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“Did he say why he went with Ivan?” I ask Knox. “The client?”
He shakes his head. “I asked, too. He just said he felt better with Ivan, which is bullshit because who the fuck would?”
“Good question,” Ash replies. “Do you think Ivan’s giving him a better deal? Or has something on him that made him switch? Blackmail? Threats?”
Knox shrugs. “No clue. But he’d have to have something on everybody who he’s snaking if that’s the case.”
That’s a good point. Most likely he’s just straight undercutting us, stealing clients because he can. I’m tempted to do something about it, to finally put him in his place and teach him a lesson about fucking with us, but in the long run, I know it’s not worth starting a war over. Because that’s what would happen. It would get bloody and ugly, and while Knox would be into that for sure, it’s not something I want to deal with. The three men in this office with me might not be my actual brothers, but they’re the only family I’ve got, and I make it a point to look out for them. To look out for our little organization, keeping the money rolling in and increasing our power in Detroit slowly but steadily.
Priest said it best. We don’t need the extra drama.
“We’ll table the shit with the Diamond Devils for now,” I tell the others, making an executive decision and ending the debate. “And I’ll deal with the St. James issue.”
Knox pouts a little, either because he was excited to keep discussing the guns and the Diamond Devils or because he wants to be the one to deal with St. James, but either way, he nods and stretches, cracking his neck and rolling his broad shoulders.
Priest doesn’t go anywhere, keeping his post on the wall. Out of all of us, he’s the one who seems the most out of place in the club. He’s not the type for drinking or dancing or grinding up on random women in the dark. Whenever he happens to be on the floor, he stands out like a sore thumb, and people usually give him a wide berth, even if they are intrigued by his looks. He’s got a sharp jaw and high cheekbones, and he could probably pass for a model if it weren’t for the dangerous edge that lingers around him at all times.
Ash leaves with me as I head out of the office. We walk partway down the hall together, then split apart. He heads toward the main part of the club with a grin on his face, ready to drink and flirt and get his dick sucked or whatever it is he plans to do. Probably all three, knowing him. The dancers love the attention, and it keeps them working for us and loyal so whatever. He can do what he wants as long as nothing he does fucks up our business. That’s always been the rule.
I don’t feel like being around people, so I leave the back way, stepping out into the alley that runs around the back of the club.
It’s dimly lit by the glow of a streetlamp from the mouth of the alley, and I come out here when I need to clear my head sometimes because it’s usually empty.
Except that’s not the case tonight.
As I let the door close behind me, I turn to see two figures standing farther down the alley, away from the light and shrouded in darkness.
At first, I think it’s just some drunk patrons from the club who’ve ducked outside to grope each other or fuck up against the wall. It wouldn’t be the first time, and if they want to suck each other off by the dumpster, then that’s on them. We already have their cover charge and money they spent buying drinks.
But then I hear the familiar telltale whisper of a gun firing through a silencer, and as I watch, one of the bodies falls.
There’s no question about what just happened.
Oh, fuck no.
Not at my goddamn club. This isn’t the shit that goes down here. Especially not in the fucking alley where anyone could stumble onto the scene and think this has something to do with us. We run illegal businesses out of our club, using it as a front for money laundering and trafficking in illegal goods, but because of that, we keep our legit business squeaky clean.
We don’t give the cops reason to come sniffing around.Ever.
The anger that’s been simmering in my chest since Priest brought up Ivan St. James threatens to bubble over, but I keep a hold on it and move silently and swiftly down the alley, grabbing the person with the gun from behind and dragging them away from the body.
Once I get my arms around her, I can tell it’s a woman from the curves and softness pressed against me, and she’s anything but passive. She fights back, clawing at the arm I have around her waist and twisting in my hold. She fights like a fucking hellcat, breaking out of my grip and whirling around, lashing out at me.
“Let me fucking go,” she snarls, and her voice is husky and furious.
I manage to block her swing, but she has another attack ready, aiming for my dick with her knee. I swing around to try to block that one, too. It’s enough to let her land a blow to the side of my face, a punch strong enough to make my head snap to the side. I recover quickly, and we stagger sideways as we fight with each other, heading out of the darkness and toward the dim light cast by the street light.
I can see it glinting off her silver hair, and damn. She’s sexy as fuck.
The dress she has on hugs her curves, drawing attention to full hips and big tits. There are tattoos on both arms and down her thigh, and when she tries to kick me, the skirt of the dress rides up and shows off the holster strapped to one thigh.
She came prepared for this, and dressed the way she is, no one would have given her a second look unless they were looking at her ass. And it’s a really nice ass. My blood is pumping, and some of it surges down to my dick, reacting to both the way she looks and the way she fights.
The reaction of my body just makes me angrier, because I’m not here to ogle this fucking woman or try to get my dick wet. She just killed someone in the alley behind my club, and I can’t let that stand.
We grapple, fighting for control of the gun, and I manage to overpower her by being taller and bigger than she is, but it’s a near thing. She’s scrappy as fuck in addition to being sexy as hell, and even when I get her back pinned against the rough brick of the building, she doesn’t stop struggling to get away from me.
Her chest heaves while she gasps for breath, and she twists against my hold, snarling curses and trying to lunge for me even with no leverage. A fighter through and through.
