Page 22 of Phantom


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“And if I’m not?”

“Your ass will be so red you won’t be able to sit tomorrow.”

Tessa swallowed hard, and I almost grinned at the indecision in her eyes.

“Gotta go.” I gave her another quick kiss, then turned to leave but stopped when she grabbed my cut.

“Be safe and come home to me,” she said when I looked back at her.

“Nothing will stop me from coming home to you, sweet girl.”

By the time I got down to the garage, I was in a shit mood. The last thing I wanted to be doing was leaving my wet, naked old lady in our bed without me.

“Need to get this the fuck over with,” I grumbled. “Let’s ride.”

Hack had located the address for the club where Don Falco kept shop. It was a dirty strip joint on the outskirts of town. Just parking my bike in front of it made me feel slimy.

I waited for my brothers to dismount, then led the way to the door, passing by the line of scantily dressed women and greasy men. The bouncer was a football has-been who’d come by his muscles artificially. When he spotted us, he straightened to his full height—which was several inches shorter than most of us—and tried to look intimidating.

“There’s a line, assholes,” he grunted.

“Get the fuck outta the way,” I ordered in a menacing tone.

The bouncer swallowed, then glanced at our audience and tried again. “Get to the back of the line or leave.”

I closed the distance between us and looked down at him. “You see this patch? The one that says if you piss me or my brothers off, no one will ever find your body? I suggest you take a closer look, then back the fuck up and let us through.”

His eyes dropped to the Silver Saints patch on my cut, and the color drained from his face. He swallowed hard, then moved to the right, away from the crowd, unblocking the entrance.

“Smart move, dumbass,” Grey growled from behind me as we marched into the club.

A bottle blonde in a sparkly outfit that barely qualified as clothes was walking by with a tray. She stopped when she saw us and smiled in a way that made my skin crawl. I was definitely going to need a shower before I went anywhere near my girl again.

“Where is Don Falco?” I demanded.

“Who?” She blinked, trying to appear innocent, but she wasn’t a good enough actress to hide the world-weary look in her eyes.

Tired of all the bullshit, I pulled my gun from beneath my jacket and held it at my side, not threatening, but making sure she saw it. “Don. Falco.” I enunciated heavily as if talking to a kid.

Suddenly, Nova stood before me, holding out a wad of cash. “Maybe this will jog your memory.”

I grunted, frustrated with his tactics even though I knew he had the smarter play.

The woman bit her lip, then shrugged and snatched the money, tucking it into her bra. “I don’t know who you’re talking about, but you might find the rooms behind the VIP area more to your liking.” She pointed at a roped-off area, then walked off in another direction. I tucked my gun back into place and headed where she’d indicated.

Another bouncer stood in front of the secluded area, but with one look at our cuts and faces, he faked a cough and turned away. Stanchions held up the rope, so I shoved one out of my way and stomped through the darker area with booths where people were doing who the fuck knows what.

A security guy, almost as intimidating as us, guarded a door at the back of the room. When he saw us approaching, he put his finger to his ear and said something. Probably calling for backup.

Since we had no desire to fight unless necessary, I sped up and halted right in front of him, bracing my feet apart and crossing my arms over my chest. “Not here to cause trouble. Tell Falco if he wants McGuire’s fifty grand, he’ll call off the dogs and let us in.”

His gaze moved to the side, and his brow lifted when Dax showed him the black briefcase we’d brought. The guard pressed his finger to his ear again. “Never mind, Hank. Tell the boss someone is here to make a payment.”

He listened for a second, then opened the door and moved out of our way.

It was another dimly lit room, but light enough for me to see a small, dark-haired man in a cheap suit sitting in the middle of a half-circle booth. He sat leaning back with his eyes closed, but when we walked in, they opened, and he frowned.

“That’s enough, doll,” he grunted. “You can finish paying me later.”

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