Page 14 of Dealing Dirty
“Well, if I know Sash, she kept you busy.” He smirks, referencing Sasha’s bossy side. When the woman puts her mind to something, she just can’t let it go. Micromanaging my packing skills happens to fall in that category.
It takes over an hour before we’re able to get the next wave of customers served and satisfied. Most nights at The Pound are calm, but on nights like tonight, out of town folks and unfamiliars somehow stumble their way in and jam the place tight.
I drape a towel over my shoulder and lean against the back bar. The bright glow from the backlight reflects off the liquor bottles, warming Jack’s face as he slides up next to me.
Staring out at our home away from home, I survey the crowd, pausing to admire the leather cuts the Wolves are sporting. A large woven image of a wolf with an eyepatch spans almost the entire center, with their gang’s name etched in Old English at the top. The crazed look in the wolf’s exposed eye matches their gruffness perfectly.
Not everyone in the gang is prone to the same level of violence. Some of them have committed atrocious crimes, while others have done no worse than steal a car or two. But the one thing I’ve learned from my years here is that they’re thick as thieves. You mess with one, you mess with them all.
There’s a younger woman I’m not familiar with hanging out by them. She’s got to be in her early twenties, but she’s gorgeous in that rough, edgy way. Her all-black getup rides her smaller than average curves in a way that would have most men nipping at her heels. From here, it’s hard to tell if she’s an ol’ lady or just a hang-around.
“Who’s the new chick?” I nod her direction.
Jack doesn’t bother looking. “That’s Hazel, Ken’s daughter.”
Ah.I get it now. One doesn’t stare down the president’s daughter and live to talk about it.
I avert my gaze, relaxing back against the counter on my elbows. “She’s cute.”
“Yeah, and off the market. Trust me, Kenneth may not have committed murder in recent years, but I have no doubt he’d kill every fucker in here just for looking at her. Between them and Bruce, I’ve got enough issues to deal with. Don’t go stirring up trouble.”
I roll my eyes, nice and dramatic. The scowl marring his face raises a smile to mine. “Relax. I’m not that stupid. Besides, she’s not my type.”
A five-foot-five Latina fireball with dangerous curves and a temper to match is more like it.
Laughter rocks his chest. “Yeah, where have I heard that before?”
That’s right. He’d said the exact same thing to me about Cassidy when they first met. I wince, still feeling a twinge of guilt for leaving her on the side of the road with dirty hands and a busted axle.
Juliana seamlessly flits around the room with Cass. I see now why Cassidy always said they were the perfect team. One takes orders from a table while the other grabs drinks from Micah at the farthest end of the bar, and they alternate back and forth. They’re running the entire room with the shortest wait times I’ve ever seen.
The men can’t keep their eyes off them, and the women toss envious glares their way, seemingly wishing to be them.
Cassidy once told Jack that this place needed a woman’s touch, and I hate to admit it, but she was onto something.
Kenneth’s broad body eclipses my view of the girls. He wears a tattered red bandana folded over his forehead and tied in the back, and his cut is worn around the edges where the sleeves should be. The younger man boasting a ‘VP’ patch stands nearby in case someone decides to get nosy. But no one would dare approach the bar with the leader of the Wolves present.
“Jack. Derrick,” he grunts by way of greeting, sliding onto the barstool closest to us.
Jack grabs a glass before reaching into the cooler for the Crown Royal we keep for the gang leader and pouring the man a drink. The amber liquid sluices over the ice, which crackles as Jack slides it in his direction.
Kenneth releases a tightahh, slamming the glass onto the counter after taking a long gulp. He combs a hand down his full gray beard, and the mottled prison tattoos streaking his arm catch my eye. “Let’s talk a little business, boys.”
I take the liberty of refilling his glass. “What can we do for you?”
“Jack, you know I’ve trusted you and your kin for years, but this shit with Diablo has started shakin’ my crew,” he says, referring to the recent threats.
Jack places his palms on the edge of the bar. “Trust me, I understand.”
Kenneth sizes us up for several uncomfortable breaths. “Have you heard anything else from him or his ilk?”
Jack gives a solemn shake of his head. He hasn’t gotten an update from Ben since he first left. We’re not naïve enough to believe that Bruce will bow out without a fight—even with Ben on his payroll—but if Kenneth feels the need to have a conversation, then the anticipation is clearly affecting more than just us.
“You see that little lady over there?” He points to Hazel. “She’s all I’ve got left in this nasty ol’ world, and I’m not going to let anything happen to my baby girl.”
He takes a chug of whiskey and swallows hard. “I need your word that you’ve got the situation under control. Me and the pack, we’ve done our time, and we don’t want any more trouble with the law.” The scent of whiskey and aftershave stings my nose, and his whisper takes on a lethal edge. “I want to beveryclear when I say that nothing and no one will stand in my way if this fucker threatens us again. We aren’t the type to sit and wait around. If you aren’t going to make a move to end this, then me and mine are going to take matters into our own hands.”
A prickling rush of heat boils my blood. If Ken’s implying that he’d go behind Jack’s back, then that’s going to majorly fuck up this whole operation.
