Chapter 13

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Turmoil

I sit on a barstool next to Jolt, the cracked leather seat creaking beneath me.

Dim yellow light from a Budweiser lamp illuminates the scuffed wooden bar top at Idle Spurs in Seven Valley.

The twang of Waylon Jennings drifts from the jukebox in the corner, mingling with the low chatter of patrons.

Damon and Dixon stroll through the door, wind chimes tinkling.

They saunter over, Damon sliding onto the stool on my other side while Dixon stands, meaty arms crossed.

"How's it hangin', boys?" Damon asks with a grin, signaling the bartender. "Y'all keeping your noses clean?"

Jolt snorts. "Clean as they're gonna get in this line of work."

I smirk but stay silent, waiting.

My gut tells me this isn't just a friendly check-in.

Damon's eyes dart around the dive bar, his posture a little too stiff.

The bartender ambles over, wiping hands on a dingy towel. "What'll it be, boys?"

"Four whiskeys, neat," Damon orders.

He turns back to us as the bartender sets out tumblers and pours. "So, anything to report?"

"Same old shit," I say with a shrug, taking a sip of the cheap liquor.

It burns going down.

Keep things vague, that's the key.

Damon hums, swirling his glass.

Ice clinks against the sides. "All right then. You boys just keep at it, yeah? Ears open, mouth shut, unless it's to whisper sweet nothings to one of the ladies."

Jolt and I both nod.

Message received—focus on the op, no screw ups.

As if we needed reminding.

I drain the last dregs of whiskey from my glass and thunk it back on the bar.

Jolt mirrors me, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows.

The burn lingers in my throat.

Damon slides off his barstool as Dixon walks away, on his phone. "Be back, gotta take a piss."

"So, you and Seraphina... it's official now?" Jolt asks, corner of his mouth ticking up.

I nod, allowing a small, satisfied smile. "Yeah, as official as it can be. I'm just usin' her for this run, Jolt. Nothing more."

"Damn! Didn't know you had it in you," Jolt chuckles, slapping my shoulder. "Guess that silver tongue's good for more than talking yourself outta trouble."

I flip him the bird, but there's no real heat behind it.

Truth is, I'm pretty fucking proud of myself.

Worming my way into Seraphina's good graces, into her bed.

Well, it hasn't been easy.

The woman's got walls higher than the goddamn Hoover Dam.

But I'm nothing if not persistent.

"What about you?" I ask, signaling the bartender for another round. "You making any headway with Rita?"

Jolt scoffs. "Headway? I got her eating outta the palm of my hand, bro. Girl's so gone on me, she'd probably hand over Seraphina's secret diary if I asked real nice."

I snort into my whiskey. "Yeah, I bet. Regular Casanova over here."

"Mock all you want, asshole," Jolt says, grinning. "Point is, I'm pulling my weight. Distracting Rita keeps her outta your hair so you can focus on the real prize."

I sober at that, rolling my shoulders to ease the sudden tension.

He's not wrong.

As much as I like to give Jolt shit, he's doing his part.

Keeping Rita occupied means one less obstacle in my way.

Damon comes back and Dixon moves back over, hanging up the phone.

We dive back into talking about everything and dammit if they aren't pleased as can be with our little progress report.

They're all smiles and backslaps, telling us to keep up the good work.

I should be riding high on the praise, but something's not sitting right with me.

Call it a gut feeling, but I know to trust my instincts.

I glance up from my beer just in time to see two men in suits walking in.

They stick out like sore thumbs in a place like this.

Idle Spurs ain't exactly a white collar joint—it's all rough-hewn wood and scuffed floors, the kind of bar where the regulars are either Latino or blue collar types fresh off a shift.

These guys? They scream Fed, or worse.

Keeping my voice low, I nudge Damon under the table. "Don't look, but two guys in full suits just walked in."

Damon's eyes slide shut for a moment as he inhales deeply through his nose.

When he opens them again, his expression is grim. "I highly doubt it's the Feds since we're still tight with Elena and Reed from the Skulls Renegade MC."

Fuck.

I don't need him to spell out what that means.

If it's not the alphabet boys, then there's only one other possibility.

"Bernard's people," I mutter, more to myself than anyone else.

Jolt tenses beside me, but Damon just nods slowly. "Bingo."

I risk another glance at the suits, trying to get a read on them.

They're both packing, that much is obvious from the telltale bulge beneath their jackets.

But there's something about the way they hold themselves, a coiled kind of energy that screams ex-military to me.

These aren't just some goons Seraphina's mom threw on us.

No, if my hunch is right, we're dealing with a whole different caliber of muscle.

The kind that won't hesitate to put a bullet between our eyes if given half a chance.

Shit just got a whole lot more complicated.

My mind races as I try to figure out our next move.

Confronting them head-on is out of the question, not with this many people around.

But we can't just sit here twiddling our thumbs either, waiting for them to make a move.

"We need to get out of here," I mutter under my breath, leaning in closer to Damon. "Draw them away from the crowd."

Damon nods, his jaw clenched tight. "Agreed. But we gotta play it cool, act like we don't suspect a thing."

Easier said than done, especially with the way my heart is pounding against my ribcage.

I force myself to take a deep breath, schooling my features into a mask of casual indifference.

"Jolt and I will head out first," I say, keeping my voice low. "Give it a minute, then follow behind. Make it look like we're just a bunch of buddies saying our goodbyes."

Jolt shoots me a look, his brows furrowed in concern. "You sure about this, man? We don't know what we're walking into out there."

I clap him on the shoulder, mustering up a confident grin. "Come on, brother. When have I ever steered you wrong?"

He snorts, shaking his head. "You really want me to answer that?"

Despite the gravity of the situation, I can't help but chuckle.

Leave it to Jolt to crack a joke in the face of danger.

"Fair enough," I concede, pushing back from the table. "But we've got this. Just stick to the plan and watch my back, yeah?"

He nods, rising to his feet beside me. "Always, brother. Always."

As we make our way toward the exit, I can feel the suits' eyes boring into my back.

Every instinct in my body is screaming at me to grab Jolt and run like hell, but I force myself to keep a steady pace.

We make our way out into the hot Las Vegas sun, yet the weight of the suits' gazes on our backs reminds me the kind of life I'm living.

This is another reason it could never work with Seraphina.

These are the things I need to remind myself.

She is just my fucking job.

She's a means to an end, someone I needed to get close to for the club.

The only problem? I have to remind myself my heart and my head are two different beings.

My muscles tense, ready for a fight, but I force myself to keep my stride casual as we continue further into the parking lot.

As we make our way toward the Mustang, these two still continue following us.

I turn, my hand instinctively reaching for the gun I'm not carrying. "Can I help you, gentlemen?"

The taller of the two smirks, his eyes cold and calculating. "No, I think I have everything I need."

Something in his tone sets my teeth on edge. I take a step forward, squaring my shoulders. "And what exactly would that be?"

The man's smirk widens, but he doesn't answer. Instead, he glances at his partner, a silent communication passing between them.

Shit.

I barely have time to brace myself before the first punch comes flying.

I dodge, feeling the rush of air as the man's fist passes inches from my face.

Beside me, Jolt is already in motion, grappling with the other guy.

I hear the sickening crunch of bone on bone as they trade blows.

I don't have time to check on him, though.

The taller one is coming at me again, his eyes blazing with fury.

I meet him head-on, blocking his punches and landing a few of my own.

The man is good, but I'm better.

Years of watching my father train for his action movies have honed my reflexes to a razor's edge.

Still, this motherfucker is relentless.

He comes at me again and again, his blows growing more desperate with each passing second.

I dodge another punch, but man it was a close one.

The sound of footsteps behind me makes me falter.

I turn, expecting to see Jolt, but it's Damon and Dixon, their faces grim.

They jump into the fray without hesitation, taking on the suits with a ferocity that borders on savage.

Their fists fly in a brutal ballet, connecting with the suits in a chorus of grunts and the sickening thud of flesh against flesh.

Damon lands a vicious hook to the taller one's jaw that sends him sprawling.

But he's back up like a jack-in-the-box, gritting his teeth against the pain.

His eyes are filled with a steely resolve as he lunges at Damon again.

Dixon is dealing with the other guy, driving him back with punches that land like sledgehammers.

There's a wild look in Dixon's eyes, a primal rage that sends shivers down my spine, even as I keep fighting.

The scorching Las Vegas sun glares down on us, making the asphalt shimmer with heat.

In a matter of moments, it's over.

The suits lie sprawled on the ground, groaning in pain.

Damon rounds on us, his eyes flashing with anger. "What the hell were you thinking? I told you to leave shit alone and go back to Vegas."

Jolt shrugs, wiping blood from his split lip. "To be fair, they started on us."

Dixon shakes his head in disgust. "It doesn't fucking matter. You should've kept your heads down and got the fuck out of here like we said."

I clench my jaw, knowing he's right.

We shouldn't have reacted.

What we should have done is shoved the guy back and asked him what the fuck his problem was, try to deescalate the situation.

But, we didn't do that. We fucked up, and now we're going to have to deal with the consequences.

All we can do is hope that this little altercation doesn't come back to bite us in the ass.

Damon fixes us with a hard stare, his jaw ticking with barely suppressed fury. "We'll deal with this shit," he bites out, his voice low and dangerous. "But right now, you two need to get your asses back to Vegas and act like everything is normal. Hopefully, nothing bad will come of this shit."

I nod, knowing better than to argue.

Jolt looks like he wants to say something, but I shoot him a warning glance, and he wisely keeps his mouth shut.

We move toward the Mustang, our steps hurried and tense.

As I slide behind the wheel, I can feel the weight of Damon's gaze on my back, heavy with disappointment and frustration.

The engine roars to life, and I peel out of the parking lot, leaving Sandy Valley and the Idle Spurs Tavern in my rearview mirror.

Beside me, Jolt is uncharacteristically quiet, his brow furrowed as he stares out the window at the passing desert landscape.

I know he's probably beating himself up just as much as I am, but there's no point in dwelling on it now.

We have a job to do, and we can't afford to let this little hiccup throw us off our game.

I need to focus on Seraphina, she's my job.

My grip tightens on the steering wheel.

I need to get more information out of her and fast.