CHAPTER ONE SONNY’S

Brayden—

The sound of breaking glass has me straightening from the doorjamb.

TJ is leaned over the desk of the manager, and twists his head, his gaze connecting with mine. “Go check on that.”

“On it.” I move down the hall of Sonny’s gentleman’s club out to the main room. The bar is on the left as I come into view. To my right is the main stage and tables and booths.

The girl bartending points to a booth in the corner. Tiny, our security guy, is already over there trying to break up a fight. It’s not between the customers, it’s between two of our dancers.

Fucking hell.

I weave through the tables and get to him just as he separates them. They’re trying to scratch each other’s eyes out with their long nails, and poor Tiny is caught in the middle, getting the worst of it.

At the table sits a scared-looking guy with wide eyes, who looks like he’ll be traumatized forever. This is probably the only time and place two women would ever fight over this guy. Sometimes the girls get desperate for customers, especially on a slow night like tonight with the place half empty.

I hook my arms around one of the girls from behind and lift her clear off her acrylic platform heels. Making my way toward the bar, I lug her down the hallway to the dressing room.

The DJ ups the vibe in the room with a new song and introduces two dancers to the main stage, drawing the meager crowd’s attention.

Entering the dressing room, I drop Tiffany to her feet, and she stumbles back.

“It wasn’t my fault, Brayden. I swear. That new chick is batshit crazy.” She looks down at her arms and chest. She’s covered with long red scratches—the kind only a long set of acrylics can make. Some of them are bleeding. “Look at me. That bitch.”

“Sit. Let me see.” I grab a tissue from a box on the long counter in front of the makeup mirror that stretches a good ten feet into the room, and Tiffany plops on a stool. Dropping to one knee, I wipe the blood away. “She got you good. These are going to welt up. Not sure makeup will cover them.”

“Great. So, I can’t dance tonight? How am I going to pay my rent?”

Tiny comes in with the other girl, but I point across the room. “Take her to the house mom.”

He nods and does as I say, even though she’s cursing a blue streak.

I don’t know that girl. But I know Tiffany, and she’s not one to start trouble. I grab the first aid kit from a shelf by the door. The fact that I know where it is shows just how much time I’ve spent in this club.

When I was a lowly prospect, I often got assigned here when the place was short on security. I know all too well how many cat fights break out when there’s trouble between the dancers.

“How much do you need, Tiff?”

“I’m four hundred short.”

I dig in my pocket, pull out my money clip, and peel off four bills, holding them out to her. “There aren’t many dancers I’d do this for, you know that, right?”

She grabs the money and jumps to her feet, throwing her arms around my neck. “Thank you, Brayden. You’re a lifesaver. I swear I’ll pay you back.”

I nod and push her away, knowing how much it means to her. She’s a single mom, just trying to make ends meet. Four hundred is a lot of money to this girl, and I’ve got plenty. “Just don’t tell any of the other girls. Got it?”

“Sure.”

Tiny returns, and I get a good look at the damage. He’s got scratches on his face and chest, makeup on his shirt, and he’s covered in glitter.

I can’t help grinning. “You okay?”

“Yeah. They were clawing at each other pretty damn good. Wild as two alley cats.”

“I know the feeling. Gone home a time or two looking like that myself.”

He lifts his chin toward Tiffany. “She okay?”

My gaze roams over her. “She’ll live.”

“Roxy’s a lunatic, Tiny. Look what that bitch did to me.” Tiffany holds her arms out.

“Sorry, honey. I tried to get to you as quick as I could,” he replies.

“It’s not on you,” I say, patting his shoulder. “You okay to go back to work?”

“Yeah.” He swipes a hand down his torso, but the glitter stays put. “Just need a new shirt.”

I walk across the hall and find TJ finishing with the manager, waiting as he gets yesterday’s deposit from the safe. He meets my eyes.

“Everything okay?”

“Just a catfight.”

He rolls his eyes and turns his attention to the manager, Ronnie.

The rear door opening at the other end of the hall draws my attention, and I see the new girl walking out in a huff with her bag. I’m sure she just got fired. It’s late, and the girls are usually escorted to their cars, but that happens after the club closes, so I know there’s no security back there, other than the cameras. I glance in the office, checking the monitors on the wall. There are shots of the front parking lot, the entrance, the hall to the champagne rooms, and several others. I find the one of the backdoor and another showing the back lot.

I watch Roxy cross the lot to a white Mustang. Movement draws my attention to a man climbing from a pickup truck. I know what he’s doing. I’ve seen it before. Some of these men who frequent this place have hung out in the back, waiting for the girls to come out. Sometimes they even try to follow them home.

The girl’s all know the rules. You wait to be escorted, but tonight, Roxy isn’t waiting.

I tap the door, signaling to TJ and nodding to the screen. “Be right back.”

He twists his head to see the man on camera and then nods.

By the time I make it out, the guy’s got Roxy pinned against the door of her car. She’s shoving him away, but he’s as immovable as a brick wall.

“Hey, asshole,” I snap, and his head swivels toward me. “Want to pick on someone your own size?”

He shoves Roxy away and comes at me. I step to the side, ducking his punch, and plow my fist into his gut. He staggers, but comes back at me, rushing me and shoving me into the tailgate of his pickup truck.

I immediately feel the sharp, jarring pain shoot up from my hip and knee.

Motherfucker.

He’s reinjured my old wrestling injury.

I’m a raging bull now, more pissed than I’ve been in a month, and that’s saying something. I slam my fist into his face and follow it up with another and another, hitting him with rapid-fire jabs I learned from Shane in the MMA cage at the clubhouse. Between him, Jake, and TJ, I’ve learned from the best.

He’s on the ground by the time the rear door flies open and TJ rushes out, Tiny right behind him. They drag him to his feet, and TJ gives him a gut punch for good measure.

“Which car is his?” TJ asks me, and I point to the pickup.

They haul him toward it and shove him behind the wheel.

“You ever come back, they won’t find your body. Understand, motherfucker?” TJ snarls.

“He broke my nose,” the man sobs, blood running down his chin.

“And I’m gonna break your fucking fingers if you’re not gone in five seconds. Beat it.” TJ slams the door.

The man fires the engine up and roars out.

TJ turns to me. “You okay?”

“Fine.”

“Good. I’m gonna go get the deposit bag, and we’re out of here.”

I nod. “I’ll meet you out front.”

Tiny makes sure Roxy is okay and waits until she pulls out, while I limp around to the front of the building.

I reach my bike and light a cigarette, my hands shaking and my knuckles bleeding. The pain in my leg radiates up my side, but it’s the last thing I want my brother to see.

I do a slow stretch, bending over, and I’m slow to straighten.

“You hurt?” TJ asks from behind me.

Dammit. I straighten, putting weight on my leg and trying not to grimace. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine, Brayden.”

“Drop it, okay?” I drag in a hit off my cigarette.

“Is that old injury flaring up again?” He knows about my leg—something not even my father knows about.

I blow smoke toward the sky. “I’m holdin’ it together.”

“No backsliding?”

I fling my cigarette into the dark parking lot, knowing exactly what he’s referring to. “TJ, there’s no backsliding or slipups with opioids. You’re either doing them or you”re clean.”

“So, you’re stayin’ clean?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you go see that new physician the club doctor told you about?”

I huff a laugh. “Yep.”

“How’d it go?”

“He wanted to prescribe me more fucking pills. I can’t do that, TJ. I can’t get back on that train. I don’t care if they are just chill pills; I do anything more than over-the-counter bullshit, and I’ll be right back where I was. I’ve worked too hard to get clean. This patch means too much to me. I’m not going to put it on the line. Not for anything.”

“Maybe you should talk to Dad.”

“No way.”

“You’re struggling, Brayden, and you still don’t want to tell Dad?”

“You think I want him thinking I’m some fucking weak pussy? You haven’t said anything to him, have you?” I take a step toward him, feeling the familiar panic flooding my body.

“I said I’d keep your secret. I gave you my word. I’m not breaking it.”

“Good, because if he thinks there’s even a chance I’m dependent on pills, TJ, he’ll pull my patch.”

“You don’t know that. You’re his son, Brayden.”

“Yeah, and that’s a lot to live up to.”

“I get that.”

“Not to mention there’s you.”

“Me?” TJ tilts his head.

“You’re a lot to live up to, too.”

“I’m not your enemy, brother. It’s not a fucking contest.”

“Really?” I stare at the cars driving past. “Seems like all my life I’ve been in competition with you.”

“Well, now we both wear the same patch on our back. We don’t need to be in competition.”

“You sure about that?”

“What do you mean?”

“We both want a seat at the table, don’t we?”

“Eventually.” He stares at me a moment, then drops his hand. “Brayden…”

“You just assume it should go to you, don’t you?” I arc a brow. “Maybe I don’t agree.” He sighs heavily, and I know he gets my meaning. “We’ll always be in competition, TJ, and I’ll always be second best. I’m sick of it.”

“No one is saying you’re second best. You think Dad gives a fuck? This isn’t high school, Brayden. It’s not the goddamn wrestling team or who won the biggest trophy. Let that fucking shit go.”

“Don’t you think I know that? It’s been ten fucking years. I prospected for three. Longer than any of you.”

“That’s because Dad wanted you to turn twenty-one before he patched you in.”

“Well, that was seven years ago.” I jab a thumb into my chest. “Have I not served this fucking club well? Have I not done just as much as you have?”

“Of course you have. No one’s saying different.”

“Maybe not to my face, but it’ll always be there. I’m twenty-eight, and I’m still TJ’s little brother. Is that all I’ll ever fucking be in this town?”

He’s stunned speechless by my outburst.

I sigh and swing my leg over the bike. “Let’s just get to the clubhouse.