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“What the fuck was that?” Acid demands when we spill out into the gravel lot where the bikes and van are parked.
“It seems Stavos had a traitor in his midst,” Stoner comments in a tone that screams frustration. He shrugs. “It happens.”
“Mummy and Rave, go grab the goods and the cash,” Trooper demands. “Take the dolly out of the van so you can get it all in one trip. We need to get the hell out of here.”
The two of them walk back inside, and once the door slams shut behind them, I grin at Trooper. “That was fun.”
He chuckles. “I’m glad you approve.” He reaches out to shake my hand. “Thanks for the backup.”
“We agreed to help you, and we honor our word.”
Our attention is pulled toward the door when it swings open and Rave and Mummy return. Doom and Demo assist them in getting the crates into the van.
“I have one last favor to ask,” Trooper says as I’m mounting my Harley.
“What’s that?”
He nods at Inferno. “Can he torch the place?”
Inferno is at my side in the blink of an eye, a grin splitting his face. “Yeah, Pres… can I?”
“Since when did you start acting like a five-year-old?” I ask with a laugh.
“Aw, c’mon, man,” Inferno whines, making me question why he’s my VP. “One fire, that’s it.”
I glance around to make sure there are no witnesses, and when I’m satisfied that him using his gift won’t cause a scene, I nod. “Go for it.”
Ten minutes later, we’re riding away from the building, which is fully engulfed in flames. Trooper and his men point their bikes west to head back to their own turf in Washington, and my boys return to the clubhouse.
I, on the other hand, ride straight to town and a certain gentlemen’s club. I’m finally free of obligations that require my full attention, and I have an apology to make.
I might have a mission to complete, but I don’t have to hurt Makayla in the process, and I fear that’s exactly what I did.
19
Makayla
“Iwish I’d been wrong.”
Sarah and I are both working behind the bar tonight at Cherry’s. I have one performance in an hour, but Sarah isn’t dancing this evening.
“But you weren’t,” I tell her. “And it’s fine.”
I’d hoped that Viking would reach out, but he hasn’t. It’s been seven days since I saw him, and five since I started telling myself I didn’t give a damn. Sure, I could go to the clubhouse and see him, but why should I? Clearly, he wasn’t falling like I did.
“I hate to say it, but I—”
“Told me so,” I finish for her. “I know.”
“You never really did tell me what happened,” she comments.
She’s asked me several times, and I’ve managed to resist answering her. Mostly because I feel like a fool and am not too keen on admitting that.
“It was nothing, really,” I reply, giving her the same response I have all week.
The conversation ends when Tempe’s set ends and customers rush the bar. As I dispense drinks and make change, I push Viking from my mind and focus on the work. Before I know it, there’s only ten minutes until my routine, and I have to change into my Valkyrie costume.
In the dressing room, I quickly put my hair in braids and touch up my makeup. And just as I’m slipping the leather wristbands on to complete the look, there’s a knock on the door.
