Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 142728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
“Anytime.” She releases me and I set her down. “Please be careful.”
“Always.” I step outside but Vapor doesn’t follow.
I stand there listening to the two of them murmuring back and forth for a bit before he finally joins me, closing the door behind him.
Should I really involve him in my shit? It’s MC business. I could’ve just waited for Z to go with me. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” I say.
He stares at me, a slight frown forming on his face. “I could use the extra cash.”
“If you need money—”
He holds up his hand to stop me from getting out the full thought. Vapor won’t accept charity. I get that. Respect it, even. “Who’s gonna have your back if I don’t go with you?” he asks.
“I’ll be fine.”
“What if they’ve got a dog who takes a chunk out of your ass?”
I roll my eyes. “There’s no dog.”
“What if they’ve got a knife or pull a gun on you?”
“Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“You’re a crazy motherfucker, you know that?” He shakes his head and starts walking to the driveway.
“Let’s get going,” I grumble.
He sweeps his hand toward my bike. “Lead the way.”
About an hour later, we roll into Ironworks. We weave through traffic until we find our way to a seedy but quiet, narrow, one-way street. I stop at the corner and park at the curb. Vapor pulls in behind me.
He sets his helmet on his bike and makes his way over. “Feels like old times,” he says, slipping on his gloves. “You remember that night you whisked me away from my actual job to pay some poor bastard a visit? I barely knew your psycho ass. Probably should’ve thought twice about gettin’ in your vehicle.”
I snort at the memory. As a teenager, Vapor was as fearless as he was distrustful. “Had to see what you were made of, kid.”
He smirks at kid. “Nah, be honest. You just wanted to give a visual demonstration of what would happen to me if I ever hurt Juliet.”
He’s got me there. “Damn right.” Why bother lying about my motivations?
“Now that we’re family and all, you know you can trust me,” he says with a dry laugh. “You plannin’ to tell me what this guy did to earn a visit from your grim reaper ass?”
“Roughed up one of our girls.”
He grunts. “Sometimes I think you only run that strip club to find abusers to take out your frustrations.”
“Interesting theory. I’ll run it by my therapist.” I wave my hand impatiently. “Can we get on with it now, Doctor Hawkins. Or would you like to head shrink me some more?”
“Please.” Vapor risks death by tapping a finger against my temple. “That’s the last place I want to crawl inside. Fuck only knows what sort of demons lurk in your head.”
He has no idea.
“Well, what’s your plan?” he asks.
If it was someone who owed the club money, I’d use a weapon—lead pipe, hammer, or whatever’s handy. But with these fuckers, I prefer to get my knuckles bloody.
I flex my fingers. “Keep watch. Let me know if we’re drawing attention or if someone’s calling the cops. Although, in Ironworks, it could be hours before anyone bothers to show up.”
“Good to know.” He pulls his knit hat over his ears and shoves his hands in his pockets.
Together we navigate the uneven sidewalk. Christ, Ironworks is a dump. At least this part of the city is.
We stop in the shadows of one of the nicer brownstones on the street. The double front doors are painted a red that compliments the brick building. I take a quick look up and down the street, then jog up the wide stone steps.
To the right, three buttons and mailboxes announce the names of the tenants. No reason to bother poking at any of them to see if someone lets us in, though.
The double doors have two wide panes of glass, allowing a view of another set of double doors and the entire first floor hallway. Large, curved staircase to the left. Our target’s door on the right—only a few short steps away once I get through the front entrance.
I reach for the metal knob on the door, slowly twisting. It turns easily and the door swings open with a metallic creak. Black-and-white tile that was probably once a pattern of some sort but now is too dirty to tell, covers the narrow entryway leading to the next set of doors. Too small for both of us to comfortably fit inside. Vapor remains at my back. I don’t have to turn around to know he’s scanning the street, searching for anyone who might see us and have questions.
“What’s even the point?” he mutters.
“Double doors? Probably to keep the heat in and the drafts out during the winters.”
He grunts in acknowledgment. “Thanks for the science lesson.”