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I turned the corner and drove into the sun. But the rays weren’t as bright here, dirty and clouded, like everything I saw. I downshifted, slowed the bike, and turned into the back alley of Empire. The back door was open. Shadows clung to the inside of the club. Neon stood outside, leaning against the open door. The amber glow of his cigarette blazed for a second before he flicked it away.
I parked the bike and climbed off, turning to look over my shoulder as a car slowly drove by. A gray sedan. My gut clenched, knowing by instinct alone it was the same guy who seemed to have followed me all the way from home. Fucker.
“Laz,” Neon called.
I waited, staring at the entrance of the alley. Get back on the bike. That dangerous hunger burned in me. Hunt the fucker down.
Footsteps grew louder as Neon came toward me. “Everything okay?”
But my fucking stalker didn’t return. “Yeah. Tighten the patrols on the clubs, will you?”
“Sure. Anything I need to know about?”
“Yeah, seems like I got myself a fan.”
I caught the flicker of alarm as he glanced toward the alley entrance. His brows furrowed and his jaw clenched. “You got a description?”
“Beemer, gunmetal gray. Too expensive to be a Fed’s. He followed me from home.”
A nod and Neon grabbed his phone. “I’m on it.”
“I’m going inside,” I muttered, glancing toward the entrance of the alley once more.
If he was a fan, the boys would find him. It was the one thing we took as serious as a damn heart attack, especially after what happened to Taken. I left Neon behind and stepped through the open fire door and into the back of the club.
Music drifted from the front, where the girls danced and the bar was always busy. We had eight clubs just like Empire scattered through this part of the city. The Crown. The King. The Empire. All names of the rich and the powerful. But it was all a show. No one gave a fuck what the name was, as long as the girls weren’t ugly and the booze was cheap.
“Laz,” Freddy called, heading my way.
A nod and I kept going, striding along the hallway to the private rooms in the back. Rooms where you didn’t go unless you were part of the Rossi clan, or we vouched for you. My phone gave abeep. I grabbed it and glanced at the message:
Gravel: Next time you ride in the car.
I grinned and texted back.
Next time you can suck my cock. A Rossi never—
Beep.
Gravel: I swear to God, if you tell me a Rossi doesn’t run, Imma gonna beat your ass blue.
I just let out a chuckle, backspaced my message, and slid my phone into my pocket. There was no getting out of this now. With one fucking text about a stalker, Gravel had gone full-on protective-Momma-Bear mode.
Music came from the rooms out back, darker, slower, sexier. I turned the handle and pushed open the door to the plush Rossi rooms, revealing velvet lounges and a fully stocked bar. Two dancers twisted around poles on a raised platform. The girls here were ours, specifically picked for the guys…and there were plenty of men to keep them busy.
The Rossi clan had grown to almost forty strong, with men who patrolled the streets, men who took the money. But there was more to be made than the nickel-and-dime shit the drugs and pussy gave us. Guns were where the real cash was, stealing, selling. Those jobs were given to a select few, men who worked the nighttime raids…the core group. Men who’d take a bullet for me…and I’d take one for them.
“Lazarus.” Bethany smiled as she sauntered toward me.
She was stunning, with long blonde hair and a body to die for. I just smiled. “Hey, B.”
She grabbed my hand and led me toward a black lounge in the back, turning to give me a thousand-watt smile. “Can I get you a drink, honey?”
I just shook my head, my mind crawling back to the gray sedan. “No, maybe later.”
She just smiled as I flopped back against the seat. But it was more than the shadow. It was something that’d been nagging me, an unsettled feeling in my soul.
“You look preoccupied,” Bethany murmured, and swung her leg up, straddling me.
