Page 38 of Property of Kevlar

Kev.

Yeah, that wasn’t always going to be an option. She had to stop thinking about him. That ship had sailed.

Maybe she should embrace the age-old Oklahoma tradition and get herself a handgun.

She visibly cringed at the thought.

Settling down on the couch, thoroughly satisfied that whoever had ridden a motorcycle into her complex had left, she sighed. Guns had never been her thing. While her brothers had them to go hunting, her father blatantly stated they weren’t for girls.

Misogyny in Oklahoma? Who knew?

What a missed opportunity. She doubted there was anything Pete took more seriously than a few bullets to the gut.

Then again, could she actually shoot him if she had to? The idea of firing a gun into another human seemed impossible. That wasn’t the type of woman she was.

But if push came to shove, she’d rather defend herself than be a waiting victim.

She glanced toward the window, considering the biker who might or might not have just been outside her door. Pete didn’t take no for an answer. Kev wouldn’t always magically appear when she needed him to. She had to come up with another, more immediate plan to protect and ensure her safety.

21

Kevlar

LED lighting. Upgraded sound system. A floor that wasn’t sticky as fuck. Petrol Gentleman’s Club had gotten quite a few upgrades in the three years Kevlar had been away. The Dixie Mafia had turned it into a respectable den of debauchery.

Having to check their cuts at the door pissed him off. This place used to be a seedy spot to score blow. Sure, they’d slapped lipstick on a pig, and Kevlar knew they fancied themselves swanky aristocrats with their expensive suits and luxury cars, but the truth was they peddled pussy.

Expensive cunt, but they sold sex.

No matter how much someone polished a turd, it still stank.

So, for Kevlar, all this pomp and circumstance was unnecessary.

Either way, he had to eat crow and walk into the strip club his former club once ran and ask for help from the men who had stolen it from them. They purposely wanted the meeting here.

Disrespectful? Maybe, but he couldn’t afford to take offense. He needed them to back him in the face of the Scorpions until his numbers increased. Three and a half members weren’t enough.

Shaking hands with Joseph, Michael, and Eddie, Kevlar couldn’t help but notice Harper’s boyfriend, Paul, wasn’t there. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. From what Kevlar knew, Paul was an enforcer. His hands were bloodier than any other.

As he scooted into the booth with Kid beside him, he decided to be optimistic. The Dixie Mafia mustn’t view him as a threat. While their opinion could be considered another insult, Kevlar had to look past it, because in a sense it was the truth. Their numbers in Oklahoma were too small to go against them.

For now, he’d accept their gesture as a sign that they thought of him as friendly. They were practically family after all, with his sister fucking Paul on the regular. Not to mention they were in bed with Remi—in the metaphorical sense. His sister liked the ladies.

If anyone in Oklahoma would do business with him, it was the Dixie Dicks.

A cute blond woman with a snatched waist and her tits popped up high enough she could rest her chin on them bopped over to their table carrying a lit-up drink tray.

“Is there anything I can get for you?” she asked, scanning the table.

Kid waved a hand, declining.

“Cutty and water,” Eddie said, gesturing to the table as he undid a button on his suit jacket.

“Tequila,” Kevlar answered. “Bottle and a shot glass.”

The woman glanced toward Eddie.

He nodded before taking a seat beside the two who controlled their syndicate.