Page 26

Wolf and Camshaft watched the inspectors sift through the rubble that was left from the exploded vape shop. The smell of ash still coated the air as the men in suits poked through the debris.

“Bomb.” Officer Denny sidled up to the two bikers and joined them in their observations. “Homemade, but more than a Molotov cocktail. Poor fucker was prolly high when he bought it.”

Wolf’s face remained impassive. The coroner’s van had already come to collect Ed’s twisted, burned remains. Wolf never had an issue with the man. They weren’t friends, but he didn’t wish him dead. “Any clues to prove who did it?”

Denny sighed. “Nothing so far we can use. No traffic cameras on the streets. No witnesses.” He huffed as one worker lifted a chunk of wall. “We know who did this, but we got bupkis to go on.”

Camshaft spoke. “I’m surprised the buildings on either side weren’t damaged.”

“Targeted explosion,” Wolf said with a grim voice. “One of the Slaggers either has demolition experience or was in the military.”

Denny raised an eyebrow. “How do you know that?”

“Walls collapsed inward.”

Wolf’s mind had already moved beyond the ruined headshop and its dead owner.

If it was the Slaggers, they’d upped their game.

Someone was backing them, as there was no way their club could get the explosives needed to level a building.

One of their larger allies? A bigger club? Drug cartel like Baghouse said?

If the Knights didn’t step up now, there might not be another chance. It also might be too late already.

He turned away from the sight. “You get any intel, feel free to share. I expect this isn’t the last building or business that’s gonna go down.”

Denny made a hum of confirmation and stayed in his spot as the two bikers walked down the street to the strip club.

Very few dancers worked during the day, but there were always a few patrons in the late afternoon. Portia was on the raised stage, but her performance was lackluster, as only three men were there, sipping beer and staring at her bare breasts. None of them gave a hint about tipping.

Scrap and Baghouse sat in their usual spots with a game of chess in front of them. Two of the crossover prospects swept the floors, and another one was manning the bar.

Wolf held his temper in check as he addressed the president. “We need a church meeting.”

Scrap moved a knight. “What the fuck for?”

“I just came from the head shop, or what was left of it. They had to scrape Ed off the floor. We can’t keep ignoring this shit.”

“What the fuck are we supposed to do about it? Just leave it.”

Wolf gestured to the new recruits. “Tower sent us his three best recruits. We need to use them for more than cleaning and serving drinks. We have to get more weapons and ammo stockpiled. Set up patrols around the perimeters. Make our colors stand out. If we find any Slaggers in our territory, we send a message that they need to stay away or else.”

“We do that, blood’s gonna be spilt.”

“Blood’s already been spilt.”

Scrap slammed his hand on the table, making the chess pieces fall and scatter. “Last time I looked, I was still the leader of this club. I said leave it!”

Wolf clamped down on his rising temper. “You can stick your head in the ground, but that doesn’t mean the world stops.

” His tone sharpened, and his words spat out like verbal punches.

“The Slaggers will come back, and when they do, they’ll bring more than bullets fired in the air.

You own this building, but no one owns the club. ”

Baghouse grumbled as he set the pieces up for another round. “He’s right. We gotta handle those fuckin’ jagoffs soon.”

“Fuck off and make your move,” Scrap grumbled. “We ain’t doing shit.”

Wolf felt the dismissal and fumed with suppressed fury.

Quillon was at his forge and would be incommunicado for the day.

Camshaft and Crossman were at the machine shop or sleeping, as both of them were on duty tonight.

He had no backup other than Baghouse, and he was full of hot air most of the time.

The man could spew all the attitude, but when it came down to making a decision or stepping up, he was absent.

Wolf stalked away from the stubborn leader.

When did Scrap lose his balls? The club dysfunction worsened every damn day, and no one had the guts to fix it.

Visions of Ed’s blackened corpse floated in his mind as he stormed down the short hall.

He happened to glance in room two and stopped dead at the sight.

Candie wasn’t giving a blow job this time. She was bent over and taking it from behind as that fucker Leo pounded into her.

Rage filled Wolf, and this time, he let it loose. The doorknob embedded itself in the wall as he flung it open. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Leo squealed and fell back, tripping over the tangle of work pants around his knees.

Candie’s scream was more of outrage than embarrassment from getting caught. “What the hell, Wolf? You can’t come in here while I’ve got someone with me!”

“I’m sick of this shit, Candie. You know damn well not to bang your clients here. You want to make money whoring yourself, that’s your business, but it does not come in here.”

She remained bent over, not caring in the least that her bare pussy was showing wide open. The harsh words didn’t faze her. “Leo only gets thirty minutes on his lunch break, and that asshole at the motel charges by the hour.”

Wolf couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “So pay for the hour.”

She had the nerve to roll her eyes. “That makes no sense.” She stood up, unconcerned by her naked state nor Leo’s scrambling movements as he righted his clothes. “Why should he pay for a whole hour when my room here is just as good, and no one is around anyway?”

Wolf’s anger ratcheted higher. He pointed a thick finger at Leo. “Get out.” His growl was low, but the menace was unmistakable.

The man paled and didn’t bother to say anything to his girlfriend. He just turned tail and ran.

Wolf turned back to Candie, who had crossed her arms under her breasts, plumping them up even more.

“That’s not the point and you know it. This is not your private room or your personal business to do whatever the fuck you want to do.

” He pointed to the door. “Go get dressed, get your shit, and get the fuck out!”

Her eyes widened, and she dropped her arms to place her hands on her hips. “Are you firing me?”

“Yes, I am.”

She laughed as if he’d told her the funniest joke ever. “You can’t do that. The men who come here come to see me dance. They won’t come if you fire me.”

Wolf’s expression turned nasty. “You think that, eh? Who in this fucking city hasn’t seen your tits already? Give it a week and some younger new dancers will fill those seats no problem.”

“Fuck you!”

“Been there. Done that. Not worth a repeat.”

She screeched and came at him with her fingernails curled into claws. Wolf caught her wrists and held her back. “You have two choices. Take the five minutes I’ll give you to get dressed, or don’t. Either way, you’re leaving.”

Candie’s face twisted into a raging mask of hatred. “Scrap won’t let you do this!”

“Scrap’s not the manager here. I am. Four minutes or you’re out on your bare ass.”

She jerked back, freeing herself. Her breasts heaved as she puffed in frustration.

Wolf braced for another attack. Instead, she sneered and tossed her head back in imperial disgust. “You’re gonna regret this.

My fans will demand my return.” She pointed a talon at his face. “I’ll be back on that stage in a week.”

“Three minutes.” He could see the frustration on Candie’s snarling face.

This was a power play through and through.

The woman clearly wanted to fight more, maybe throw something or have a screaming tantrum.

Candie was seldom told no, and for years she’d gotten away with shit, mostly because Wolf hadn’t taken a big enough stand.

He felt a tiny bit guilty about that, as he should have stopped this long ago, but it wasn’t like the woman hadn’t been warned time and time again.

Tears spilled over Candie’s false lashes, and she dashed them away, leaving a black smear under her eyes. “It’s that hippie girl you’re fucking. She’s got you thinking about commitments and houses and kids. She’s just a novelty. People like you and me? We’re the real deal.”

“Two minutes.”

“You bastard!” Candie’s face changed again. She lashed out, and Wolf didn’t block her this time. Her nails caught his cheek and left two shallow red lines just above his beard.

“Time’s up.” He seized her wrist and pulled her from the room. Scrap and Baghouse glanced up from their game to watch as Wolf dragged an enraged cursing Candie through the club, completely naked.

Camshaft walked in the front door, and his eyes nearly popped from his head at the sight. “What the fuck is going on?”

Wolf didn’t stop moving. “Grab Candie’s stuff from her locker, yeah? She doesn’t work here anymore.”

Unlike the dancer, Camshaft didn’t question him and hurried to the dressing room.

The street wasn’t full of people, but there was definitely an audience when Wolf dragged Candie to the concrete sidewalk. He dropped her arm and blocked her entrance back into the club.

“You’re hurting me!” she shrieked.

“I’m not touching you. I did not throw you down or hit you or push you.”

“You assaulted me!”

He pointed to the blood on his cheek. “Who assaulted whom?”

“Go fuck yourself!”

Camshaft appeared with the contents of Candie’s locker and wordlessly tried to hand everything to the spitting woman. She slapped it out of his hand. “Kiss my ass!”

“Suit yourself. I’m done.” Wolf turned and went back into the club. Camshaft followed and closed the door, muffling the still-cursing woman. Scrap and Baghouse were staring at the two younger men.

Wolf spoke coldly. “I fired Candie. Either of you have a problem with that?”

Scrap dropped his eyes to the board. “Bitch making trouble again?”

“Yeah.”

The older man picked up a bishop and placed it on another square. “Your move.”

Wolf’s cheek stung where Candie’s nails had made contact. He left the men to their game and made his way to the men’s bathroom and the first aid kit.

He cursed as he applied the alcohol wipe to his face, the burn fueling his bad mood. The club was falling apart, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Nothing but call a vote and replace Scrap as president.

Wolf stared at his reflection and frowned deep enough to carve lines around his mouth. That was the most radical step he or anyone else in the club could take, and once it was made, there was no going back. The challenger would either replace Scrap or leave the club.

Wolf tossed the used wipe into the trash as Camshaft entered the bathroom. “You okay, man?”

“Yeah. I need to get out of here and catch some rack time. You got this covered until I get back later?”

“Sure. What do I do if Candie comes back?”

“Call me or Denny, or just kick her out.”

Wolf left the club. Thankfully, there was no sign of Candie anywhere, and he was able to get to his bike in peace.

He thought about going over to the bakery and seeing Jazz for a few minutes—something about her presence made him feel better—but sleep was calling him more.

He mounted up and sent her a quick text.

Wolf: I need to grab some Zs. Heading home soon. You need me to get anything on the way?

It took a few minutes for her to reply, but when it came, part of the tension in his body relaxed.

Jazz: Getting low on toilet paper. Mi casa es su casa?

He grinned at the message. Baby, you have no idea what you’re in for.

Wolf: Is that a question?

Jazz: Mi casa es su casa or whatever.