The clubhouse is fucking quiet when I get back there, the air heavy with the unknown threat of stray motherfucking bullets. I clap Coulson on the shoulder as I pass by him but he’s already too fucking wasted to notice much that’s going on around him.
I jerk my head at Hellion until he follows me into the hallway. “Did he say much?”
He looks around, his words chosen carefully. “They took down the front door and they didn’t say anything specific. Any leads down there?”
I shrug. “Not really. Just a whole lotta casings.”
He nods and stalks back over to our bartender who’s swaying on his barstool, the whiskey in his hand spilling everywhere as he tries to get the shit down his throat.
I spend the rest of the night going through the security footage… nothing.
I mean, sure, I can see the guys. They’re standing there in our bar wearing black and balaclavas, not a single patch or recognizable feature between the three of them.
I check all of the phones and there’s been phone calls a-fucking-plenty, enough to keep me busy for a few nights going through. I pass out for five hours just to reset and then I head back to The Boulevard with my laptop.
If some asshole is shooting up buildings owned by the MC then there’s no fucking way I’m leaving Angel exposed like that. No fucking way.
Speck meets me there, his face just as tired and fucking grumpy as mine. “Cocksucking fucking Demons… I’m over this shit.”
I scoff at him and get my shit set down in my office. I switch the security monitor in there on so I can keep an eye on shit while I work, mainly when Angel gets here and where she’s waiting around between dances.
“This shit is a part of being Unseen, if you can’t handle it you better hope some college is dumb enough to let you in because Keely will skin you alive if you try to move home with fucking nothing.”
He scoffs at me as he flips me off, walking out and getting to work watching the bar. No matter how much shit I give him, he’s a fucking good kid. He’s going to be a fucking great brother, never flinches before the hard shit or shies away from an order.
An hour after the club opens the cab holding Angel arrives, pulling my attention away from the keystrokes reports. She barely pays attention to what’s happening around her but that’s not what catches my eye. Nope, the warning bells are fucking screaming in my head now.
Rat be fucking damned, she has my full fucking attention.
I stop her in the hallway and jerk my head at her so she follows me into my office, shutting the door behind her.
I don’t have it in me to be subtle or gentle with her. “Where the hell is your phone? That one is even fucking worse than the last."
She looks down at the busted ass burner clutched in her hands, the blood red of her nails starkly luxurious against its shitty cover. Her hands still have that fucking tremble, only now her lip has this little fucking quiver that I don't wanna ever see outside of the goddamn bedroom. "I broke the old one. No big deal."
I feel like anytime the words no big deal come outta her mouth it's a giant fucking warning sign and it's a big fucking deal.
"Did you break the old one or did someone break it for you? Stop fucking lying to me, Angel.”
She blinks up at me like this is all out of left field. “I broke it. What the hell has happened? Why do you suddenly care about my shit? I do my job well and I’m no trouble to you, why am I the only girl here you question like this?”
She’s still standing there by the door with her trembling fucking lip and I lose my goddamn mind. “Why? Why do I care? Because you showed up here and messed with my goddamn stripclub. You’re nothing but fucking trouble! Tell me what the fuck is going on with you so I can get you the fuck outta my head. I’m sick of wanting some stripper who blows hot and fucking cold all the damn time!”
Her face crumples for a split second, just long enough for me to swear I’d seen it but it’s replaced with something I’ve never seen on her before.
Rage.
“I didn’t ask for you to want me! Hell, I’d rather