Wild Ways

by Tina Wainscott

  “Anything else?” Scotch asked. “Try to remember, even if it’s not strange.”

  “He did ask if we had any redheads, ’cause he had a thing for them. I told him I could request one of the girls to put on a red wig, but he wanted the real thing.”

  “Bingo.” Scotch gave Damon a grim smile. “Birdy, the sister, is a redhead. They were fishing. Then the woman goes in the back to talk to the strippers.” He turned back to Candy. “What did you tell them about the redheads working here?”

  She was starting to look worried. “That I’d seen one, but she wasn’t working tonight. I said she’d probably be on tomorrow.”

  Scotch smiled. “Which means they’ll be back tonight. We need to axe them before they cause any problems or my ass will be fried. Crimson thinks it’s my fault they’re here.”

  Damon raised one sleek eyebrow. “Is it?”

  “Hell, no. They sure didn’t follow me here. She knew your name, right?”

  “Yeah, she did. Lied and said I’d sent her back there.” Damon stared at that curtain. “She was hanging with the girls.”

  “I’m sure she was asking questions. The woman’s a hound dog. It’s the guy I’m most worried about, though. We want to take him out as fast as possible. He’s a badass. He had a friend with him after he took out two Kings, and between them they nearly killed two more. Trashed two bikes.”

  “I didn’t see anyone else with them, but we should plan on him being here tonight.” Damon ran his fingers thoughtfully across his mouth. “This club used to be a speakeasy during Prohibition. It has a couple of hidden passageways that allow for keeping an eye out for the authorities. And a quick, quiet escape. Since you can eyeball these guys, you should tuck in and do guard duty. One’s down by the dumpster, and the other goes up to the roof. We’ll need one more guy to keep sentry.”

  “A few of my brothers are on their way here now. They’re hungry for blood. We’ll cut these guys off at their knees and be done with it.” As they headed toward the curtain, Scotch glanced up at the girl twisting herself around the pole. “I say we use the sister as a prize at the Ball. Drug her up, and she won’t be any problem at all.”

  Damon grinned. “She did look nice up there. She’d fetch a good price.”

  “And she’s fresh.”

  Damon cracked his knuckles, his fingers the size of sausages. “We’ll take care of them. For the fallen Kings.”

  * * *

  Risk had had harder assignments. No pun intended, he thought with an inner chuckle. He and Sax sat at a table a few yards away from the stage where a Lady Gaga look-alike gyrated to “Applause.” His gaze slid over the rest of the club, which was only about half full. Other than the stage, the rest of the place was a cave, dark and shadowy. Not ideal for surveillance. They’d had to wait until the club was at least beginning to get busy so they would blend in better. The others were in position, had been for about two hours. No sign of women being transported so far.

  “If it’s selection night, there should be a lot of strippers here,” Risk said.

  “But there’s only been, what, three different women performing in the last hour,” Sax finished.

  Had they missed the transport? Mollie said the dancer backstage mentioned selection night.

  The server sashayed up a few minutes later to check their drinks.

  “How come you’re not up there, darlin’?” Sax asked her in his honey-dripping voice. “You’re as good looking, or better, than any woman I’ve seen up onstage. And there sure haven’t been that many.”

  She gave him an appreciative smile. “I don’t have a speck of rhythm. But thanks anyway. Need a refill, gentlemen?”

  Risk tipped the bottle he’d half emptied in the toilet. “I’m good, thanks. If they’re shorthanded, rhythm or no, they should put you up there.”

  “We’re not normally this short,” she said. “There’s a private event tonight. Come back tomorrow for amateur night. That’s always interesting.” She sauntered off.

  “Hell,” they both muttered at the same time.

  Risk texted Chase. Event is happening tonight. The girls are already gone.

  * * *

  Mollie, Chase, and Brick stared at the text.

  Mollie’s mouth went dry. “No.”

  “Is that normal, changing the night at the last minute?” Chase asked Brick.

  He shrugged. “I’ve never been that involved. But there have been times when the club’s planned some, ah, illegal activity, and if they get a whiff of law enforcement having wind of it, they’ve pushed up the date without much notice.”

  Mollie took a deep breath, barely able to force out the words, “It’s time for Plan B.”

  “Are you sure?” Chase asked, assessing her with vivid blue eyes.

  She touched the patch at the back of her neck. “Absolutely.”

  He radioed Rath and Julian with the change of plan and asked them to take positions closer to the building. After one more test of the GPS tracking system, she stepped out of the van and made her way to her car, which was parked farther down the road, the specially equipped cell phone in her pocket. Julian had her wallet, along with her grandfather’s contact info.

  Next of kin.

  She couldn’t think about that, the same way she’d pushed it aside whenever she walked into any risky situation. She drove into Hidden Assets’ parking lot. Alone, though she reminded herself that she was not alone at all. She’d wanted a few minutes alone with Julian before this all went down, but it was probably better that they hadn’t had the chance. She would have put her arms around him, pressed up against his hard, strong body to absorb his strength and calm, and they would have ended up making love again.

  Not because he’d awakened her libido, though he’d certainly done that. Sex had never been all that interesting before. Certainly not compelling. Until Julian. It was more than the physical act with him, though. It was connection, release. Sexual, spiritual bliss.

  But a man like him would eventually get bored with a woman like her. What made her compelling to him was the roller-coaster ride they were on. Danger, mystery, sex. Mind-bending sex. At least for her. But for him, this was all in a day’s work. Maybe even the mind-bending sex part, too.

  She carefully chose men who would not pull her in, and then wham. Julian had chosen her. She could not let herself get so drawn into him that his leaving would tear her apart. Already the thought of it ripped at the seams of her tattered heart.

  She searched for any sign of the team as she made her way toward the entrance, a glimmer of reflection, the silhouette of a head up on the roof. Her chest tightened painfully when she saw nothing. Trust. She had to trust that Julian and Rath were there. Trust. Damn, it came so hard.

  She touched the cell phone at her hip the way she touched her Ruger. For security. Even now Chase could hear everything. And he—and Julian—could see where she was by watching the yellow dot on their screens.

  She mentally chanted Di’s name as she approached the big bouncer, paid the cover, and went inside. Mollie scanned the club as she meandered to the bar. She couldn’t find Risk and Sax with her casual sweep. The two whom the bikers might recognize were situated outside. She imagined Julian and Rath in face paint and camos, sighting down the barrels of lethal weapons. In their SEAL days. So comfortable even now crouching in the dark with their weapons at the ready, no doubt.

  A woman Mollie didn’t recall seeing the night before was dancing on the stage, allowing the handful of men nearby to tuck tips into her strings. Mollie’s heart soared at the thought of seeing Di tonight.

  A few men made appreciative noises as Mollie passed on the way to the bar. She kept her gaze trained toward her target. “I’m looking for Damon,” she said when the guy came close to take her drink order.

  “Who’s asking?”

  “Tell him it’s the girl who crashed the stage last night.”

  He spoke into a microphone pinned to his shirt. She couldn’t hear what he said.

&n
bsp; Damon’s expression as he came through those curtains was a mixture of impatience and curiosity. “It’s not amateur night, Miss …”

  “Call me Mira. I know.” She gave him a contrite smile. “I wanted to apologize for breaking the rules.”

  She thought he might be eager to brush her off, but he settled against the curve of the bar as though he had all the time in the world. “It’s all right. You did seem to enjoy yourself up there. The patrons enjoyed you, too.”

  “That’s why I came in. I’d like to audition for a job.”

  His gaze shifted behind her. “Where’s your boyfriend?”

  “He’s not my boyfriend anymore. We broke up when I told him about my ambitions. But heck, I’ve been working at a diner, trying to make ends meet, and I don’t have any family to ask for help. I understand dancing brings in decent money.”

  He seemed to weigh her words. Didn’t he believe her? “All right, come on back. We could use some extra girls.”

  For the Ball. Hope and fear twisted inside her. She followed him through the part in the black curtains, passing the doorway of the room she’d been in last night.

  Crystal scowled. “What’s she doing back?”

  “She’s going to audition for an official job.”

  “You trust her?” Crystal said, following them to an office. “I figured her for a reporter or something. Didn’t find a wire on her though.”

  “Good thinking, sweetheart.” Damon turned to her. He was as tall as Julian but bulkier. “You a reporter?”

  “No,” Mollie said, throwing a surprised laugh into her voice.

  “Crystal, find her an outfit.” Damon drew his gaze down her. “Where’s your purse?”

  “I don’t have one. They’re too bulky.”

  “How about a cell phone? Wallet? I’ll need your ID to process your work papers.” She reached back and extracted her wallet, hoping he’d forget about the phone. He narrowed his eyes as he studied it. “Thought your name was Mira.”

  “That’s my stage name.” Mollie forced a smile. “I had to come up with one, right?”

  He grunted, keeping the ID in hand. “Phone? We don’t allow phones in the back room. Privacy reasons.”

  She dutifully handed it to him. He scrolled through different screens, looking for what, she didn’t know. A phone number for a newspaper? “For security purposes, yours and ours, we’re keeping your things in a locker.” He gestured for her to hand over her wallet, too.

  She still had the patch, but losing the phone link poured more fear into her chest. She gave him her wallet as Crystal returned bearing a gold outfit with space-age overtones.

  “Put it on,” Damon ordered.

  Right here? In front of you? Mollie held back the words. If she were auditioning as an exotic dancer, getting undressed in front of the club’s owner shouldn’t be a problem. She pulled off her top and folded it, then searched for a place to put it. She placed it on a cabinet and turned to find Damon directly in front of her. He reached for the clasp in front of her bra and unclipped it, then shoved the cups back. She fought the urge to cover her exposed breasts, remaining calm under his assessment. His expression remained passive, not leering. Still, she detested that he was doing this.

  “Take off your pants,” he said. “Now,” he added when she hesitated. “If you want to work here, you do as I tell you.”

  Did he do this to all the women who auditioned? Or only to her because he was suspicious? She wanted to reach for the bra that Crystal held, but the woman stood a distance away, not offering any of the clothing yet. Mollie pushed out of her jeans and set them on top of her shirt. Suddenly, she felt the back of her panties tear away from her. With a gasp, she turned to find Damon holding the torn scrap.

  “You’re too slow. I know you weren’t afraid to show your body out there last night. What’s your problem?”

  “I’m just nervous. Last night was for fun.” Tonight, she could get raped. And she doubted Crystal would do a thing to stop it. Mollie tried to tamp down the cold dread shivering through her body.

  “You need to get over that.” He plastered a hand over her bare breast and squeezed hard. “Yours? Not a boob job?”

  She tried not to grimace in pain and disgust at his rough touch. “Mine.”

  He cupped her bare pubic area with his other hand. “Already shaved. Nice.” He rubbed back and forth, and the violation washed like ice over her. “You’re way too tense. I can loosen you up.”

  “I’m fine,” she said, though it came out as a whisper. Stripping was one thing. Having sex with a man who repulsed her, a whole different thing.

  “No, baby, you’re not. Your legs are pinched together and your mouth’s so rigid, it would crack if you spoke above a whisper. You can’t go out there all tensed up like that. The men will pick up on it. You have two choices.” He tried to jam his hand between her thighs, yes, pinched together. “You let me loosen you up or do something to help.”

  “I could have a beer.”

  Crystal laughed. “A beer ain’t gonna help you, sugar. I got some snort. You do that, you can be a contender.”

  Sex or snort? Both pounded fear into her. But wait. Katie had confessed to pretending to snort. How had she done it? “I’ve got my period,” Mollie said, hoping that would turn him off to the sex idea. “So I’ll do the coke.”

  Now he jammed his hand between her thighs, his nails scratching her skin. “You can’t have a string hanging out while you’re dancing.” He jabbed at her, searching her folds. Was he going to stick his finger inside to verify? And catch her in a lie?

  “Ouch!” She stepped away. “Of course not. I tucked it in.” He’d touched her intimately. Don’t shudder.

  He regarded her with cold eyes. “Set her up. I’ve got to check on something. I’ll be right in.”

  * * *

  Scotch waited in the claustrophobic cubby. It reminded him of his military days, hunkering down and waiting for the enemy. What the hell, were people smaller in the 1920s? He leaned against the wall and peered out the peephole that gave him a wide-angle view of the side and corner of Hidden Assets. He could only imagine some hot chick writhing to the rock song that pounded through the walls.

  He could be home in his trailer right now, sucking down his sixth brew and watching the game. Trading Birdy to the St. Louis chapter for a sweet Harley they’d just stolen had sounded like a good idea at the time. Get rid of Brick’s weepy ol’ lady and nab a scooter in the process. Now all this shit was coming down on him.

  Edge was in the hidey-hole up on the roof that looked like a chimney, keeping an eye on things from two stories up. It wasn’t much roomier, but it had monitors for the cameras Damon had installed. Scotch had opted for the ground-level position where he’d get to rip these bastards personally. He gripped his hunting knife, hungry for revenge. No guns tonight. Couldn’t take a chance of bringing in the cops like the last time the guy had shot up their bar. Margie was still in custody on bogus charges, and he was afraid she was going to break down and spill.

  He pressed closer to the peephole and searched the darkness. He almost missed the shift of shadows over by the bikes. Or was it a trick of the dark? The shadow moved closer so slowly that if Scotch hadn’t been staring right at it he would have missed it. That smoky shadow had to be one of Mollie’s friends. He texted Edge: Got one in sight down here.

  One just climbed up on the roof, Edge texted back. Time to rock ’n’ roll.

  Surprise would be their ally. His phone vibrated, and he checked his text. The bird has landed. Alone. Wants a job.

  Scotch rolled his eyes. Damon obviously watched too many espionage movies. Scotch texted, Her friends are out here. Moving in now. He waited until the shadow passed in front of the exit door around the back of the building. Then he shoved it open, sending the guy staggering back. Before he could regain his balance, Scotch lunged, feeling the knife hit something soft. But the guy was quick, turning and shoving him back against the big metal bin before Scotch could f
ully sink the blade in. His head banged against the hard metal. Something hit the ground. A gun, Scotch guessed.

  The guy reached for it, and Scotch kicked him. His opponent rammed him in the gut with his head. They struggled, and he felt sticky blood pouring down his hands. He’d stuck the guy good, maybe in his gun-holding arm. An elbow from a decidedly good arm popped him in the face, barely missing his nose. He felt a sharp pain at his cheekbone, though, and then his knife was wrenched from his grip. They fought for control of it, and his opponent twisted his wrist so hard, he had to either let go or risk it breaking. Scotch threw his weight into him, and the knife fell to the ground and into the shadows.

  Somewhere in the near distance, in the lull between songs, he heard shoes scraping over the pebbles on the roof, probably Edge and the other guy fighting it out. So much for their element of surprise. But Scotch had gotten in that first slice, and as far as he could tell, his opponent was fighting one-armed. And he was still kicking Scotch’s ass. Who the hell were these guys?

  Dead men, that’s who. They were going to pay for the lives they’d taken. His brothers. Scotch bowed, and, like a bull, rammed the guy back several feet into the brick wall. Taking advantage of his stunned state, Scotch pummeled him. With only one arm, the guy could only either deflect or fight. Scotch outweighed him by maybe twenty or thirty pounds as far as he could tell.

  He wasn’t expecting the knee that shot out and nailed him in the gut. He should have had this. Guy should be dead by now. Sucking in a deep breath, Scotch barely saw the foot kicking out at him. It connected with his stomach, but Scotch grabbed it and shoved the guy back again.

  Time to pull in his other weapon. He tore the brass knuckles from the cord around his neck and pushed them on as he fended off another kick with one of his own. Then he threw a punch at the guy’s head, metal on flesh. He staggered back, sliding against the wall. Scotch punched him again, feeling the weight of the knuckles smash the guy’s face.