Chapter 2 - Ozzie

CHAPTER 2 - OZZIE

A moment goes by where I don't blink. I can only stare like a dumbass, questioning if the White Oak I drank was stronger than I thought. Either that or I'm a bigger lightweight than I've realized. Three shots are enough to have me fucking hallucinating Zoe Strauss.

Agent Strauss, the same hard ass member of the FBI who had grilled me and every other Steel King for hours. In the aftermath of our battle with the Chosen Saints, she and the rest of her FBI bros were determined to nail something to us, too. They wanted to kill two birds with one stone.

Take out the Chosen Saints and the MC with the biggest reputation in the area.

But Silver was two steps ahead, covering our tracks, stitching together an iron clad story.

The federales had to settle for just the Saints.

So what's Strauss doing here in a seedy strip club? Is she here for the underground tournament or did she ditch her gig as a fed to… be a bottle girl?

I'm lost as fuck, trying to make two plus two equal five. I was never a good student and flunked out of most classes, but pretty sure it doesn't add up.

I scratch my fingers through my crop of hair and consider what the fuck I want to do. If I still want to hang around or if it's better I get the fuck outta here.

Houston has no shortage of titty bars. I could drive another block and come across the Dollhouse and Peppermint Lounge.

But curiosity's a bitch.

As I sit back in my chair and observe from afar, I realize I'm invested. I've got to know what the hell's going on. Then I'll dip.

Agent Strauss is smiling at Boone and his men as they fire off their drink orders. It's a smile that transforms her whole face, rounding her cheeks and lighting up her hazel eyes. It damn sure suits her better than the stoic front she put on before.

Her lips move as she speaks, though I'm too far away to hear what she's saying.

When she turns to walk away, heat rushes me. It floods me from the inside out as I'm granted an unobstructed view of her round ass in that miniskirt.

The same miniskirt that hadn't covered the other server's ass either.

It's no different for Strauss—as she struts off to the bar, her hips sway and the miniskirt flutters. The underside of her ass in full fucking view.

I swallow hard against the tidal wave of lust that rises up. Does she realize what she's wearing? Does she know how it looks?

I'm not the only one who's noticed. As she turns away and struts toward the bar, Boone and his men watch her go, gazes trained on her ass.

Another kind of heat rises up in me. Different than the lust that's rolled through me.

This heat is tense and thick like a knot in my chest. It has my hand clenching shut into a fist I wouldn't mind ramming into something.

Maybe somebody's face.

Anger? Frustration? Jealousy?

I breathe through it 'til it fades and I'm returning to my original question. What the fuck is Agent Strauss doing here tonight?

An idea comes to me as I'm watching her move around behind the bar. She's set a bottle of vodka on a tray and then begun pouring and shaking mixed drinks.

"I'd expect to run into Santa fucking Claus here before I ran into you."

She glances up from the drink she's making with startled eyes framed by long lashes. Her lips part as if already about to blurt out an excuse. Then she recognizes who it is standing on the other side of the counter and her soft, sweet expression vanishes.

It's gone for the usual sharp, severe glare I've come to expect from her.

"Mr. Gallagher," she says. "What are you doing in Houston?"

"Thought I just asked you the same thing."

Her cheeks hollow out slightly as if she's biting down hard and she sets the last drink on the tray. "I'm working."

"Since when do you work at a titty bar?"

She blinks so slow it makes me laugh. I never knew somebody could communicate they're pissed with the blink of an eye, but turns out, Federale Strauss is full of surprises.

My question goes unanswered as she picks up the tray of beverages and then walks out from behind the counter. I spin around in the bar stool to watch her go—and enjoy the view a second time.

If I'm not careful, I'll pitch a whole tent in my pants.

Strauss returns to Boone and his men to deliver their drinks. More conversation that I can't hear plays out, with the smile returning to her face and their leering no less obvious.

The tense knot I'd felt earlier returns, thickening in my chest. I'm sitting alert, pulse racing, like I'm about to rush off and do something reckless.

I just might.

Deja Vu has no shortage of scantily clad women prancing around. The ones on stage don't even have a g-string on as they climb up poles and go spread eagle.

But there's something about watching Strauss return to Boone and his minions that rubs me the wrong way. Something about seeing her act like any other chick in this place as she leans in close and carefully places down their drinks.

So close her tits are right in their faces. A fucking hair's breadth away, nipples poked out and all.

I'm gritting my teeth to the point they ache without even realizing it.

I came here for a poker tournament and to get shitfaced. Not to sit around, forced to watch some FBI lady I barely know role play her stripper fantasies.

Deciding the night's a bust, I toss some cash on the bar counter and get up out of my stool. I'll hit up another place in the area and save what's left of the night. It's not too late to pick up some pussy at a different club…

The heavy bass thumps as I maneuver across the floor and head for the exit.

Glass shatters and several women scream, interrupting the club music. I spin around at the explosion of sound and search for the commotion.

It's Boone's table.

The bottle and drinks Strauss has brought over have been knocked to the floor. Boone remains seated while two of his men have leaped out of their chairs with guns drawn. One of them has wrenched Strauss toward them by the hair, pressing the barrel of his gun against her temple.

"You didn't think you'd get one over on us, did you?" Boone asks. His lips twist into a grin, his sunglasses still obscuring his eyes. "Did you think we were dumb, sweetheart?"

The rest of the club has fallen silent enough for a pin drop to be deafening.

Strauss writhes in the henchmen's grip, her voice shaking when she speaks. "N-no… of course not… I don't know what you're?—"

"Shut up!" Boone barks. "Drop the innocent act, sweetheart. I know an outsider when I see one. Fellas, take her out back to handle business."

TO BE CONTINUED