Page 7 of Clover

“I can’t sit here and wait, Beau.” Entering the den, I circle the pool table. My hands automatically picking up two billiards balls. They’re smooth and firm in my grip. Allowing me to tighten down on them. I feel the crack before I hear it, as the pressure from my fists is too much for the balls to handle. Before they break in half completely, I let out the pent-up energy inside, bellowing out a howl of frustration as I wind back my arm like a pro pitcher and release the ball. It flies across the room, embedding itself in the wall, knocking a painting off its hook. It lands on the floor with a crash, the glass shattering just as I release the second ball. Lodging it right next to the first. It’s not enough. I need to do more. Walking over to the pool queue rack on the wall, I pull one from its resting place and crack it over my knee. Splintering it in two. Grabbing one more from the wall this time, I use only my hands. Snapping the hard stick like a toothpick.

Calm is not something I do. At least not without Clover in my arms. No matter how many times Beau and Zander tell me to calm down, I can’t. I do stop breaking shit, however. That only hurts me since it’s all my shit, after all. The veins in my arms trying to make their way out of my skin as I clench my fists. But my heart rate has slowed, and I’m not fuming from my nostrils anymore.

Ten minutes later, Arrow calls to inform me he has eyes on Braxton at a club he owns. The Jewelry Box is averyexclusive posh strip club that offers a variety of off the menu options for its wealthier, more discrete clientele. A few of my cousins appreciate the services offered there on occasion. Some more than others.

After Arrow hangs up, Pop calls and tells me to get my ass over to the CCS office. The CCS or Colton Coverage Security is our “legitimate” security firm in Charlotte, North Carolina. About thirty minutes from my home. When I get an assignment to guard a member of the Syndicate, one of its associates, or even some rich bastard that doesn’t know anymore who we are, then we do him. It’s CCS that pays me to do it. I even get a fucking W2 from them to file my taxes.

We do as he instructs because he’s my fucking Pops and the big boss. He tells me to jump. I sure as shit jump. I’ve never questioned him or his orders. They’re always right, and he’s always right. Griffon, on the other hand. I question his shit all the fucking time. Which is probably why Pop called me instead of him.

We load up into a few cars and head to CCS. But not without making a little pit stop first.

Chapter 2

Phoenix

Against the advice of my cousins, I drive Beau and myself to CCS in the Camaro. I need a little more power for this drive than my chevy truck can accommodate. The need to press my foot to the floor and e-brake slide around every corner, tempting and very satisfying. I don’t fast and furious it around town, but I break the speed limit on every street we drive down. When I make a left turn instead of a right, I can feel Beau’s scowl from the passenger seat.

“Where the hell are we going?”

“Pit Stop.” Is all I say. He’ll see when we get there.

“Faust won’t be happy if you keep him waiting.” I could give two fucks right now if he’s not happy with me being a few minutes late to his office. He can wait. This can’t.

Pulling into a parking lot, the elegant gold sign reads “The Jewelry Box” above the double door guarded entrance. The Jewelry Box is located in a trendy part of downtown Charlotte not far from my Pop’s office. The three-story building is constructed of red bricks so dark they’re almost black. Encrusted with gold accents with a modern flare.

The first floor has no windows, and the top two floors’ windows are blacked out. You can see out from the inside, but nothing can see in. And yes, all three floors are the club. The first floor is the common area. One main stage and a few side stages with poles, lots of low sitting chairs for lap dances, and two bars. The second floor holds another full bar and all the private dance rooms. Filled with a variety of mini-stages behind plexiglass. The girls only come out from behind the glass for a certain amount of cash. It is not a small amount either, usually in the four-digit range. The top floor is even more exclusive than the second. Requiring a membership and secret code to enter. Filled with private rooms made for more intimate encounters, allowing the very specific clientele the privacy to do as they pay for. As well as one main stage for special performances.

When I park at the front door, Beau literally lunges at me to try and stop me from getting out. He’s too slow, and I’m already standing by the time his hands make contact with the leather of my vacated seat.

“Nix!” He yells at me as I circle the car towards the valet.

“Keep it here. I won’t be long.” I call to the young valet waiting for my keys that I toss into his hands. I say young, but he’s at least twenty-two.

“Yes, Mr. Colton, sir.” I don’t think I’ve ever seen this kid before, but he knows who I am. Anyone who works at a Syndicate club, especially one as exclusive as The Jewelry Box, knows every head family member. Kinda learned it was best to educate our employees after a certain blowout between a James and a receptionist. It was messy, don’t ask.

Beau is close on my heels, and I see Zander pull up behind me, and he and Rosie hop out and follow me in. I don’t wait for any of them. The bouncer opens the door to the club. Not one of ours, since this is a Shaw establishment. They rarely use our men or us for their special businesses. Like I said before, we hate them. They hate us. The only reason we deliver their drugs is that it’s literally part of the agreement between the families. We don’t have to be their bouncers for their public businesses, but we sure as shit have to be their muscle when delivering product.

Stepping in through the glittery beaded curtain onto the main floor, I take large strides into the center so I can see the entire floor. Searching for the piece of shit himself. I know he’s here. Arrow’s guy said he was. A scattering of customers and dancers fills the main floor. Two on the side stage poles and a couple more giving lap dances on the floor to very satisfied customers. Since I don’t see Braxton at either of the bars or any of the tables, that must mean he’s upstairs on the third floor. Turning, I head for the hidden elevator banks down a hall to my left. Punching the code into the panel for top floor access, we all step into the glittering gold elevator when the doors open.

Arriving at the top floor, my three cousins and I step out of the elevator mere moments later. They didn’t even try to talk me out of it on the short ride up. Just accepting whatever is going to happen is going to happen. Braxton deserves everything coming his way. And I plan on getting as much information out of the asshole as possible without actually touching him. Again, angry, not fucking stupid.

The top floor has fewer people than the main floor, and all these men and even a woman or two are dressed in business suits and high-end retail. Us in jeans, Colt 45 logo shirts, and a few stray blood drops on my black fitted tee stand out like a piece of coal in a pile of diamonds.

The man of the hour is lounging comfortably in a low leather chair, watching the main stage performance. From the corner of my eye, I see that it’s the Jewelry Box’s star gem, Blue Diamond. Or Blue, as she’s called. Hanging from a hula hoop looking contraption from the ceiling twirling and stripping at the same time. She sparkles under the lights as her blue iridescent diamonds glitter with every twirl.

I stop dead in my tracks when I see him, and a half-second later, I feel a large body bump into me from behind. Turning, I see it was Zander. His eyes flash to me and then to the stage and back to me.

“S-sorry, cuz.” Is all he says, nothing further.

My attention turns directly back to Braxton sipping his drink not twenty feet from me. He hasn’t even noticed us yet. Fucker’s gonna know I’m here real quick. Closing the distance between us, my legs eat up the floor in a few quick long strides. My towering height makes my presence known quickly as I stop inches from his chair. The cocky bastard cocks his head, inclining to glance at me before returning to watching Blue.

“Nix. To what do I owe this pleasure?” Cocky fucking bastard’s gonna die by my hands one day.

“Where have you been all night?” Clover’s only been missing a few hours at this point, so if he had anything to do with it, his whereabouts this evening will tell me.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I’ve been here for the past few hours.” He answers before sipping his drink again. Fuck do I want to slap that drink from his hands, drag him up by his lapels and throw him out a window. Restraining myself mainly because of the presence of Rosie behind me. I don’t want to start a brawl here on his territory with only Zander and Beau as backup. We’re seriously outnumbered and outgunned here. Plus, mom would kill me if I let anything happen to Rosie. Not that she can’t protect herself. Still, I am a southern gentleman. Sort of.

“You sure about that? No quick trips to Colt’s for any reason?”

---