“Fuck!” I bark, slamming my glass on the table as I get to my feet.
The last thing I want is a war between the two clubs inmyclub. I knew there was a chance this could happen, but I didn’t expect it on opening night. I fire off a text to Sloan as I follow Mac toward the main entrance.
You’re not dancing tonight. Send out the best three dancers to finish the night on stage and go to the office.
I watch for the green light indicating that she's read the message. When it hasn't appeared by the time we reach the door, I let out another curse before shoving the phone in my back pocket. If she didn’t see the message, that means she’ll be on stage within the next minute. That's not enough time for me to defuse what's going down in the parking lot.
“If this goes sideways, you get Dahlia to the safe room,” I tell Mac as he places his thumb to the scanner to open the door.
When he faces me with a raised brow, asking if I'm sure I don’t want him to stay with me, I nod before stepping out into the cool March air.
The lot was already full, so the Hell Hounds pulled their bikes behind the cars parked closest to the entrance. Before any of them can dismount, the Forged Soldiers pull between them and the door, cutting them off from the easy access they were attempting. The last motorcycle to pull in is an Indian belonging to the owner of the auto shop next door.
Slade pulls up directly in front of the door and gives me a nod before shutting off his bike and standing with us at the door. We haven't formally met, but I know that Mac has done some work for him, increasing security around his shop and the tattoo parlor across the street. Apparently, Slade has been doing his own investigation into Maxine Talbot's attack, and if he finds the culprits before the cops do, they'll wish they were behind bars. Because I'm pretty sure this monster would put them six feet under.
We don't bother with introductions since the rest of the riders have dismounted and are in multiple disputes about territory. The noise dies down as the two Presidents face off. Victor, with his shaggy ponytail and Lester, with his military crew cut, look like two sides of the same coin. But they couldn't be more different in morals and honor. They size each other up before Victor breaks the stare off to look toward the four men standing guard.
“This is some welcome party, D,” Victor shouts, louder than necessary in the now quiet parking lot. “Me and the guys wanted to check out your new digs since you ghosted us.”
“I didn't ghost shit,” I scoff. “I told you I was branching out. I'm not a member of your club. I'm a freelancer. You knew that wasn't gonna change.”
Victor just shrugs as he attempts to step between two of the Soldiers' bikes. I say attempt because his path is blocked by Lester and his VP.
“This ain't your town,” Lester snarls. “We know how you treat women. That shit won't fly in there.” He nods toward the building behind me.
Slade stiffens beside me at the mention of mistreating women. Knowing what happened to his woman across the street, I doubt he'd think twice about burying a Hound or two if they step out of line.
As much as I hate to do it, I'm going to have to let them inside. The fact is, we need guys like them to draw out the ones we're investigating. I look toward Mac and give a subtle nod toward the door. If I'm walking in with two dozen bikers, I want him close to my woman, who is no doubt on stage, thinking I forgot about her performance. Once he steps through the door, I turn back toward the motley crew growing closer to a brawl with every second.
“Let them through,” I say to the President and VP of the Forged Soldiers. “We're nearly at capacity, but it's almost closing time. We can accommodate all of you for the rest of the night as long as no one brings any bullshit inside with them. No weapons. If you're carrying, leave it with your bike.”
“You sure about this, boss?” My doorman asks nervously.
“Yes. If they pay the cover, let them in,” I tell him before shouting toward the crowd, “You're just in time to catch the main attraction. But if anyone touchesmyDahlia, I'll send them out in a body bag!”
I turn toward Slade with a nod before walking back into the club with him right behind me.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Sloan
Iignore the sound of the text notification on my phone from where it sits on my vanity and strut out onto the stage like I own it. The routine I'm doing is something I've choreographed and practiced in the privacy of my studio dozens of times. I never imagined that I would be doing it for an audience in a packed club. It's flirty and sexy and I can't wait to see the look on Dean's face when I stop in front of his table.
When I find the VIP table empty, I almost miss a step. I quickly recover and continue my sultry dance as I glance around the club in search of Dean. It occurs to me that he could be watching from the windows in the office, but I don't think so since I can'tfeelhim watching me. Not to mention, if he were going to be that far away, he would have made sure that Mac was front and center to keep an eye on me.
The men at the other tables in front of the stage wave bills in multiple denominations, trying to entice me to give them extra attention. But despite the fact that I'm supposed to be getting close enough to hear their secrets, I can't make myself step in their direction. The safety I was expecting from knowing that Dean would be watching is absent. It's all I can do to keep the flirty grin on my face as I force myself through the first song until I lower myself into a crouch as it ends.
As planned, the lights on stage go dark between songs, hiding me from view while I can still see the rest of the club. My eyes dart from the tables to the bar to the blacked-out windows of Dean's office. When they finally make it to the entrance, I see Mac walking in with a scowl as he stalks his way through the club until he's sitting at the table in front of me.
I let out a sigh of relief that's short-lived when I glance up to see Dean walking through the club with a giant right behind him. I thought Dean and Mac were big men, but this guy makes them look as small as me. I watch as they take the two remaining seats at the VIP table just as the spotlight illuminates me as the second song in my set starts. When Dean nods with a grin that doesn't meet his eyes, I rise with the intro of my next song.
I let myself feel the music and fall into the dance more easily, knowing that Dean is within reach. But with each turn I make, I see more and more scary looking dudes littering the club. I notice two different emblems emblazoned on the leather vests they wear, and it doesn’t escape me that they seem to be rivals of some kind. Because they glare at each other as much as they ogle me.
When one of them with a shaggy blond ponytail approaches the stage, Dean rises from his seat to stand next to him. I see the cruel glint in his eyes that I remember so well from college, but even though he's watching me, I know it's not directedatme.
Like a moth drawn to a flame, my dance takes me to the edge of the stage where they stand. I let muscle memory take over my movements as I eavesdrop on their hushed conversation.
“That's a fine piece of ass, D,” the blond says as his eyes rake over my body menacingly.
