Lyrics on the Wind (Lost Kings MC Book 17)

by Autumn Jones Lake

  “Think you’ll have a night to spare to visit your brothers in Tennessee?”

  Ah, there it is.

  The quick switch in conversation doesn’t throw me as much as Priest probably wanted it to. He’s praised me, reminded me of my obligations to the club, pumped me for information—now here comes the real point of this conversation.

  “Sure. Any reason in particular?”

  “Our situation there is a bit rocky. The relationship with Black Venom MC has deteriorated a lot over the last couple of months.”

  I wrack my brain trying to remember any details about the smaller southern MC. “We’ve run into them at events in Florida and never had any issues.”

  “Yeah, well, the Bunnville president’s trying to make a name for himself. Stirring up trouble where there doesn’t need to be any.”

  I’ve been in the northeast for so long, it takes me a second to picture the territory outlines. “They’re located near the Georgia border. Why are they even near Deadbranch?”

  The corners of his mouth curl up, as if he’s pleased with my ability to grasp geography on the fly. “Expansion? Seeing how much they can get away with? Why does any MC encroach?”

  “That’s suicide when our mother charter’s a five-hour ride away.” I stop for a beat. “Unless they think they have the backing of another club.”

  “That’s my concern.”

  “So, what’s Digger doing about it?” As small as our upstate NY charter is, the second Rock has a whiff of another MC sniffing around their territory, he puts an end to it. Even Sway, for all his—many—faults was always aware of who was trying to invade our territory when he was president. Still, having Z in charge is far better.

  “Nothing,” Priest spits. “Claims he’s keeping tabs on the situation. But he’s too busy running their whorehouse-saloon to instill much confidence.”

  It’s not really a secret that Priest isn’t fond of all the wink-of-the-pink businesses our clubs run. What exactly he expects a bunch of bikers to dabble in, and still stay semi-legal, I have no idea. Lost Kings have never touched human trafficking and never will. Priest frowns on trafficking heavy narcotics, and weapons. The few charters that defy him on the drugs and guns better make serious bank and stay out of trouble, otherwise, they land on his shit-list fast. After those big three, there aren’t a whole lot of profitable areas for outlaws to earn big.

  “I’ll be near Nashville after the tour. Shelby’s recording her album there. But we have the next few days off. I can take a detour if you feel the situation is more urgent.”

  “I knew I could count on you.” he says with a sly eyebrow raise.

  Spying on another charter for Priest is a good way to get a reputation as National’s bitch. Not a title I’ve ever aspired to own.

  But it’s not like saying no to Priest is an option either.

  “I’m always happy to stop in and say hello.” I consider who I’m traveling with. Dawson and his crew would provide excellent coverage for a spy mission. We left them at Dawson’s friend’s ranch but some of the roadies weren’t thrilled about staying put for the next couple days. They’ve been itching to have “fun.” A field trip to the Royal Dolls Gentlemen’s Club could be a nice bonding activity for everyone. “I’ll see if we can get some of the guys from the tour to go with us. Make it seem like a casual visit.”

  His eyes gleam with approval. “Your woman going to be okay with you visiting there?”

  Jesus, yeah, that’s all I need to tell Priest. My girlfriend won’t let me go to a strip club. “She’ll be fine.”

  “Bring her,” he suggests. “The more casual the visit seems, the better.”

  Thanks, Priest. Wasn’t planning to go without her.

  “It’s not urgent, so whenever works for you.”

  I’m going to take Priest at his word on that for now. This could be a test, though.

  “Let me know how the visit goes.”

  Yup, can’t wait.

  Not that I want to be a little bitch, but the conversation I had with Priest feels like something I need to talk to Z about.

  Valentina hands me a room key and points me in the direction of where we’ll stay tonight. The club has several small cabins behind the main clubhouse. From what I’ve been told it used to be a resort area in the Eighties. Lots of acreage and privacy.

  Even though it’s hotter than fucking balls, everything surrounding the clubhouse is lush and green. Trimmed and landscaped better than some state parks too.

  “Must take a lot of prospects to maintain this property,” Shelby says in a low voice.

  I huff out a laugh. “I was thinking the same thing.”

  “Please tell me this cabin has a/c?”

  “Yeah, probably a window unit, but it’ll have it.”

  “Thank gawd.” She pulls her tank top away from her misty skin and flaps the material around enough to give me a glimpse of her breasts.

  “I want to lick the sweat from between your breasts once we’re inside.”

  Her shocked side-eye melts into a sassier expression. “Well, there’s plenty of it.”

  Fuck, I love her.

  Inside the cabin is neater than I expected. Smells cleaner than I thought it would too. Shelby’s quick to flick on the air conditioner. She lifts her hair and lets the air blow on her neck for a few seconds.

  “You mind if I make a few phone calls?” I ask.

  “Nope.” She grabs her bag and pulls out her travel case. “I’m taking a shower.”

  I push my face into a disapproving pout.

  “I know.” She reaches up and pats my cheek. “I’ll sweat more. Don’t worry.”

  I wait until I hear the shower start to call Z. He answers on the second ring. After I explain the situation, the motherfucker has the nerve to laugh for a solid minute.

  “You done, Prez?” I grumble.

  “Let me think on it.” A beat of silence. “Yeah, I’m finished.”

  “Fucking hilarious. Really.”

  “Aw, you fell for the old scare—compliment—favor routine. He’s done it to all of us. Just means he thinks you’re management material.” Z laughs even harder.

  “Fantastic.”

  “Look,” he says a little more seriously, “This sounds like a win-win all around. Show Dawson and his guys a good time at one of our clubs. Gather information for Priest, make him happy—which by the way will make me happy—then be on your merry way to the next destination.”

  “You make it sound so simple.”

  “Because it is.”

  He should know better than anyone.

  Nothing is ever simple in our world.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Rooster

  Big surprise—everyone’s eager to check out the Royal Dolls Gentlemen’s Club. Dawson, his crew, Shelby’s band, my brothers. I think the only person who didn’t share the enthusiasm was Wrath. Oh, and Greg. He didn’t even answer my text. Even Dex, who so far has mostly kept to himself on this adventure, is eager to check out their operation.

  “Maybe they have some ideas I can bring back to Crystal Ball,” he explains.

  I believe him. Dex takes everything he does for the club seriously.

  “Such a diligent manager.” Pants slaps Dex on the back a few times.

  Before we leave, I stop to see Priest and let him know where we’re headed. He seems pleasantly surprised. I knew that easy-going “stop in whenever you want” line of his was bullshit.

  I also call ahead and let Digger know we’re coming. Basic brother-to-brother courtesy. When I let him know I’m bringing a rather large party, I can practically hear the cash register sounds going off in his head.

  “You’re sure you’re okay with this?” I ask Shelby. First porn, then the pussy patch, now a goddamn pussy palace. “Dating me is getting to be a tour in degeneracy isn’t it?”

  She palms my cheek and reaches up on tiptoes to kiss me. “You said it was important. A favor to your president and your national president, right
?”

  “Yeah.” I’d had to at least tell her that much.

  She cocks her head. “Would you want to go to strip clubs otherwise?”

  “Want?” I consider carefully before answering. When I was eighteen, hell yeah. Couldn’t wait to get my horny ass inside a strip joint. “Working at different ones the club owns across the country kinda killed all my natural curiosity.”

  She holds my gaze, parts her lips, then hesitates.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Hypothetically speaking, if you were having a bachelor party, would you want it at a strip club? Or is that where you’d want to go for a ‘night out with the boys’?”

  “I don’t deal in hypotheticals, Shelby. Ask me what you want to ask.”

  “I just did.”

  “No.” A genuine shudder of revulsion washes over me. Have a bunch of sweaty, glittered-up girls grind all over me for dollar bills to celebrate marrying my little chickadee? No fucking way. And why the fuck would I spend time at one instead of with my girl? “No,” I say again.

  “Why?”

  “Well, for one thing, I’m sensing that it would bother you.”

  Her face remains neutral.

  “For another, I meant what I said. I got it out of my system years ago. You know that saying about seeing how sausage is made makes you never want to eat sausage?”

  “I think so.”

  “It’s kinda like that.”

  “Ew. Don’t compare women to sausages.”

  “I’m not. I mean the whole environment. You’ll see what I’m talking about.”

  SHELBY

  I can’t believe I’m in an honest-to-God strip club. My band thought it was hilarious that I tagged along. Dawson seemed nervous or maybe embarrassed. Not sure why he cares what I think. He and Dex seem to be getting along, which is good since he’s continuing on the tour with us until the end.

  Trent’s nervous big brother eyes keep darting my way. No need to look out for me, buddy. I’m fine. Or maybe he doesn’t want me to see how many lap dances he plans to splurge on. Either way, he better knock it off before Rooster notices.

  As we’re led through the back entrance—a long, dark hallway with faint yellow lighting—I dare to peek at my surroundings. Posters of girls on the walls. Both regular dancers and special guests.

  Lord, I hope no one assumes I’m a ‘special guest.’ My momma would freak if I told her about this outing.

  We enter the main floor of the club. A large, mirrored stage with two shiny poles takes up the center of the room. Two smaller round stages take up the corners but those don’t seem to be occupied.

  If I had to label the rest of the decor, I guess I’d call it western-bondage-bordello themed. I’ve never seen anything like it. My mind’s spinning as I take in the jewel-toned curtains and black leather furniture. Even the walls have what looks like some sort of sapphire colored wallpaper flocked with ornate designs. Mirrored panels strategically placed on the walls give the room the appearance of being larger than it actually is.

  “Except for the stage, I feel like we traveled back in time,” Trinity whispers to me.

  “To a kinky Wild West?”

  “Yup.”

  “I kinda dig it. If I ever headline my own show, I think I’d do sets and costumes exactly like this.”

  She laughs, instantly putting me at ease. “I can see it. A little more western flair, though.”

  Because we’re such a large group, the manager escorts us to a space they’ve set up in the back. Several tables have been pushed together surrounding two large, circular booths. I glance from the booths to the chairs.

  Trinity seems to be as indecisive as I am.

  “Where would you rather sit?” Rooster asks me.

  “Which one’s less likely to have cum stains crusted on the upholstery?”

  Rooster chokes on a laugh and just stares at me.

  I pat the back pocket of my fancy new jeans. “I wore my Diamond Tough Denim tonight.” Miranda had come through with the sponsorship deal. We’d done a quick photoshoot before one of the shows and I have another one scheduled. A stack of brand new jeans too and a fat paycheck to boot.

  He steps away, speaking to one of the girls dressed in the bedroom version of a saloon girl’s outfit. She quickly wipes down the booth and smiles at me.

  Ugh, why’d I have to complain? I used to be a waitress. I know how hard it is to keep up on everything. “You didn’t tell her what I said, did you?” I ask Rooster.

  “No.” He curls his arm around my waist, tucking me against his side. “Relax.”

  A big, burly guy with a long, scraggly black and gray beard sidles up to us, holding out his ham-sized hand to Rooster.

  “Digger, how you been, brother?” Rooster engages in one of those intricate, manly secret handshakes with the older biker. He hugs me to his side. “This is my old lady, Shelby. Shelby, Digger’s the president of our charter here in Deadbranch. Royal Dolls is his place.”

  His gaze roams over my body in a long, slow slide. The icky sensation is too much like spiders crawling over my skin. Or maybe it’s the environment giving me a skeezy feeling.

  Finally, Digger opens his mouth. “You’re the singer. The one that got nabbed near Ice’s place?”

  Huh. Maybe it’s because I recovered at Ice’s clubhouse, so I feel more loyal to him, but I don’t like the way this guy seems to be subtly implying Ice is somehow at fault for my abduction.

  He turns to Rooster. “Hell, brother. You shoulda warned me. I woulda called in extra security.”

  “I thought I mentioned it,” Rooster says in the special way he has that borders between respectful and ‘fuck off.’ “I think we’ve got it covered. Thanks.”

  “Shit, bro. You brought three SAAs in my joint. I should put ‘em to work.”

  Rooster glances over his shoulder. “You can give it a try.”

  Digger slaps Rooster’s shoulder. “First round is on the house. For you and all your guests.”

  “You don’t have to do that—”

  “I insist. First hour in the champagne room’s on me too. For the whole party. Just make sure they tip the girls.”

  “All right.”

  Maybe we arrived early and the night hasn’t really started yet. The club’s half full. Men at different tables. All laser focused on the stage in the middle of the room. The smaller side stages appear empty for now.

  Suddenly the lights dim and the music zooms up to a punishing throb. At least eight girls of varying shades of blond and tan slide onto the stage.

  “Not a whole lot of variety in their look, huh?”

  He quirks an eyebrow at me and tugs on one of my braids.

  “Yeah, yeah.” I swat his hand away. “You know what I meant.”

  “The night’s still young.”

  We approach our tables and Rooster relays the information about the free drinks and bump-n-grinds to everyone. A round of tequila is ordered and a few minutes later a shot glass is handed to me.

  “I can’t remember the last time I drank tequila. I don’t think it ended well.”

  Rooster clinks his glass against mine. “I’m having this and one beer, so drink whatever you want.” He cocks his head and seems to reconsider. “Just not so much you’re gonna fall off the bike.”

  “Very funny.”

  “Holler and swaller!” Trent shouts his favorite toast.

  The liquid burns all the way down and I squeeze my eyes shut to tolerate the sting. Maybe that wasn’t the best thing for my throat. When I open my eyes, Rooster’s holding a wedge of lime in front of my face. I take my sweet time sucking the fruit from his fingers. The spark in his eyes shifts from playful to hungry.

  The tart lime does little to chase away the burn of the tequila. Rooster plucks the wedge from my lips and leans in to kiss me. The earthy, mild sweetness of the tequila lingers on his breath. He doesn’t seem to care that we’re in the middle of a loud, busy strip club or that we’re surrounded by people. Not my man.
Ignoring everything around us, he pulls me closer. I part my lips and gently brush my tongue against his. I feel his rumbling growl of approval where my hand’s pressed against his chest. My head spins. From the tequila or Logan’s kisses? My money’s on the second one.

  “Get a room!” That sounds like Jigsaw.

  We ignore him and keep right on kissing.

  A rush of bodies whoosh by, knocking into us hard enough to break our kiss. I blink up at Rooster. He smiles at me. Not ten feet away, there are eight gorgeous, half naked dancers shaking it for all they’re worth and my man can’t take his eyes off me.

  Pants intrudes on our moment by wrapping his arms around Rooster’s neck and tugging him backwards. “You have to come get a lap dance. It’s on the house.”

  “Thanks, I’m good.”

  Pants smirks at me. “You don’t mind, right, Shelby? You’ll let your man party, right?” He jerks his head toward our table. “Wrath, Trin, and Dex are over there. You can hang with them—”

  “I’m fine.” Rooster clamps his hand around Pants’ wrist hard enough to make his face pale and release his hold on Rooster.

  “Later.” Pants jogs toward a different darkened corridor than the one we entered the building from. A guard at the entrance to the hallway waves him through.

  “You can go,” I offer, wanting to be an ‘understanding’ girlfriend who doesn’t spoil her boyfriend’s fun, but the words feel sour in my mouth.

  Rooster takes my chin between his thumb and index finger. “I don’t want to.”

  I open my mouth again—probably to stick my boot in it—but Rooster presses one finger against my lips.

  At our table, Dawson and his bodyguard are still hanging out with Dex, Wrath, and Trinity.

  “You didn’t go with everyone else, Dawson?” I ask.

  He frowns at the question. “Last thing I need is pictures of me getting a lap dance all over the damn place.” He holds up his hand to Rooster. “No offense. I know this is your club’s place—”

  “None taken. I don’t blame you,” Rooster says.