Chapter Five

Luc

Sitting in my office, I watched as Slash walked into the clubhouse, Ivy close behind. When Slash approached me about his friend working the bar, I wasn't too keen on the idea of having a civilian, let alone a female, with a loose connection to the club on the premise. It was one thing for a club whore to be around, but a woman who was off-limits?

Well, that was asking for trouble.

Not to mention having family around.

That was a distraction I couldn't afford.

Yet, the girl proved me wrong.

She was smart, quick-witted, and she could hold her own. Mouth seemed to like her, and considering he didn't like anyone, that was high praise. She showed up every day, did her job and didn't cause problems.

I should have known that was the problem right there.

Never met a chick that didn't have baggage.

So, imagine my surprise when earlier today a San Francisco police detective showed up at my door looking for the bitch. Then, not even an hour later, I get a call from a fucking detective in New York City looking for my new bartender. To make things even more interesting, this fucking detective was the sister of Storm, a brother in the Soulless Sinners MC.

How's that for double the trouble?

My new bartender was hot, just not in a good way.

Leaning back in my chair, I watched as Slash pointed to a stool, forcing the girl to sit. He looked around the bar area, rubbing the back of his neck.

It was his tell.

He was worried.

He should be, because if my information was right, his friend was about to get kicked. I already had enough on my plate.

I didn't need the police banging down my doors.

"Trash, go get Slash."

Brother didn't waste time as he threw open my door and whistled loudly, getting Slash's attention.

The second he saw Trash, he ground his teeth.

Yeah, fucker knew shit was about to hit the fan.

Entering my office, Slash stood before my desk.

I didn't believe in making shit comfortable for my crew.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't you tell me that your friend was clean and wouldn't be a problem?"

"She is clean."

"Then why do I have two detectives looking for her?"

"It's not what you think. She wanted nothing to do with the shit happening back in New York. That's why she left."

I growled.

I really fucking hated repeating myself.

"I asked Ivy. She doesn't know why the detective is snooping around. However, she thinks it has something to do with her past. She barely remembers shit, Luc. She's blocked it all. But she knows someone is out there looking for her. Over the years, she's learned to read the signs. She constantly scours the papers, and when she reads of a body turning up with her mark, she flees. She's been doing it since she was fourteen years old."

"Do I look like a fucking therapist? Get to the goddamned point."

"You know I found Ivy living on the streets before my mom took her in. That's when we noticed she had a mark on her right shoulder. A burn mark—a trident. It was old. Been there for years. When we asked about it, she had no recollection of how she got it. She doesn't even know who her parents are or where she came from. All she knew was her name. Hell, Luc, she didn't even know how to read or write until my mom taught her.

"Ivy's smart. Picked up shit quick. She stayed with Mom until I graduated NYU and left for the military. After that, she bounced around, trying to find out anything about her past. She has flashes of memory, but nothing concrete. Then one day I got a Red Cross letter telling me I needed to get home fast. Mom had to admit Ivy into a hospital. But Ivy was uncontrollable, so the hospital transferred her to another hospital upstate. Only it wasn't a fucking hospital, Luc. It was the Lyssa Asylum for the Criminally Insane. By the time I got to her, they'd drugged her so fucking much, she didn't even know who I was. It took me and Mom calling everyone we fucking knew to get her the fuck out of that place. By the time we got her clean and under the right care, I had to leave again. Look, Luc, I know this looks bad, and I take full responsibility for her, but I swear to you. Ivy is innocent."

Glaring at my brother, I clearly said, "Don't give a fuck. Don't want some fucking sob story, and I really don't want some police bitch showing up because of some crazy chick that isn't blood."

"Luc, no one knows she's here."

"Not my fucking problem. Got enough fucking drama already with Los Santanas . The first sign of trouble, that bitch is fucking gone. Got me? Don't give a fuck if she sprouted from your dick. She's kicked!"

"Got it, Prez."

"Get the fuck out of here."

The moment Slash was gone, I got to my feet and checked my guns when Agony pushed off the wall.

"Let's go."

"Where to?" Trash asked, holding the door open for me.

"Need to have a conversation with Billy-boy."

Walking past the bar, I nodded to Mouth, knowing he would let Frost know I was leaving.

By the time I got on my bike, I wasted no time. I pulled out of the compound, surrounded by several of my brothers.

The short ride from the clubhouse to the strip club lasted only a few minutes. Parking my bike near the front door, I found myself unable to tear my eyes away from the building. Due to the negative impact of the COVID pandemic, the club purchased the former restaurant at a lower cost, taking advantage of the downturn in the market. The impact on this region of California was severe, causing mom-and-pop businesses to face the unfortunate reality of having to shut down. Rather than opting to reopen the restaurant, I made the decision to completely renovate the entire space. I had my boys gut the place, construct a magnificent stage, install a fully stocked bar, and even went as far as hiring a talented group of beautiful women to showcase their impressive dancing skills.

There was money to be made from strip clubs and Disturbed Desires made bank. Well, it did until two months ago when the club started losing money.

Now, I wasn't a mathematician, but when a strip club was used to making enough revenue to bankroll all the employees from one Friday night alone, stopped making payroll, that was a clear indicator that something was fucking wrong. To make matters worse, it was Thursday, which was half-price night for everything on tap, and instead of a full parking lot, it was empty.

Sliding off my bike, I stood, reaching into my cut, grabbing a pack of cigarettes. After lighting one, I looked around the area.

It was completely dead.

Not even a drive-by.

Walking into the strip club, the first thing I saw was Joy Ann sitting on the stage in a thong, swinging her leg back and forth while she talked on her cell phone. How she heard shit over the blaring music was anyone's guess. The second thing I noticed was Amber going down on some fat fucker in the corner while he sniffed blow off my fucking table.

But the one I wanted—Billy-boy—was nowhere to be fucking found.

"Agony."

My brother smirked as he walked over to Amber, grabbing a handful of her bleached-blonde hair and yanking her away from the man. In the next instant, Agony reared back and punched the fat fucker in the face. Fatboy was so fucking out of it, he laughed. However, he wasn't laughing when Agony unzipped his pants and pissed all over the blow on the table.

"Hey, Luc." Joy Ann walked over smiling. "Want some company?"

I glared at the bitch, who slowly backed away from me.

If she was fucking smart, she better go home before I fired her ass. She was here to dance, not chat on her phone.

Leaving the Fatboy to Agony, I headed for the office, kicking the door open to find Billy-boy balls deep in a young boy who couldn't be no older than fifteen. Ripping the fucker off the kid, Trash grabbed the kid and got him out of the room, and I wrapped my hand around Billy-boy's neck, lifting him off the ground and slamming him against the wall.

"You're dead, motherfucker."

Clawing at my hand, Billy gasped. "He asked for it."

Reaching for my gun, I aimed it at his dick and fired.

Men like Billy-boy sickened me to no end.

I hated these motherfuckers.

They were the plague.

One of the reasons I couldn't live the life I wanted.

Now, all I cared about was killing them.

Every motherfucking one of them.

"You shot my dick off!" Billy-boy screamed like the little bitch he was.

Getting in the fucker's face, I asked, "How about I fuck you in the ass with my gun? I can drop a twelve-shot load really deep."

The man cried, fervently shaking his head.

"Didn't think so," I grumbled, dropping his ass to the floor.

Leaning against the wall, I looked around the small office and asked, "So, Billy? How long have you been dealing for Carlos?"

"What?"

" Los Santanas ."

"Luc, I wouldn't. I work for you, man. I swear!"

"Yeah, that's not the word on the streets. Word is you've been skimming off my club to pay your debt to Los Santanas, and when that wasn't enough, you let those sick fucks in my backdoor."

When the fucker stayed silent, I shook my head.

"Okay Billy. Have it your way. Trash, you know what to do," I said, turning my back on the bleeding fucker as Trash grinned.

Heading back toward the showroom, I lit another cigarette, taking a seat at the bar as I heard Billy's screams.

The sound made me feel all giddy inside.

Fucker deserved everything he was about to receive.

"What you wanna do, Luc?" Saint asked.

"Get the Plebs over here tomorrow morning. I want this place cleaned from top to bottom. They find anything of importance, I want to know about it. Text Indigo and have him wipe the hard drives and security cameras."

"We're gonna have a problem with Los Santanas, boss."

"Don't give a fuck," I stated, throwing my cigarette on the ground, snuffing it out with the tip of my boot. "Fuckers wanna show, let them come. I'll listen before I show them the fucking brig. I'm heading back to the clubhouse."

Leaving my brothers to finish up and lock the place up, I jumped on my bike and rode off.

It was one of the few rare times I could ride without having someone following me. None of them understood my need for solitude. After spending twelve years in prison with no privacy, a simple bike ride felt like heaven.

Even if it was for only a couple of minutes.

Heading into the clubhouse, I noticed Ivy working behind the bar.

Woman rubbed me the wrong way.

Didn't know what it was about her but having her around the clubhouse and my brothers made me nervous, and hearing Slash's explanation earlier didn't help.

Anyone looking at her fucking knew she was trouble.

Only I didn't know how much, and that was what worried me.

I had an inkling and that was enough for me not to trust her.

In my life, trust got you killed.