ONE
BENDER
Loud bass thundered through my bones. I squinted my eyes as the lights around me flashed. Hundreds of women in scantily clad clothing swiveled their hips while men groped their asses. I stifled a chuckle at how all of them hoped to get a piece of ass later on that evening.
I made my way through the crowd, avoiding several women who grabbed for me, and took my usual spot overlooking the dance floor. This club, Heist, was one of the best decisions our motorcycle club ever made.
I turned my head towards the wall behind the DJ booth. A large image of a skull mixed with a scorpion stood there proudly as if it was overlooking the debauchery below. There was no question who owned this club; The Steel Scorpions MC.
I smiled at the crowd and mentally calculated about how much money the club would be raking in tonight. Not only from club goers drinking and dancing on this level. But from our more private experiences that took place in the upper rooms of the building.
Heist wasn’t your typical nightclub and I fucking loved that.
The Steel Scorpions owned several nightclubs around the Twin Bays area, practically dominating the space. The money we raked in from our high-end clubs—and high-end clientele—was enough to pull us out of the arms’ trading business. It was great for me—I hated trading those fucking guns and constantly having to evade the damn Feds every time we wanted a big-ass payday.
To an outsider, it looked as though our club had gone one hundred precent straight. Which was helpful for us to accomplish what we wanted to in Twin Bays.
“Hey, Bender!”
I heard Fangs, our President, calling me. “What!?”
He crooked his finger, and I knew something had gone down. There was a particularly drunk woman next to him, clinging to him as if her life depended on it. I rolled my eyes and pushed off the wall. I filled the dark corners of the club with my eyes and ears, waiting to make sure no bullshit went down in our clubs. I bounced from club to club every night with Goose, our Road Captain, just to make sure we didn’t need to whoop someone’s ass.
And as I strode toward Fangs, I knew something had popped up.
“Can you get her laid down somewhere? Her drink’s been spiked.”
I scooped the slurring, stumbling woman into my arms. “Got it. Need any help?”
Fangs shook his head. “I got Viper sniffing out who it is. We’ll get ‘em.”
Viper was our Enforcer. A mountain of a man with muscles the size of Mount Everest. I thanked my stars every god damn time I looked at him that he was on our side and not part of one of our enemies’ clubs.
And after confirming my understanding with Fangs via a head nod, I took the drooling woman into a back room that we reserved specifically for women who needed to sleep some shit off.
Which clearly, she needed.
“There we go,” I grunted as I eased her down onto the cot. “This should keep you warm for the evening.”
“I hah-uh-pur-se.”
I nodded. “I’ll go look for your purse; just rest here.”
A tear leaked down her cheek. “Why-ee?”
I sighed. “Men are shit, that’s why. It has nothing to do with you.”
She closed her eyes. “See-ee.”
I nodded. “Get some sleep. Don’t worry, you’re safe.”
I tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, then I made sure to lock the door behind me before I closed it shut. We didn’t have to use that room very often, but we had five different beds set up just in case. Most women that stayed back there were simply too drunk to get themselves home, so we made up a space for them to sleep it off. Every once in a while, one of our high-end clientele got too embarrassingly drunk to step out into public, so we gave them the option of sleeping it off as well so the paparazzi didn’t snap pictures of them in their fragile states.
But the idea of a man in our club drugging up some helpless woman so he could get laid?
That was a dick I wanted to shove down the garbage disposal.
“Any luck?” I asked as I slipped back out into the club.
