“Fuck you all,” he grumbled before heading back toward the door. “Fuck. You. All.”
The door slammed closed behind him and I stared at the empty space, wondering what the fuck Hardy was doing. He was destroying the club, turning us on each other. And like Rider had said, he was breaking the code that we all lived by.
And I had helped him do that.
“He’ll come ‘round,” Hardy said before snatching the bottle of whiskey off the bar and heading back to his office. “Send that bitch back in here,” he said before slamming the door closed behind him.
I stared after him, unsure of what was really going on anymore. The club had been my everything for so long. Hardy and Rider had been my guides in this life, and now I felt like I couldn’t trust one of them and the other hated me.
I was a soldier following the orders of my president, yet I felt like a traitor to everyone.
“You good?” Gauge asked.
I nodded and turned away, because I couldn’t answer that question honestly. I was confused, angry, lost. I hated myself in those dark moments, not knowing which way was up and which way was down. I needed orders. Needed someone to tell me what to do next.
As if sensing my thoughts, Gauge spoke. “Head on down to the Pit. Casa needs a hand since Cutter’s gone off with stomach flu or some shit.”
I nodded, happy to get the fuck out of there and away from disappointed eyes. I turned and headed to the door.
“Fighter?”
I glanced back at him. “What?”
“We still got shit to talk about, okay? I’ll swing by the club later to finish up.”
“Sure.” I pushed open the door, the daylight hitting my eyes and making me wince.
“You did the right thing. For the club,” Gauge continued, but I didn’t want to hear it, hear him right then. Because if I’d really done the right thing for the club, why did it feel like I’d helped set a bomb in it and blow everything up?
I let the door slamming shut behind me be my answer. The right thing? I was beginning to wonder if I’d ever done the right thing in my entire life.
Penny had called me a monster, her dark angel. And I called myself the Devil. But I feared I was becoming something much, much worse.
~ 18 ~
Fighter
The Pit’s lights were low. Sparkly lights flashed above the small booths that reflected across the bodies of semi-naked strippers. A girl was writhing on the stage, the silver pole sliding between her thighs faster than a hot knife through butter. She was beautiful, no denying it—firm tits, tight ass, and big pouty lips. She was born to be a stripper. Or a hooker. Maybe both, if she wanted.
But her eyes betrayed her.
No other man there saw it though. No one else seemed to notice, or care, how dull and empty they were. All they noticed was how her body moved in sync with the beat, ass bouncing as she bent over, hair flipping as she stood up, tits being squeezed together as she pouted toward the crowd of horny men wanting to fuck her.
No one noticed her sadness though.
No one but me.
I’d always been able to sense it in people; the sadness, the grief, the guilt. All the things that you tried to hide about yourself. I saw it all. Call it a skill if you want, but I called it a curse. It was what made me good at my job though.
“Girl’s hot, right?” Casa said from next to me. “Hired her last week and we’ve seen a twenty percent increase since she started. Girl gives blowjobs like a fucking pro too. I’ll send her over when she comes off.” Casa continued to yammer away in my ear, oblivious to the fact that I wasn’t really listening to him. Instead my gaze was on someone else. A woman with long dark hair that reminded me of my sins was on the other side of the room. She was grinding down on some prick, her hair flipping over her shoulder as he laughed with his friends and shoved a dollar under the strap of her lacy red bra.
A dollar.
A motherfucking dollar.
Rich fuck was wearing a suit that was easily worth two thousand dollars and he was handing out dollars to our girls like they were nothing. Fucker needed a lesson learning.
“’Sup, brother? You look like you’re about to kill someone.” Casa’s gaze followed mine. “Don’t worry ’bout him. He comes in twice a week for business meetings—likes to show his clients a good time. He’ll spend more once he’s drank more.”
