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“Vipers’ girl?” I smirk, and he grins against my skin.
“Forever,” he murmurs.
“You ready?” Garrett yells from down the corridor.
Diesel takes my hand and leads me from the room before rushing back in, then he stops me in the corridor and gets to his knees. Looking up at me, he grabs the edge of my dress and pulls it up slowly, revealing my thighs. Pulling something black from his pocket, he wraps it around my not freshly inked thigh and slips my blade into it, the one he gave me. “There.” He kisses my thigh and pulls down my dress before taking my hand again.
We meet Garrett in the hallway. He’s busy looking at his phone, but I can’t help but gasp at the sight of him. These men are too dangerously good-looking. His hair is slicked back, and he’s scowling, which only adds to the appeal. His thick, tall frame is encased in all black, his tattoos peeking out, his hands big and scarred.
When he realises I’m there, he pockets the phone and goes to smile before his eyes drop to the dress, and he groans instead. “I’m going to have to punch some people.”
“Won’t it be great?” Diesel laughs, twirling me across the floor until I stumble into Garrett’s chest, who catches me and holds me close. His big hands go to my ass and yank me closer as he massages my cheeks, his head tilting down to murmur against my lips.
“I will kill anyone who looks at you wrong. Stay by our sides, but show no fear, baby. This might be the Vipers’ den, but out there? It’s a fucking hornet’s nest.” He kisses me before ripping open the door and heading out first. Diesel takes my hand, but his other is on a knife at his side.
“Garrett has to keep his hands free for his guns,” he explains, and I nod.
Heading down to the garage, we take one of the bigger, still sporty, Audis. Garrett doesn’t let Diesel drive, and when I question it, he shakes his head. “Trust me.”
Diesel snorts but gets into the back while I climb into the passenger seat. “I wouldn’t have killed us with my little bird here.”
“Sure,” Garrett scoffs as he fires up the car and pulls up the barriers, which begin to rise. “Buckle up, baby.”
I do as I’m told, and as we race into the city, I look at the buildings and people going past. We’re in the rich part of town with designers, boutiques, sports cars everywhere, and women and men in no rush to get anywhere. Everything screams money. I feel less at home here than out on the street, so when we pass into the darker side of town, I actually relax. I know how to live here, to survive, but on the glittering streets lined with blood and money? Not so much.
We don’t head near my bar, but we’re on the other side, just past all the big banks and money places, which makes sense. We pull up right outside, and Garrett gets out first and rounds the car, keeping me from getting out as he looks around. Only when he’s happy does he open the door for me. Diesel takes my hand again and leads me to the club with Garrett behind us, watching our backs.
From the outside, it looks like what you would expect for a strip club—big, tacky neon sign, and dark, blacked out windows. I love it. Diesel doesn’t pay or even glance at the man at the door, just opens it and pulls me in.
Instantly, it’s dark, and the sensual music hits me, as does the scent of cigars, booze, and sweat. The wood floor in the hallway leads down to two, big double doors, which we open before slipping into the main area of the club.
The bar is behind us to the right, with the stage area taking up most of the room. There are floating platforms and cages in the air, and a VIP area upstairs. There are curtained off booths around each wall, which I have to squint to see. Everything is dark and moody with coloured lights. Poles are everywhere and small tables surround the stages.
It’s definitely a dive, so I feel right at home. There are neon signs across the walls—cherries, lips, you name it, they have it. The floor is a sticky wood, and my heels cling to as we walk. It’s busy, even at this time of day, with men in suits and leathers sitting around, and a few women too. Cocktail waitresses in slinky outfits wander through the crowd with trays, and there are two women behind the bar as well. A dancer is currently on stage in a jewelled bikini as she swings around the pole and writhes to the music. I tilt my head. “She’s good.” I nod, and Diesel smirks.
“You’re a strange one, Little Bird, I love it,” he murmurs, leaning down so I can hear him over the music.
“Hey, I took pole dancing, that shit is hard. These women are fucking athletes, and trying to get that glitter out? Not easy,” I scoff.
Just then, a woman approaches, and she smiles nervously at us, her eyes flickering between the guys. “Cherry is in back, honeys, want me to grab her? She’s in a meeting.”
“No, it’s fine, we can wait,” Garrett tells her, and then takes a table near one of the walls so he can see everyone. His hand is on his lap where his gun is resting, and his eyes are sharp, scanning everything. Diesel, on the other hand, grabs a chair and yanks me into his lap as we watch the woman on stage.
“Want a dance while you’re waiting?” the nervous waitress asks, clearly knowing who they are.
“No,” Garrett snarls.
“Sorry, I brought my own.” Diesel laughs.
The waitress scurries away as fast as she can, and I spot the others in the bar glancing back at us nervously. Some clearly know who we are, because they get up and leave, while the others stay. They might not know who Diesel and Garrett are, but they can sense what they are, even if they don’t know them personally.
Killers.
Rich.
Powerful.
The mood dampens as men straighten and sober up.
