Riding Dirty Read online

  I glared across the gap separating me and Santorini, my fingers digging into the arms of the chair as the bass-line thrummed against the window from the club beyond. I needed to keep my cool, to make sure that I didn’t piss off a man who could have me killed and buried out in the middle of the fucking desert.

  Focus, Jackson.

  “The laws on weed are changing,” I began after a moment to collect myself. “Legalization opens up new opportunities in Nevada, California, Colorado… Dispensaries are popping up everywhere, and they need product. The Hounds already pushed out the competition. We’ve got the facilities and we’ve got the skills. We want to get started before these things are like Starbucks—one on every corner.”

  “Growing for the fuckin’ dispensary?” Santorini laughed, clapping his hands together as though I’d just told him the funniest joke of his goddamn life. “That’s what a bunch of big scary bikers want to do? Next you’re gonna tell me that you’re planning to open up a bed and breakfast!”

  “Money is money,” I growled. The heat from my neck had started to crawl toward my face. I was sure my cheeks were red. I hoped like hell they weren’t. I didn’t need this guy knowing he got under my skin this way, even if anger was my strong suit. “The market is only getting bigger. More and more states are getting on board. Our club stretches coast to coast, and we’re ready to ride this wave in every market. The feds are up everyones ass, so we can’t rely on the usual funding. We need investment above the table to carry us through the first harvest. After that, it’s pure profit… for all of us. All clean, all legal, no front businesses or fucking strip clubs required.”

  I glanced around the room with a smile, then brought my eyes back to the Italian. Santorini stared at me for what felt like forever, any mockery or mirth that had filled his features before sliding off him like water. It was right then that I realized that I had fucked up. I’d let my mouth get the better of me and insulted one of the few people who would even give the Hounds of Hell the time of day. We weren’t exactly in good standing these days. Not after the shit our club President stirred up in Pleasant Lakes. Taking the club legit was one thing. Repairing our reputation with our contacts, and the rest of the outside world, was another.

  I supposed a one-percenter club would be expected to say “fuck outsiders” and go about their merry way—but the truth is you need a few alliances. You need people watching your back. Brotherhoods don’t exist in a vacuum.

  I swallowed as Santorini regarded me with a wary eye. “You talk a big game for a club that doesn’t have a fucking pot to piss in.” He leaned forward, jowls quivering with every word, his eyes never once leaving mine. I could almost feel my heart in my throat, and right then I understood just how bad this might go. I wondered what would be worse—getting offed by some second-rate mobster, or going back to the Hounds empty-handed. At least with the first option I wouldn’t have to look anyone in the eye when I told them I’d fucked up.

  “Doesn’t make it any less true,” I told him, doing what I could to hide my unease. Best thing I could do now was double down, show this asshole I meant business and that I wasn’t some punk who talked a big game. “We’ve sold most of our assets, but that’s what bought us the permits to grow. You know how fucking hard it is to get those. We’re talking about a legit business that’s guaranteed to make money, and you’ll own a piece of that action.”

  That gave Santorini pause, just like I knew it would. The longer Santorini thought about it, the more confident I started to feel.

  “Tell me you’ve run the numbers,” he replied quietly.

  I pulled a small moleskin from my jacket pocket, tossing it onto a table. This was it. I had him.

  At least, I thought I did… until he opened his mouth again.

  “Get out,” he said, grabbing up the book and waving his hand dismissively. He might as well have slapped me with it.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I need some time to think,” he said in that obnoxious accent, leaning back on the couch once more. As he did, he gestured to one of the girls dancing beside the window. “And I don’t like having company while I’m doing it.”

  The dancer strutted over in her platform heels, positioning herself between his open knees. She slid her hands down her naked, dazzling flesh, gripping her own curves as she lowered herself in a sensual twist down to her knees.

  “How about you go have yourself a little more fun downstairs?” he chuckled, watching as the woman drew her body up the center line of his. “I’ll have someone come get you when I’m ready… if I decide this is worth taking to Mr. Falcone.”

  I was dumbstruck. This bastard was going to mull over the proposal while he had a pair of tits shoved in his face? Who the fuck does that? I thought as I turned away, unable to stomach the sight.

  I walked through the door and ducked into an alcove just beside the bar—one that served at the thoroughfare between Earthly Delights’ main stage and what qualified as a kitchen in a place like this. The latter featured a heavy door that led out back behind the club itself. Figuring it for a perfect place to grab some air, I stole outside and headed off down the alley, trying to distance myself from the pulsating bass and the smell of desperation as much as I could.

  Just being outside restored a sense of freedom in me, and for the first time since entering Earthly Delights, I realized just how stressed I had felt all cooped up in there, face to face with Mr. Santorini. The whole situation felt unreal now that I was removed from it all. Getting some fresh air into my lungs was washing away my muscle tension like an earthy tide.

  I never asked for this shit, I reminded myself for what had to be the millionth time since the Hounds of Hell had put me forth as their new vice prez. I joined the Hounds ‘cause I wanted to be my own man, and maybe climbing the ladder meant taking some orders, but it sure beat the crushing weight of babysitting every other member of our chapter and beyond.

  Nah, vice prez was bad enough. Not too long ago, I’d been a mere Sergeant-at-Arms, but after our last prez, Jackal, had fucked us over, the club wanted someone they could trust manning the helm. I figured vice prez would be some kind of compromise, but it still came with its fair share of headaches.

  Business deals and loan management. I chuckled ruefully. Ain’t the life of a biker just grand?

  I stayed out there as long as I could, just letting the cool night air wash over me. This had been a nice reprieve, but now I’d have to go back into the belly of the beast once more and hopefully come back out holding my prize. If not… well, I was gonna have some explaining to do.

  “Christ,” I murmured, trying to scrub the image of Santorini getting a lap dance from my brain by rubbing my hands over my face. “Somebody fuckin’ shoot me.”

  The last thing I expected was for someone to grant that wish.

  3

  Chrissy

  “C’mon, Gina, I’m begging you!”

  Not a single waitress so far had been willing to cover for me in the VIP room, and I was starting to get desperate. The last thing that I needed was my daddy’s best friend to find out that I was serving cocktails at a strip club.

  Besides… I had more interesting things to do, like flirt a little harder with the bad boy up front. He didn’t seem to be taking any of my hints, but I was willing to make things a little more obvious if that’s what it took…

  “Everything all right, Chrissy?”

  I looked up to see Melody striding over, wrapped in a faux-silk robe that came down to mid-calf, her hair and makeup done up for her impending performance.

  “No,” I admitted, slumping down into one of the unattended seats in front of a vanity. “I’m completely fucked.”

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, sitting down in the seat next to me. “Did Gary find out you’re sneaking around the club playing dress-up?” She pulled a pair of enormous heels from beneath her vanity and starting to put them on.

  “No,” I sighed. “I need somebody to work the VIP room. One of my daddy
’s friends is back there, and…” I looked at myself in the mirror. My eyes were red, a side-effect of holding back m more than a little frustration. “If he finds out I’m here, there’s gonna be hell to pay.”

  “Jesus, that sucks,” Melody said, frowning as she finished up her heels. “None of the girls are willing to help?”

  “No, and I’m running out of time,” I said, gripping my hair by the roots in an attempt to soothe the tension headache well on its way. “Roxie needed her shift covered, but if I can’t find someone to run drinks, Gary’s going to hear about it.”

  “All right, all right,” she said, looking around the dressing room, “Tina owes me a favor or two. I’ll get her to cover the VIP room and you can take her tables up front.”

  “Really?” I asked, looking up, eyes wide. “I mean… thank you.”

  “You won’t be thanking me when I call in this little favor,” she replied with a grin. “Slobbering Seth shows up in a few hours, and you’re going to be taking care of his table too.”

  She trailed off, turning her gaze away before standing up in one swift movement, balancing gracefully on her stilettos as she offered me her hand to help me to my feet.

  That was when we heard the first gunshots.

  The sound of it made me stop dead, my eyes wide. I didn’t live some kind of charmed life. Live with a bonified mafia Don in your house and you learn what a gun sounds like… but this wasn’t some little 9mm. The shots echoed loudly, with the crack of a high calibre rifle.

  I turned toward the entrance of the dining room as screams rose in a terrible, violent crescendo, punctuated by explosions that rattled my core.

  Before I could fully comprehend what was happening, Melody seized my arm and yanked me close.

  “We need to hide,” she said, pulling me toward the stairs the lead out and onto the stage.

  “What’re you doing?” I hissed, trying to pull away, sure that if we went through that curtain we’d be shot. “They’ll see us!”

  “Just trust me,” she whispered, pulling me back toward the stairs.

  But instead of going through them, Melody pushed me down onto my hands and knees and tugged open a panel underneath the steps. On the other side was only thick, unyielding darkness.

  “There’s a crawlspace under the stage. No one can see us in there,” she said, urging me to head in first. “Just get inside, and—”

  The gunshots were getting closer. I could hear the scuffles of performers and waitresses attempting to take cover in the dressing room. The shouting outside the room was getting louder, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t understand a word of it—it all sounded like gibberish.

  “Go!” Melody hissed, pushing me farther into the crawlspace until I was all the way inside.

  Screams erupted in a new, shrill timbre before the light of the access panel snuffed with a metallic clunk. I couldn’t feel anyone behind me, and I knew that Melody had closed me in.

  “Oh, God!” I whispered as my eyes adjusted to the dark, tiny points of light filtering in like stars through the sides of the stage.

  I huddled in further back, putting as much distance between myself and the access panel in case one of the people who was shooting out there decided to be thorough. I could only hope that they were just as clueless about this place as I had been…

  A lump formed in my throat as I realized that Melody may have sacrificed herself. Nausea overwhelmed me, but retching could end my life. With great effort, I bit back on my bile.

  A bullet tore through the stage, boring a hole into the side of it. The bile in my throat was replaced by my heart jackhammering away at my larynx. Making myself as small as I could, I scrambled away from the splintered shaft of light now penetrating my hiding spot.

  Gary’s voice cut through the barrage. Through the entrance wound in the wood, I watched him throw up his hands, as if they could shield him from what was to come. “Please—” wasn’t an especially creative last word, as far as that kind of thing goes, but the way he said it…

  Another shot cracked through the cacophony of sound. Gary collapsed out of view. I watched in horror as one of the gunmen—a man in all black, his hair cut short with a thick beard, his eyes cold like iron—walked over to where my manager had disappeared and fired three more shots.

  I covered my mouth, biting down on the heel of my palm to silence the scream that threatened to burst forth as more and more patrons and dancers were cut down in front of me. I wanted to do something to help them. I wanted to save them. But how? How could I, when my cell phone was in my locker and I was just one tiny, scared little girl hiding like her life depended on it…

  Because it did.

  I closed my eyes. I had to, or I would have done something stupid and gotten myself killed. I shut my eyes and clapped my hands over my ears until the frantic pace of my heart drowned out the last of the sounds. It seemed like I lay there forever.

  Everything went still.

  The silence nearly undid me. Somehow, it was more terrifying than the sounds of gunfire. It was just so… wrong. A confirmation of the unthinkable. Above me, everyone was either dead… or had run for their lives. I was alone here.

  And for fucking what? A few tips and a chance to maybe play around with a big bad biker?

  Why me? Why here? Nobody in this club deserved this. Not even the asshole manager. I couldn’t make sense of it. The more I tried, the more all the feeling seemed to drain out of me until I was utterly, disturbingly numb.

  When a few of the men began speaking, it was in a language I didn’t understand, a throaty, earthy kind of accent rolling from their tongues as they pointed to the door to the VIP room.

  Two of them disappeared from view. I heard a door open. A moment later, they reappeared, dragging with them a heavy-set man doing his best to put up a fight. I recognized my uncle Tony as he was forced onto his knees.

  “You think that you can just walk in here and—” Uncle Tony screamed, using what bluster he could conjure up to seem like he wasn’t afraid… but even from under the stage, I could hear it in his voice. The tremor. The realization he was going to die. That he wasn’t walking out of here.

  “I want you to deliver a message to your boss,” the man with the beard said, his eyebrows raised in amusement at Tony’s attempt at courage.

  “I ain’t gonna tell nobody nothin’ for you pieces of shit!” my uncle screamed, struggling valiantly against the two men holding him on the ground.

  “This isn’t the kind of message that needs any words,” the gunman said, pressing the muzzle of his pistol right to my uncle’s head.

  The crack of sound sent a cold shiver up and down my spine. The man I had known since I was a little girl crumpled into a heap on the floor. Uncle Tony was an evil bastard. He’d done the kinds of things that were unforgivable, and I hated him more than I hated anyone… but now he was gone. Just like that.

  I wanted to wish him good riddance… but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

  The gunman barked something at the others, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. They shuffled out of view like a murder of crows fleeing the scene of their latest crime—the remains of their dinner.

  I don’t know how long it was until I crawled out from underneath the stage. I tried not to look around. There were a few girls that wouldn’t be walking out of here… just like my uncle.

  Unfeeling, barely even comprehending what I was doing, I picked my way out into the dining room, stepping over debris to stand over Uncle Tony’s corpse. My uncle, one of the most feared men in Vegas, was lying cold and dead on the floor on his side. So close to him, I could see his eyes. How dull they looked, where life had sparkled before. How flat and vacant. Not like the man who used to get drunk at parties, all red in the face, and tell dirty jokes to kids barely old enough to understand them.

  “Oh, God,” I whimpered, covering my mouth with my hands as I knelt down beside him.

  Was I the only one? Was it really just me who’d made it out th
is nightmare still breathing?

  I looked around. Some of the girls must have made it out the back.

  Gina. Melody. Maybe a few of the others?

  My whole body seized as another gunshot rang out somewhere near the kitchen. I turned my head so fast the muscles in my neck pulled and flushed with painful heat. The stutter-step of my heart crescendoed once again and I stood, stumbling backward, sorry that I’d left my hiding spot so soon.

  I didn’t want to die. Not like them. Not like this.

  I tripped and went sprawling, catching myself badly on the palms of my hands, wrists shrieking in protest and knees reverberating with a sharp ache. I knew the girl I’d just tripped over. That was Caramel, but everyone called her Carrie, because she was new and soft and sweet and like a little sister to the girls who’d been here forever, the girls who’d shut down the soft parts of themselves a long time ago, and…

  “Hey. Hey! Stop.”

  A man’s voice, quiet and stern. Not like the others. I tried to crawl away all the same, because he was a man with a gun, and men with guns had did this. Men with guns had taken away all I had.

  He was closing in on me. He was going to get me. I knew it. I could feel him looming closer, feel him on my heels as I tried to navigate the broken glass and limp limbs and—

  His hand closed around the muscle in my shoulder.

  I screamed.

  “No, no—hey!” he stammered, recoiling as I turned onto my back, hands raised to shield my face as if they could do a damn thing against a hail of bullets. “Jesus… You’re okay. You’re safe. I’ve got you…”

  Through my fingers, I could make out the great, hulking shadow of a man, tall and powerful and standing astride me. As I moved my hands, the lights crafted a halo behind him that made his dark hair gleam and his arresting eyes seem to shine in their sockets. That was all I cared about right then—those eyes, and how soft and warm they were. How their seafoam shade, glittering green and then a soft, comforting brown as he tilted his head, seemed to hold such yearning to protect me, to help.