My meeting with my parole office had been status quo. I had answered his questions, peed in a cup, and made an appointment for the following month. I couldn't wait to be out from under that fucking requirement. It was like having a damn babysitter. Each one left me pissed off, and afterward, I always went back to work to take out my frustration on an automobile instead of in the streets. Yesterday had been no different. I'd gone back to the shop. By the time I had finished the car I worked on, it was late, and I was beat. It never failed. My monthly meetings with a PO ignited a flame of irritation and anger that stayed with me late into the night. Jeff wasn't a bad guy; I just resented being forced to meet with him, and the drug tests were a joke. I'd never done drugs-despite what people believed based on my appearance-and I never would. I'd merely been at the wrong place at the wrong time, and I would pay the price for the rest of my life. Maybe that was what infuriated me so badly. E
I hadn't dressed up; I'd dressed to be noticed. By her. I hadn't mistaken the way she'd held my stare when her attention could have roamed to any number of attractive guys at Chase's bachelor party. Seven days had been six too many. I'd endured Club Swank more than any woman deserved, yet here I sat, waiting at the bar, again. For over an hour, I'd nursed my scotch and watched as one dancer after another paraded across the stage to the tune of another raunchy song, half-dressed. None of them held any appeal, nor did the company of any of the guys who hung out here. I tried my best to remain unnoticed, but in U21's world, the best friend of Chase Silvano was almost as good as the man himself. Most of the dancers were keenly aware of my disinterest, and those who weren't learned quickly. The ones I'd grown up with asked too many questions, and if Diamond didn't make an appearance shortly, I'd chalk it up to the stars not aligning and go home. I didn't make a play for women, especially
It was possible I assumed far too much based on what I saw, but I'd learned a lot being locked up. The most important being to read people. The notion that eyes were the window to the soul wasn't a misnomer; it was absolute truth. I'd studied more people than I cared to admit, most of which weren't worthy of the air they breathed. Once a person figured out how to identify evil, innocence was easy, and rage was an emotion no one hid well. This girl was living and breathing that animosity. All in my direction. Her three minutes ended faster than I cared for them to. The music stopped, the crowd erupted, and she stood there in nothing other than a strip of fabric-that couldn't legitimately be considered panties-and sinful boots. Seething, she looked into me. Clearly, I wasn't the only one who could see beyond appearances and into the heart of who someone was. Her eye makeup accentuated the piercing stare aimed solely at me. I had only hated my association with Chase Silvano one other t
I'd seen him from backstage before my first number. I hadn't expected him to stay rooted in the same spot through my last two dances, nor had I anticipated him staring me down. Two could play that game, and I had. I wasn't afraid of him. He was the epitome of everything I hated in this neighborhood.The other girls talked about him. They all wanted him, not that I could figure out why-I didn't bother to ask, either. Maybe it was his connection to the Silvano family, perhaps it was the asshole effect women seemed to swoon over, or possibly even the bad-boy vibe that oozed from every tattoo over every inch of his perfectly sculpted body. Whatever it was, I wasn't interested. He was the type of guy who ran the gang that landed me here to begin with. And anyone who had any connection to a drug lord wasn't worth sharing air with.I stared out from behind the curtain, wondering why he sat at the bar alone yet never interacted with any of the girls. Not once had I seen him approach one of
Halfway through the song, it dawned on me that he knew this was my last number. I watched him pay his tab and scoot toward the edge of the stool. With his eyes trained on mine, I plowed through the exaggerated movements that drove drunk men wild yet seemed to do nothing for him. He didn't so much as peek at my chest or cast a glance at my ass. The muscles in his arms twitched anytime another man came near me, and he clenched his fists with every hand that he watched tuck a dollar bill under the string of my barely there underwear. He just never appeared aroused himself-further confirmation that he was here working a job and I was his subject.The thought of his watchful eye being a paid gig unnerved me and excited me all the same. So much so that I almost lost my footing and therefore my balance on my last pole trick. As my legs spread and I sank to the floor, I held my breath, waiting for the song to end. Darkness covered the stage, and I nearly ran to try to escape the odd power he
I stepped past him and then put my back to the brick so I could see the corner where Sam would stop. He turned to face me, pinning me with the same heated stare we'd shared inside. Clearly, he didn't get that I wasn't interested in whatever he was peddling. "I don't do drugs," I informed him. Leaving the emotion out of my tone kept the needed distance between us.The son of a bitch smirked. "Neither do I."I rolled my eyes. "Sure you don't." I believed that almost as much as I believe in Santa Claus or the Tooth Fairy.He crossed his heart and held up three fingers like he was some sort of modern-day fucking Boy Scout. "Never touched the stuff."It was easier to remain aloof if I wasn't lost in his brown eyes. I let my gaze linger on the stop sign where Sam should have been waiting. "Probably best in your line of work.""Yeah, mechanics and narcotics don't mix." He snickered. "Heavy equipment, moving parts, and all that jazz. My cat-like reflexes would be dulled, and I'm n
There wasn't much traffic out, not that anyone would have stopped to help a woman being attacked by a Union 21 member. Even if someone had, other members were like cockroaches that scrambled when the lights came on. They came out of the woodwork to protect each other. The gang all had the ability to go unseen, even in broad daylight. Add a cloak of darkness and they were untouchable. Cops turned a blind eye on these streets-largely in part due to the fact most of them were on the gang's payroll. I, however, did not-not in this case. The crack of Sam's palm meeting Nikki's cheek reverberated in my ears. He had slapped Nikki with such force that had he not been holding onto her arm, she would have taken a nasty fall. Yet he still hadn't let her go, and she dangled precariously in his grasp. I was within striking distance. My hand shot out with laser-like precision, and my fingers wrapped securely around his throat. My palm pressed firmly against his windpipe, and with little effort, I
"Ryker..." Her voice nearly shattered me. It wasn't the hostile, hate-filled tone she'd thrown my way before Sam showed. Her vibrato had been replaced with uncertainty and laced with fear. "I'll be okay." Three words gave away more than an admission would have.Taking my eyes off Sam wasn't an option. Gang members didn't play by the rules. They had no problem sideswiping a person to get what they needed. And while just about everyone else under the Union umbrella knew better than to cross my path, somewhere along the way, Sam had gotten the impression he could best me. A shift in my focus, a single second where my attention was lost, and he'd have me on the ground and Nikki in the car. That couldn't happen.A smug expression crossed Sam's lips, as though he believed he'd won. The motherfucker hadn't won shit other than my disdain and irritation. If he pushed it much further, he'd be the proud owner of a handful of his own teeth. "Yeah, Ryker. She'll be just fine." He waved his hand