Chapter 18

CHAPTER

EIGHTEEN

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Typically, I would be the one who leads a group of men anywhere, especially on a long trip like this. It would be a route that I had researched and ensured we didn’t encroach on any other club’s territory.

But on this particular ride, King is the one in front of this group since we’re heading to his father’s place.

Gnaw doesn’t join us on the trip, not wanting to deal with his father, who is part of the Dark Horse MC in Corpus Christi. I don’t blame him. Their relationship is toxic.

The ride down south takes a few hours, but it gives me time to think about Spencer and also about Clink. I feel guilty as fuck still about the whole thing. It was my route that got him fucked up, that got him sent away.

Even though I know it was the Southern Mafia’s doing, that doesn’t mean I don’t share the blame. That I don’t feel the extreme guilt. I paid off people who I thought would protect our men, and they fucking did not do that. I paid off the wrong fucks is what I did, and I hate myself for it.

All of these things combined make me think that the Southern Mafia was smarter and more powerful than we gave them credit for. This also makes me consider that they are bigger than just this one location.

I just don’t know where the fuck to look for them. I know that is the whole point of this trip, but it still makes me uneasy. There is something huge here that I’m missing. And I don’t know where to start looking.

Pulling into Corpus, I am instantly hit with the scent of the salty ocean air. And because she’s all I can think about right now, it makes me think of Spencer. I want to see her in a bikini.

I want to strip that bikini off her body and taste every inch of her on the beach. Sand be damned.

King guides us toward the strip club. It’s not far from the beach, and all of the buildings in the area are in different stages of remodeling. It was hit hard by a hurricane a few years ago, but it seems to be an up-and-coming area.

As we pull our bikes up to the front so I can truly take everything in, I can’t help but laugh. The building is two stories, with what looks like a bike coming out of the front of it. There is a neon sign flashing over the top of the bike that reads, Girls, Girls, Girls .

I don’t even know the name of the club, but it doesn’t matter. The sign and the bike are fucking great. And I can tell they have put a hell of a lot of thought into everything.

This is Nash’s pet project, and it’s clear they’re going to make some serious bank for themselves and the club.

“These old, dirty motherfuckers,” King chuckles as we turn our bike engines off.

They are, too. A whole group of retired bikers opening a strip club. It could almost be the beginning of a bad joke. If the club didn’t look so fucking badass. If these bikers didn’t obviously love this shit.

Climbing off my bike, I follow King and Atomic, who lead the way. Nobody knocks on the front door, and we all walk through like we own the place, mainly because, technically, the club does own the bar.

The floors of the foyer are black marble, the walls light pink. There are crystal chandeliers hanging everywhere they can possibly hang.

It’s all perfect.

And the artwork on the walls? Gigantic black-and-white portraits of naked celebrities hang on the walls. Most of them prints from old Playboy spreads. It’s fucking amazing, and no way in hell did I think I would feel this way about this place.

“Welcome,” a voice calls out before its owner walks through a curtain of black beads.

“Fucking hell,” King says with a laugh before he makes his way to his father.

I watch as he shakes Nash’s hand, slapping him on the back a couple of times.

“This looks great,” I call out.

Nash’s eyes meet mine, and he takes a step back from King before jerking his chin toward the black-beaded curtain that hangs on the doorframe. The others don’t move immediately, but I am not them. I want to see what the rest of this place looks like.

So, without hesitation, I make my way toward the beaded doorway. The moment I step through the beads and into the main room of the strip club, I’m taken aback even more than I was walking into the entrance.

The floors are still black marble, the walls light pink, but the rest of the room is a hot pink. The poles, the furniture, all fucking hot pink.

It’s feminine in the way it needs to be, but also masculine as well. It works for its intention, and I have a feeling it’s going to be fucking amazing when the main lights go down and the stage lights come up.

“Nash?” I call out.

He smiles, his face toward me, his gaze flicking around to each of us before he holds out his arms wide. “What do you think?” he asks.

“Out of this fucking world,” I say.

He laughs, taking a few steps backward, then clears his throat. “Opens in a week,” he murmurs. “Finishing up dancers interviews the next couple days.”

“It looks really good,” King adds. “Gonna be fucking amazing.”

“But that’s not why you’re here,” Nash grunts.

“It’s not why we’re here, at least not the whole reason,” Atomic states. “Although seeing this now, I’m glad we came. We needed to see all of this in person. Pictures would not do it justice.”

Nash jerks his chin toward a table. We all grab a chair and sink down around the empty table. There is a moment of silence where we all just stare at one another. I can hear everyone’s breathing, and it makes me feel on edge.

“Who is really in charge of the Southern Mafia?” Atomic asks.

Nash lets out a whistle. “Going for the big shit all at once?” he asks.

“Dad,” King mutters. “Tell us.”

Nash’s expression darkens, and I know that whatever he’s about to tell us, none of us are going to like. It seems like even he doesn’t like it. But we need to know what to expect so that maybe, just maybe, we can cut it off before it even begins.

SPENCER

There’s a knock on the cabin door, but I don’t jump. It doesn’t scare me. In fact, the sound makes me feel at ease. I walk to the door and look through the peephole just to be sure it’s Guts.

I’m surprised there’s even a peephole. I wouldn’t have thought that a rustic cabin in the woods had one, but it’s right there. I can’t help but wonder if it was added later. Pushing the thought aside, I smile as I look at the man who greets me.

Guts stands in front of me, a sight I never imagined would bring me calmness, and yet he does. Opening the door, I tilt my head and step to the side to let him in. He doesn’t make even a twitch to move.

“Guts?”

He shakes his head. “Can’t protect you from the inside, babe. I’ll stay out here. Got a chair and all,” he murmurs, lifting his hand and extending his finger to point at the rocking chair on the porch.

It’s an upright, hard-looking wooden rocking chair, and I can’t imagine it will be comfortable. But I also don’t think he cares. These men of the Dark Horse MC are made from steel, I swear.

“Are you sure?” I ask, my voice softer than I intend it to be.

Guts smirks. “I’m sure, babe. You do your thing, and I’ll hang out here and make sure you’re safe until my night replacement comes.”

“Thank you.”

I don’t know what else to say or how to say it. A thank-you doesn’t seem like enough. He’s protecting my life from something that may or may not be an issue. An unknown danger. It shouldn’t bother me. This is nothing other than precautionary… at least that’s what Evan is claiming.

I don’t know who or what to believe at this point. Everything that’s happened—with Clink, with jail, and then this whole Mafia group in Shreveport and whatever happened there—I find myself confused by it all and wondering why—just why.

Instead of asking Guts what’s happening and trying to get more information from him, I decide against it.

Knowing him, his allegiance and loyalty, he probably wouldn’t tell me anything anyway. They never do, these men of the Dark Horse. They keep everything a secret, hide it all, and then down the road, into the future, sometimes you find out, and sometimes you don’t.

Leaving Guts alone on the porch, I lock the front door and head into the living room. I gather my laptop and decide to try and get some of the work done that I didn’t even attempt to tackle earlier.

Thankfully, I have peace and quiet in the cabin to do just that. Flicking on the television, I find something that can play in the background. I need some kind of white noise if I’m going to power through the work that is waiting for me.

I send one email after the next, tweaking, creating, and invoicing once, twice, three times, and on and on until my workload for the day is complete. Lifting my gaze to the television, I frown at what’s been playing in the background. I had no idea when it changed, but it’s a cooking competition show.

My stomach growls, and that’s when I find my phone and check the time. It’s well past my dinnertime. Forcing myself to stand, I walk the short distance to the kitchen. I wrap my fingers around the handle of the fridge, gently tug it open, and bend slightly so I can survey the contents.

I already know what’s inside, but I’m not sure what I’m going to actually eat. There are a lot of ingredients and not a whole lot to eat without cooking. And when I went to the store with Evan, I had planned on making meals for two in this little love nest of a cabin for us, but I find myself alone again, as always.

Frowning, I turn my head and glance at the closed door. “I wonder if Guts would eat with me?”

Sadness washes over me. I’m not a great cook, but there’s something about making a meal for the person you’re sharing your life with that is so intimate. I wanted that. I was afraid of this, knowing what I knew about the club, about the women in the club. I had hoped that things were different, that this world could be different…

Walking toward the door, I tug it open and look out to see Guts standing against the wall, one foot propped up and his knee bent.

“Are you hungry?” I ask.

He turns his head, his eyes finding mine. “I shouldn’t be eating on the job,” he grunts.

“I’m hungry, and I don’t want to cook for one,” I say with a smile.

There is a moment of silence. I can tell he’s weighing the options in his head. He’s probably not supposed to eat, but at the same time, he’s also a man and no doubt hungry. Laughing softly, I wait for his answer.

“Then I could eat,” he says with a grin.

Closing the door, I hurry toward the kitchen and get cooking. I shouldn’t be as upset as I am. This is a special circumstance. It’s not like Evan is down at that awful clubhouse. He’s out of town, supposedly figuring things out in an effort to keep me safe and help my brother.

So, as much as I want to be upset and angry, as much as I want to demand that Guts tell me what the hell is going on and what exactly Evan is doing, it doesn’t matter. I can’t focus on that. I have to think about why I’m here.

Humble.

My brother.

He is why I am here. Sure, I have feelings for Evan. I’m falling in love with him, or maybe I never fell out, and I’m just continuing to love him. I’m not sure, but it feels very overwhelming.

Every second of it.

Especially this whole thing, this protection thing, this guard—this man, Evan Hughes.