Stepping in front of us, Sidewinder pushed open the door. “Let me take you to Prez.”
“Thanks, man.”
As we entered the club, it reminded me of the Lounge—the strip club the Raiders owned back home. While it had once been a favorite hangout of Deacon’s and it still remained one of Bishop’s, I had never been overly fond of it. Maybe it was because it harbored bad memories for me. When I should have been old enough to know better, I had gone there searching for love and companionship. What I found was a girl who didn’t just break my heart, but shredded it with her claws. Almost three years had passed, but I still wondered if I would remain alone forever.
There was only so much that could be done to an already broken and battered sense of trust.
Among the other patrons sitting at the bar were three men in Raiders cuts. At the sight of us, they rose off their bar stools and started toward us. One man, not much older than myself but with a head of white hair, stepped away from the others. “This is our president, Ghost Phillips,” Sidewinder introduced.
“Rev Malloy,” I replied.
Ghost pumped my hand up and down. “Good to see you, man. I sure as hell wish it was under better circumstances.”
“So do I.”
Jerking his thumb behind him, Ghost said, “That’s Undertaker and Chulo, our vice president and sergeant at arms.”
I nodded my head at them. Ghost motioned to a table. “Have a seat. Let me get you two set up with some drinks.”
Before I could argue that we didn’t have time for drinks, Ghost had waved over a waitress. Reluctantly, I eased down into one of the chairs. Within seconds, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I glanced up as a leggy blonde dropped onto my lap, pressing her ample cleavage into my cut. When she began to grind her core against my crotch, my breath involuntarily caught in my chest. She flashed a smile at me. “Hey baby, you look good enough to eat,” she mused.
I jerked my gaze from her back up at Ghost. He winked at me. “We wanted to show you boys a little El Paso Raiders hospitality, so the girls are on the house. Besides, I figured you guys could use a little unwinding after being on the road so long.”
“Hell yeah,” Bishop replied, as he appreciatively took in the attention of the brunette girl rubbing on him.
I didn’t share in Bishop’s approval of the Raiders’ show of hospitality. It angered me that Ghost and his men couldn’t see the irony in the situation. Somewhere Sarah was being passed around to strange men for their enjoyment. Sure, the difference was these women were being paid and doing it of their own volition where she had no choice, but it still didn’t sit well with me.
Shaking my head, I eased the blonde gently off my lap and onto her plastic heels. I took a few breaths to ensure I could respond without alienating Ghost and his men. “That’s kind ofyou, Ghost, but when it comes to Breakneck’s daughter, I’m afraid we don’t have any time to waste.”
Ghost gave me a grim smile. “I get it, brother. I was just trying to make what I had to tell you a little easier to take.”
My brows rose in suspicion. “You mean the news about Sarah is worse than we thought?”
He nodded. “Come on, let’s go somewhere we can talk.”
After Bishop reluctantly released his girl, we fell in step behind Undertaker and Chulo to wind our way through the tables to the back of the club. Another hulking biker stood guarding the door. He jerked his chin at Ghost, and then stepped aside for us.
We followed Ghost down the dimly let hallway to the last door on the left. When we got inside, I found an impressive mahogany table with ten chairs that must have worked well for short notice meetings. After taking a seat across from Ghost, I began rapping my knuckles anxiously on the table.
“After hearing from you the other day, I immediately put out some feelers for our informants with ties to the Henchman.”
From inside his cut, Ghost produced a manila folder. He took out a glossy black and white picture and then shoved it across the table at me. I sucked in a breath. It was of Sarah. She was at some college bar, having drinks with friends. Across from her on a stool at the bar was a guy in a cut. I would’ve needed a magnifying glass to prove it for certain, but I was sure he was a Henchman. Apparently she had been on their radar if they had taken the time to photograph her.
After I flashed the picture at Bishop, he asked, “Can we use the picture to trace the guy?”
Ghost shook his head. “While it was one of the Henchmen who took her, she’s no longer with them.”
I leaned forward in my chair. “What do you mean she’s not with them? They’re demanding ransom money from Breakneck for her return.”
“The Henchmen don’t make it their usual business to deal in human trafficking. But they have been known to abduct a girl or two to sell when they get into a bind with a rival club.”
“Which club?”
Ghost winced. “The Diablos.”
“Jesus Christ,” I spat. It was one thing for Sarah to have been taken by the Henchmen. Although they were dangerous, they were still a low ranking club in membership and without many allies. The Diablos, however, were in a whole other fucking realm.
Out of the top five mega clubs in the world, the Diablos were considered the most dangerous, not just by the FBI and ATF, but by other clubs as well. They drew their strength from their ties to some of the most powerful drug cartels in Mexico. They got off on the most extreme forms of torture, and they didn’t give a shit if they had to take out women or kids to get what they wanted.
