Risky and Wild(31)

“I was sure you'd hear all about it first thing this morning,” I say as Dober gives me this look that says fuck all this drama and bullshit, we got crap to do. I raise my brows at him and he reaches down to put a hand on Janae's shoulder.

“Maybe you should give Miss Rentz a tour of the compound? I'll check in with you later for lunch.” It's a clear dismissal, one that Lyric would blow off in a second. She'd slap my hand away and keep talking. Janae, she's the perfect club wife. With a nod and smile, she gives Lyric another once-over.

“I'll give you the full tour, the good one with all the behind the scenes stuff.” Janae gestures for Lyric to follow her with a hand of vibrant pink plastic nails. “And I'll get you a mocha from the café. They make real good mochas in there.” Janae gestures again and Lyric follows without so much as glancing my way. Smart girl. This right here, this is a fight I absolutely can't help her with. If Lyric wants the women to respect her, she'll have to earn it.

I watch her ass as she moves away, the dark denim cupping those cheeks like a second skin. Unbidden, my tongue slides across my lower lip.

“For Christ's sake,” Smoky says at the same moment Dober shakes his head.

“You better be serious about this girl,” he tells me, lifting up a thick hairy finger and leveling it at my chest. I blow smoke back in his face. “Because if you're not, then you're making a huge mistake here. With all of this crap that's going on with Mile Wide, you really want to bring the mayor's daughter into the fold? If this just about sex—”

“It's not,” I tell him, dropping my smoke to the cement and crushing it out with my boot. Dober's eyes tell me he thinks I've finally lost it. “You think I'd bet everything on a bloody shag? Well then, you don't know me as well as you think you do.”

“Listen, all I'm trying to say is that the fastest way to tear a club down is to stir up the women. Just look at Rebecca.” I grit my teeth and shove past Dober, glancing sidelong at the wall of windows that show off the compound's café. With the gray glare reflecting off the glass, it's hard to see inside, but I make out Lyric's shape next to the counter before I turn away and head inside, down the hall and over to where Glacier's waiting at the bar.

“What do you got for me?” I ask as I put a hand flat on the black marble surface, listening to Dober's and Smoky's footsteps as they enter the room. Fauna's behind the bar with a sea of binders laid out in front of her, tapping a pen against her lips, the lines on her tanned face crinkling as we exchange a glance. I raise an eyebrow and she looks away, going back to her inventory sheets.

“Well,” Glacier begins, turning slowly in his seat to look at me. “Let's just say I didn't have a very productive night. If there's anything more to the story, these boys don't know the narrative. Trust me, I can be a very persuasive bastard when I want to be.” Glacier flashes his best good boy grin at me, piercings winking at me from either side of his lip, his nose, his brows. “I left both of them alone with a mic, so we'll see what we get while they sweat it out today. Other than that, I'm out of ideas.”

“You still have Clayton Moore's number?” I ask as I pull out my mobile and pass it over into Glacier's tattooed hands. A mermaid tail curls around his wrist and splashes across his knuckles in a sea of blue and bubbles, her bare breasts and wicked smile leading down her arm to a strangled sailor, bleeding to death in an iron grip. I stare at that while I wait for him to punch the numbers in.

“You sure about this?” Dober asks, but I don't answer, just hit send and hold the phone to my ear while I wait. Three rings in and the asshole answers in that thick Southern accent of his, clearly annoyed to be receiving a call from an unknown number.

“Who the hell is this?”

“Mr. Moore,” I say, making myself smile, putting every ounce of confidence I've got into my voice. “This is Royal McBride. I've got a few of your boys staying over at the clubhouse. I thought you might be interested in joining them for the little party I've got cooked up for tonight.”

There's a long pause, harsh breathing on the other end of the line. Angry breathing. Mr. Moore is fucking livid.

“You want to have a meeting with little ol' me, huh?” he asks, schooling his voice into something more pleasant, a practiced Southern drawl that probably drops knickers and cools cops. “Well, I have to say, I am downright fuckin' flattered, Mr. McBride. Tell you what, let me check out a few things and I'll get back to ya.”

“I need an answer now,” I tell him, meeting Glacier's blue eyes. We all know what'll happen to Clayton's brothers if he decides not to show. Let's just say, Saint might be spending the rest of his evening cleaning blood out from under his fingernails. “Yes or no. You want to see your boys or not?”