Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

Spark

Taco seasoning wafts through the clubhouse.

The ladies must be doing something Mexican inspired for dinner tonight.

I'm lounging on one of the worn leather couches, my boots propped up on a coffee table that's seen better days, eyes half-closed as I nurse a beer.

Damon's roar jostles me. "Fuck!"

His roar fills the room just before the sound of shattering glass does.

I jerk upright, my heart pounding in my chest as I watch his whiskey glass explode against the far wall in a million glittering pieces.

The whole place goes dead silent.

All eyes turn to Damon, the Prez, who stands there with fury etched across his face, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles are white.

Damon's a big guy, built like an ox, and right now, he looks like he's ready to tear someone apart.

The veins in his neck bulge, and his gaze sweeps over us like a storm looking for a place to land.

"Motherfucker," he curses, quieter this time, but the edge in his voice is sharp enough to cut through steel.

He starts pacing, his heavy boots thudding against the floorboards.

I can't help but lean forward, curiosity sparking in my gut.

Damon's not one to lose his shit without a damn good reason.

Whatever it is, it's gotta be bad—real bad.

My curiosity is a live wire, buzzing under my skin.

I can't sit still, not with Damon looking like he's about to explode for a second time.

Before I can even think about moving, Dixon steps up behind me, his presence as solid and steady as ever.

Dixon murmurs, his voice low and calm. "Stay where you are, kid."

"Yeah, sure," I reply, but my eyes never leave Damon.

Kat's voice cuts through the tension like a knife. "Damon! The kids are here. What the hell are you thinking?"

She storms over, her hands thrown up in exasperation.

She points toward Luna and their new baby, Aurora, who are both seated on the other side of the room, wide-eyed and staring at their father like he might visibly burst into flames.

Damon's shoulders slump slightly, the fight momentarily draining from him. "I'm sorry, Kat. Shit went sideways."

Kat snaps, rolling her eyes. "Sideways? That doesn't give you the right to lose your damn mind!"

Her fiery spirit matches Damon's intensity, and it's clear she's not letting this go easily. "You're old enough to know better than to do that shit with our kids around. Hell, anyone's kids around."

Damon mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. "You're right. I'm sorry,"

He looks genuinely regretful, but also like he's carrying the weight of the world on his broad shoulders.

This is my chance.

I push off the couch, closing the distance between us. "Hey, Prez, anything I can do?"

"Not yet, Spark," Damon says, shaking his head.

His eyes meet mine briefly, filled with a mixture of frustration and gratitude.

"All right," I respond, though my mind is racing with possibilities.

Whatever this is, it must be pretty bad if it has Damon twisted up in knots.

I just hope it's something we can fix before things get worse.

This is one of the most frustrating parts of being a prospect.

We're the last to know anything, so when I want to try and help, there's usually a big chance I can't in that moment.

Dixon, the VP of the club, slowly approaches Damon. "What's going on, Prez?"

The tension in the air is thick enough to cut with a knife.

Damon exhales sharply, running a hand through his dark hair. "Another competitor's opening a brothel," he says, his voice gravelly with frustration. "Right across the street from Bad Bunnies."

"Shit," I mutter under my breath.

My stomach tightens at the implications.

That's our turf, our income.

Dixon grumbles something under his breath, but I can only hear. "Why now? Why us?"

"Whoever owns it is targeting us directly," Damon continues, eyes narrowing. "They've been putting their billboards right across from ours, trying to steal our business."

"Feels deliberate," I say, more to myself than anyone else.

It's like they're gunning for us specifically, and that doesn't sit right with me.

"Yeah, it does," Damon agrees, his jaw clenched. "Every move we make, they counter it. If we don't deal with this fast, we're looking at a full-blown war."

"Got any leads on who's behind it?" I ask, my mind already racing ahead to possible solutions.

Knowing our enemy is half the battle.

"Not yet," Damon admits, frustration evident in his tone. "But whoever it is, they're playing dirty. We need to figure out their next move before they make it."

"Don't be paranoid," Kat interjects, crossing her arms over her chest as she steps closer. "It's just business."

"Just business?" I cut in before I can stop myself, my heartbeat quickening. "If it feels personal, it usually is."

Kat's eyes dart to me, and for a split second, I wonder if I've overstepped.

Damon spits out, his voice low and dangerous. "It does feel personal, but that doesn't excuse you talkin' to my woman like that. Know your place, prospect."

His fingers tighten around the edge of the bar, knuckles turning white.

Kat goes up to Damon and runs her hand along his lower back, trying to soothe him a bit. "My husband is right about how you spoke to me. However, you might be right." she concedes, her tone softer now.

The tension between them seems to ease slightly, though the room is still thick with it.

"All right, so we need a game plan," Dixon says, his voice cutting through the room like a knife. He crosses his arms, his eyes locked on Damon. "This can't keep going unchecked, and we need to figure out who our enemy is."

"Agreed," Damon says with a resigned nod. "Dixon, come into my office. We'll figure this out."

As they head towards Damon's office, I notice Zoe leaving the bar area.

She moves like a sultry shadow, her long ombre hair swaying with each step.

Without thinking, I push off the wall and stride over, catching her arm gently.

"Hey," I say, my voice low and flirtatious. "Where you headed off to?"

She stops and turns, her eyes locking onto mine with a mix of defiance and curiosity. "I don't have to tell you where I'm going," she replies coolly. But then her expression softens just slightly. "I'm going to see Mandy."

"Right," I reply, releasing her arm but not breaking eye contact.

Her resolve is clear, and it only makes me more intrigued.

There's something magnetic about Zoe, something that pulls me in despite knowing her father will have my fucking head the first chance he can.

I keep my tone light but my curiosity sharp. "What's on the agenda?"

Zoe's voice is as smooth and cool as glass. "Work."

"With Mandy?" I push, already piecing it together in my head.

Mandy's her best friend, and they work together.

I don't even know what Zoe does, but I know it's something online.

Her mother works for a company called OneEye and from what I can remember, she made a lot of money doing it.

The realization clicks into place, and damn if it isn't hot as fuck.

Images flash through my mind, unbidden yet tantalizing.

"Yeah, with Mandy," she confirms, her eyes narrowing slightly as if she's gauging my reaction.

I take a step closer, so close I can almost feel the heat radiating off her body.

Her scent—something floral mixed with vanilla and intoxicating—fills my senses.

Leaning down, I bring my lips to her ear, my breath brushing against her skin.

"Let me know when you need a third," I whisper, my voice low and charged with intent.

She doesn't move away, just stays there for a heartbeat, letting the words hang between us like a dare.

Zoe's breath catches, her eyes locking onto mine.

The intensity between us is palpable, a current of electricity humming in the air.

Her pupils dilate slightly, and I see the flicker of something raw and primal behind those dark depths.

Her tongue darts out, wetting her lips slowly, deliberately.

It's a move that sends a jolt straight to my core.

My pulse quickens, each beat echoing louder in the silence that stretches between us.

I'm rooted to the spot, unable to look away from her.

She takes a step back, breaking the spell but not the connection. "I have to go," she murmurs, her voice husky and filled with unspoken promises.

"Right," I reply, my voice rougher than I intended. I watch as she turns on her heel, her hips swaying with each step, and heads toward the door.

"Zoe," I call after her, my voice barely above a whisper.

She pauses for a fraction of a second, glancing over her shoulder.

Our eyes meet once more, and it's like a silent agreement passes between us.

"Stay safe," I add, though the words feel insufficient for what I really want to say.

She nods a small, almost imperceptible gesture, before slipping out of sight.

I stand there for a moment longer, the image of her seared into my mind.

The chaos around the clubhouse fades into the background, and all I can think about is the firestorm she's ignited within me.

"Fuck," I mutter under my breath, running a hand through my hair.

She has no idea how much she's driving me wild.