” I said as I reached behind the bar and grabbed the first thing my hand touched. “Keep up the good work.”
I pulled an empty glass bottle out from, well, wherever the hell my hand had landed.
I tossed it into the air and caught the neck of it in my hand, then held it at my side.
I heard scuffling. The slamming of doors caught my attention.
And as I made my way through the backroom, I found myself kicking a bunch of cardboard out of the way.
“What the fuck?” I muttered as I eased the backroom door open.
I peered out into the alleyway and I didn’t see much. In fact, I didn’t see anything at all. That is, until Rat’s loud-as-fuck rock music struck up to my left.
“You gonna stand there, or help?” Deac called out.
I walked down the two cement steps and turned toward him. “The fuck you doing out here?”
He leaned against the van’s back double doors before his stare fell to the glass bottle in my hand.
“Trouble find you?” he asked.
“Dallas!” a girl shrieked. “Dallas! Help meeeeee!”
My brow twitched. “Is that Char?”
Deac nodded as the van lurched forward. Something heavy slammed against the doors, and all of a sudden, the commotion stopped.
It took all I had to toss that glass bottle into the dumpster instead of bashing it over Deac’s head. “Did she fuck up or something?”
He stalked toward me as I kept my gaze locked with those double doors. “I was on the phone with Gauge discussing our little issue, and she was recording me from the backroom.”
I didn’t even know where the hell to start unpacking. “He really threw the signal?”
Deac nodded as he stepped closer. “One gun from every crate. Just like we discuss with all of our clientele.”
“Into the side of the mountain?” I whispered.
“Directly, according to Gauge.”
“The whole magazine?”
His stare leveled with mine. “The whole fucking magazine, Dallas.”
I raked my hands down my face. “I’ll text the guys. Church?”
Deac turned toward the van. “ASAP. The contractors will be fine for a little while, they know not to fuck with us.”
“Right, right,” I said as I yanked my phone out of my pocket.
“You coming, or what?” Deac asked as he yanked the driver’s side door open.
I composed the message before I looked up. “I’ve got my bike, I’ll meet you there.”
“Suit yourself.”
I shot off the group text to everyone calling for an emergency church meeting.
Then, I bolted toward my bike. With my head on a swivel and my sights turned toward the desert, I kept a beat on everyone and everything around me.
Every shadow that moved, I moved with it.
Every person that took a turn with me, I made sure to get out of their way just to make sure they weren’t following me.
Even with the van falling into the distance, Rat’s ear-bleeding music pulsed through the ground attached to the tires.
Fucking hell, I hated that shit.
Still, I caught up to them. After sending that text and getting my wits about me, I met them on the drive out into the middle of the desert. I followed the trail of dust until the fake ass license plate of our van came into view. And that’s when it hit me.
Char was still digging, and I had given her the in she needed.
I had to find a way to put her back in her place.
“Bedroom, or attic?”
I had pulled up to the clubhouse and killed my engine without a conscious thought, my mind still turning over Char. It wasn’t until Deac’s voice came alive that I snapped back in.
“What?” I asked as I put my kickstand down.
He banged his fist against the double doors. “Char. Bedroom, or attic?”
I cut the engine to my bike and kicked my leg over. “Did she give up the recording she made?”
“Nope.”
I shrugged. “Then, attic.”
Deac grinned. “My thoughts exactly.”
At least putting her in her place would be easy this time.
Especially since it was on our home turf.