face as he looks out past the trees and over the parking lot to Pops’ garage. The lights are still on there but only in the apartment, the old man shut up shop for the night.
“Another shipment is gone.”
No way.
There’s fucking no way anyone could possibly bug that room.
I swept the whole fucking thing, I have the best tech and I’m fucking thorough. My brothers’ lives depend on this shit and I did it all stone cold sober, days before Angel clouded my shit.
King nods at me. “I know. I know it ain’t you or your tech, but there’s rats higher up in this club then we’d like.
Hawk stubs out his cigarette and says, “We’re gonna have to start some new protocols.”
Rue groans and rubs a hand over his face. “Right. So how’s this gonna fall? It’s gotta be locked the fuck down to an inner circle no one knows jack about? Who’s in and who’s out?”
Hellion lights up a blunt and takes a puff, passing it on to Hawk who smokes that thing like it’s the last one on Earth.
“Family only for now. Blood is all we can trust until we’ve got this shit on lockdown. We’ll start up family dinners again.” King says and Hawk nods.
“Keely keeps pushing for it anyway, makes it a safe option. Tell the men we’re trying to keep shit normal for now. Get the club back to family friendly and all that shit so we’re covered. Tomi, you need to rig up the back room. Make sure that shit is locked down tight and we can get a fucking plan in the works. Fucking rats in my club. I’m not having this shit touching my girls.”
I nod. No way Mom or Trink are getting fucking hurt by this shit.
I have my own suspicions on who it is but when it comes to brotherhood you gotta step careful. Keep your feet in line and make sure no one gets put out or suspicious until we’re ready to strike.
Then we’ll burn the whole fucking lot of them out.
Chapter Nine
Angel
The situation with the other girls doesn’t get any better as time goes on.
Actually, with the crowds around my stage getting bigger and bigger, their attitudes get bitchier and more freaking obvious. Every shift starts with whispers and giggling, and when I shower at the end they all talk about me in the locker room where I can hear them.
“I heard her old man has a habit. She’s in here working to keep him in the gear.”
“I heard he’s her pimp, not her boyfriend. Guess he wants to be the only one selling her pussy.”
“Imagine having some man telling you who to fuck and taking your money? Fucking pathetic.”
“I wonder if her pussy is any good? Maybe all these men throwing the cash at her don’t even realize she’s fucking loose and used up.”
It’s pathetic to me that they’re all out there talking shit about me like that. I know exactly what extras they offer and not once have I shamed any of them on that shit. Not fucking once.
I don’t want to sell myself like that because I’m fucking terrified of being touched, not because I have some moral high ground. Fuck, they all call me the frigid bitch… I’m actually the broken bitch, that girl who thinks about touching a man and runs the fuck away.
Well.
Mostly.
There’s been two times in the last few weeks of a client trying to climb on stage and grab me. Both of them were fucking wasted and didn’t really know what they were doing but that’s not at all an excuse.
Both times Speck stopped them.
One he simply grabbed by the scruff of his neck and walked him out of the club, the guy drunk enough to not be any trouble. The other guy fought him, gave him a shiner, and when he finally got rid of him and went out the back to grab ice I finished my dance and then went out to find him.
I gave him a hug.
A quick one and I didn’t really love it but I felt like he’d been there for me and even though it’s technically his job, I still appreciated him respecting my boundaries.
The grin he gives me isn’t at all flirty, like my continued aloof treatment has firmly drilled it into his head that I’m not the girl for him.
Which is good because I’m exhausted from weeks of barely getting any sleep in my truck, not enough food, and studying every second