HARDCORE: Storm MC(35)

Joey fucking Ronn noticed. And the fucker pulled me away from the scene, about fifteen minutes after Sienna’s dance had ended, telling me he needed to speak with me alone in the library. I did not want to go. I needed to stay and watch over my woman. This shit was so not right. But then I felt Ship’s hand on my shoulder blade, and he grumbled, “I’ll watch her, Dom.” I looked at him darkly, he gave me a chin up for trust, and I followed the smirking Ronn to the fucking library.



“I see you got a problem tonight.” He poured a drink. I had thought it might have been for me—it was obvious as fuck that I could use it—but no. I was, after all, on duty, guarding his pathetic excuse for a self.



“No problem,” I ground out.



“There had better be no problem. That bitch is out there doing her job. And the night is still young. You gotta learn to tack it down, boy-o. She’s just a fucking whore, anyway. Don’t let yourself get so strung-up. It’s pathetic to watch. I thought the Storm MC were all men. Don’t make me wonder about that.”



I could feel my eyes narrow and my jaw tighten, and I was pulling my breaths deeply. I wanted nothing more than to beat this little POS’s face into pulp. But that would seriously interfere with the plan and probably stir up a whole bunch of shit that I really didn’t need flying.



When I failed to rise to his bait, giving him nothing more than a sharp stare as I towered over him, the little prick grew uneasy. “Yes. Well. Okay. Just so long as we are clear here.”



He cleared his throat and swallowed nervously under my steady glare. I was not letting up. The man had insulted my woman and insulted me personally. That shit did not stand in my world. Tonight may not have been the night for me to make that clear to him, but he would at least understand that I was in no way, shape, or form intimidated or cowed by his attempt at power talk.



One thing I could say for the guy, though, was that his instinct to stay alive was working appropriately. He saw the threat that I posed and perhaps realized he may have pushed me too far. “Okay, Mr.… Dom, right?”



“That’s Mr. Parker, to you.” I’d take nothing less than full-on formal respect from this douchebag from now on.



“Uh-huh. Mr. Parker.” He eyed me warily. “Maybe you need a minute or two to… take a breather. Take your time.” And he scurried out of the office like the hounds of hell were at his heels.



I was still too pissed off to laugh. But I knew that I’d be laughing at that image later. What a fucking useless prick Joey Ronn was turning out to be. He was no more than a sick yes-man to Fielding, and a sleazy pimp to his dancers. And a fucking blackmailing slimebucket to Clav. Damn, I needed to find something that could be used as evidence against this worthless POS.



I looked around me for a moment and realized my extreme good fortune. Ronn had chosen to use Fielding’s library-study for our little tête-à-tête. Effectively, it appeared that I had found myself in his home office. With his computer. And a desk with several drawers. And an external hard drive just sitting out, attached to the laptop that was lying on top of the desk. The arrogant twat had just left his shit out in the open. Un-fucking-believable.



Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, I palmed the hard drive and pocketed it to look into on my own time once I got out of this shithole. I then further searched every drawer of the desk, finding nothing of note there. Remembering myself, I followed the general practices of all wise heisters and I used the bottom of my shirt to wipe down the desk and computer area to rub out any prints.



I turned to the rest of the room, which was lined with built-in bookcases. The lower shelves mostly featured large leather-backed series, while the middle and upper shelves had more seeming variety. There were gaps here and there, where framed old-style maps and porcelain figurines posed.



On the surface, there was nothing sticking out as obvious or odd or notable; there was no clear place to start. I randomly pulled out a few books here and there, and they were just books, filled with paper pages; most appeared unread. I picked up a couple of figurines, and they weighed about what you’d expect. No tripped wires or hidden anything, as far as I could tell.



I decided the rest of this room was a dud and that I’d already hit “pay dirt,” as Sienna would say, with the hard drive. I also figured I’d been in there long enough and it was time to go back out and check on my woman. I knew Ship had had his eyes open, watching out that nothing might happen to her. But she was my woman to protect, not his, and I needed to be sure of her safety in this viper’s nest.