Chapter 64
CHAPTER
SIXTY-FOUR
WRATH
Two-Pump, Hippie, and Blast step up beside me as we stand in front of the Zoloto Dollar. It’s one of the most exclusive strip clubs in Sin City. I’ve actually never gone inside, not that I’ve ever had a reason to.
I don’t make it a habit to come to Vegas in general. It’s too big and far too crowded. I’d rather be back at my clubhouse, where I can chill and I’ve got a bed to stumble into. Which is probably showing my age, but I don’t really give a fuck.
At this exclusive club, the line winds around the building, and there are people everywhere. I would rather be just about anywhere else, especially because there’s a dress code.
Though we aren’t exactly following it the way we’re probably supposed to. We’re all four wearing slacks and a button-down shirt, but we’ve got on our boots and cuts, so they’re going to have to accept us the way we are.
This is as fancy as it gets, unless we’re on a job, and that’s not what this is. “You guys ready for this bullshit?” I ask.
“Wish we had our guns,” Two-Pump mumbles from beside me.
We don’t have our guns. It was made clear that we would be searched when we walked into this club, especially when we were taken to the offices upstairs. Which is where we are going, so there is no point in trying to bring in weapons.
“Feel naked without them?” I ask because that’s exactly how I feel right now.
Naked, exposed, vulnerable, however you want to say it, it doesn’t feel good, and walking into this den of fucking vipers, I’m going to have to stay alert, as does the rest of my crew.
We walk straight to the host, who is dressed in a full fucking tuxedo, clipboard in hand, with a tall Russian behind him as muscle.
“The line is back there,” he says without even looking up.
“I don’t do lines,” I state.
Slowly, he lifts his head, his eyes sliding up my body, stopping at my patch before they find mine, and I swear I see him tremble at the sight of me in front of him. Then he really starts to shake when his eyes flick to the rest of the brothers at my back.
“No line,” I repeat.
He clears his throat, dipping his chin in a single nod. “They’re waiting for you.”
At least he knew who the fuck we were and to expect us. I watch as he motions his hand for the bouncer behind him.
“Take them to the office entrance. I’ll call for the next guard to escort them upstairs.”
The guard dips his chin and takes one step toward us, then another. I watch as the host unhooks the golden velvet rope to let us pass. What a fucking gaudy-ass show. I can’t imagine what the inside looks like, and I am unimpressed by all of it.
The bouncer spins around after growling at us to follow him. Once we step inside the building, past the screening door guard, there are open double doors to the right that lead directly to a hostess station, where a woman stands behind a podium.
Then there is another set of doors to the left with a sign above them that reads PRIVATE.
I assume this is where celebrities enter, and it also leads to the offices.
The bouncer holds up his hand to stop us.
I fight rolling my eyes, knowing that we’re being watched by one of the dozen cameras I’ve already clocked in this small space.
“The men are here to see The Wolf,” the bouncer announces into an intercom at the side of the door.
Seconds later, the door opens. The bouncer murmurs something to the person on the other side and then steps to the side and walks away. The man on the other side of the door jerks his chin toward us.
“Come in. Stand to the side. We must check you.”
I am already annoyed with this whole fucking show. But I do as I’ve been asked, because I want to get this shit done and over with. I step to the side, and Hippie, Two-Pump, and Blast do the same. The door closes, then I hear the lock click into place before the guard begins to pat us down.
A few moments later, we’re deemed clear to follow behind him. “Follow me. The Wolf waits,” he murmurs.
“Hallelujah,” I grunt.
Two-Pump snorts at the same time Hippie clears his throat, likely to hide a laugh, but doesn’t say anything. Unfortunately, Blast doesn’t find any of this shit funny as he brings up the rear.
The staircase to the top floor is one of those floating ones, with just a railing along the wall it follows. The other side is completely exposed, and I wonder how many people have been drunk as fuck and fallen.
I don’t ask.
I figure this bouncer wouldn’t answer anyway. He seems serious as fuck. I would guess humor in general is lost on him, or maybe it’s just because of who we are. He doesn’t find this situation has room for chatter. I can see that, too.
We pass one floor, then continue up to a third. Interesting. Once we reach the top floor, I look around and realize it’s just a fucking hallway. A hallway of closed doors. The bouncer steps to the side and picks up a walkie-talkie, murmuring something in Russian before he turns to us.
“The Wolf will be with you shortly.”
Well then. I guess we stand at the end of the hallway like a bunch of assholes until then. Seems about right. A few moments later, one of the doors opens at the end of the hallway, and I watch as a guy around my height and build wearing a full fucking suit makes his way toward us.
As he approaches, I realize he’s a little younger than me, maybe in his mid-thirties. It surprises me, because I assumed someone with that nickname and his standing would be much older, probably in his fifties.
“You are Coast Riley,” he announces, stepping directly in front of me, extending his hand.
I smirk and reach out to shake. I’m not going to be disrespectful, but I squeeze his hand a little harder than I probably should, something he doesn’t seem to even give a fuck about. He has zero reaction.
“The Wolf?” I ask.
He doesn’t respond. He presses his lips together in a thin line, and I wonder if I’ve just fucked everything up by using that name. Maybe nobody calls him that to his face, but I assumed it was like a road name.
Fuck.