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I didn’t acknowledge him with an answer, just slammed the door in his face. To his credit, Bozz didn’t barge his way inside, though I did hear him chuckle behind the door. Fucker wasn’t as stupid as he looked.
“Get dressed, Rose.”
She hurried to do as I asked. Both of us were ready to go in less than five minutes. I snagged my phone off the charger, made sure it was on, then stuck it in my back pocket. “You stay at my side at all times. Put your hand in the waist of my jeans or my back pocket. I won’t be holding your hand, because I’ll need mine both free in case I need to defend us. No matter what, you stay near me, and whatever you do, don’t make a sound. You got me? Not even a whimper. Understand?”
She nodded, and I took her hand, guiding it to my back. She dug her fingers into the waist and gripped the fabric. I looked back at her, and she nodded at me, a look of raw determination on her face.
Opening the door, I scowled at Bozz. “Lead the way.” I had my gun in my hand. My finger was no longer on the trigger, and it was no longer cocked, but I wasn’t leaving it behind and risk being caught unarmed when we went to the clubhouse. I had no doubt that was where we were going.
Once inside, the noise and sensory overload of the raucous party was enough to distract anyone. I could almost feel Rose cringing behind me, but she kept her hand firmly in the waist of my jeans. My gaze constantly shifted to the men and women in the room. No one seemed to pay us any attention as the party raged on. The place smelled of booze, pot, sex, and sweat. Not normally a combination that would bother me, but after having my nose buried in the sweet skin of Rose’s neck, not a scent I wanted invading the peace I’d found.
Bozz led us to Dutch’s office. It was the one place in the compound I hadn’t bugged. I wanted him to think it was the one place he was safe, if he ever found the other bugs. Giovanni had tapped into my phone so another bug wasn’t needed, though I’d have felt better if I had planted one in here. I had the feeling Sting was going to need to send everyone in sooner rather than later. There was something just that little bit off about Dutch tonight. The man sat behind his desk, his feet propped up, hands behind his head. “Atlas! Come in! Come in!”
“There some fuckin’ reason you dragged me and my woman in here tonight?”
“Just invitin’ you to the party, man. Relax. Do a few lines or a joint. Got plenty of drugs and women to go around.”
“I don’t mingle with your club, Dutch. I came here to do a job, and that’s what I’m doin’.”
“Yeah? Since you got here I’ve killed eight club members and lost several brats I was gonna sell. Tell me how you’re helpin’ me. Huh?”
“The eight men you killed were undercuttin’ you. Tryin’ to take over the club in a very permanent way. As to the kids, I wasn’t the one guardin’ them.” I glanced at Bozz, who growled, his hands closing into fists at his side.
Dutch’s gaze turned to Bozz, and the president looked uncertain before he grunted and stood. “So you weren’t.” He pulled a weapon from behind his back and shot Bozz in the head before turning the gun on me. “Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you and take your little whore for myself.”
“As high as you are, I doubt you could do much with her. You can try to kill me, but even with the weapon already in your hand, the odds of you coming out of that confrontation alive are slim to none.” I wasn’t worried for myself. I could easily take out this guy if I had to. The only question was, could I do it and not risk Rose getting hurt or killed?
Dutch and I stared at each other, neither giving an inch. Then Dutch lowered his weapon, laughing evilly. “You’re a good soldier, Atlas. I knew it from the second you rode into this compound. I want you in this club as the new Sergeant at Arms.”
“I have my own club. And I ain’t patchin’ over. I’m here to do a job. Nothin’ more.”
“You don’t seem to understand. I’m not askin’ you if you want the job. I’m tellin’ you, you got it.” Several men filed into the office. Two of them dragged out the remains of Bozz and shoved him out the door before closing it behind them. Four other men dragged in a short table with metal loops on either side and leather straps at either end and the middle. It was solid, like a giant brick. My gut tightened. Something was off. Then another man entered with what looked like a branding iron and a five-gallon propane tank attached to a torch. That sickening feeling in my gut got worse.
