She studied me, her shrewd eyes moving over my face like she could read my secrets.
At last she nodded once. “Fine. Follow me, Winston.”
Christine turned and the impenetrable barrier of bikers split down the middle, creating a straight path through the crowd. I looked beyond Christine, saw we were headed toward a hallway at the back of the bar.
I heard Cletus from someplace behind me say, “Gentleman, ladies.”
The walls were black. The doors were black. Everyone was dressed in black. Moving through the crowd was like swimming in a midnight sea surrounded by sharks. I could feel their eyes on me, their stares menacing and hostile.
Once we entered the hall I glanced behind me. Though the wall of bikers loitered at the edge of the hallway, eight were following us. Christine stopped abruptly, turned, and lifted her chin toward me.
“Put your hands on the wall and spread your legs.”
Clenching my jaw, I did as instructed, realizing we’d made it pretty far into the club without being frisked.
My three brothers also complied, but then after a half minute I heard Cletus say, “That’s silly string.”
I glanced over my shoulder, watching the interaction between Cletus and one of the bikers patting us down.
“What’s it do?” the biker asked.
“It’s silly,” Cletus responded. “And it makes a mess.”
The club member glanced at Christine and she shrugged, addressing her question to Cletus, “You planning on making silly messes?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Then why do have it?”
“Just in case you have cameras in the room where we’re being taken.”
She frowned at Cletus, her eyes narrowing. “You planning on covering the lenses with silly string?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“No, you ain’t.” She lifted her chin and the silly string was confiscated.
Once the pat down was complete, Christine led us further into the winding corridor. We descended a flight of stairs, passing more black walls and more black doors. Nothing was labeled and all the hallways looked the same. I had no idea how we were going to get out of here without a guide.
With every step, my fear mounted, a sensation I wasn’t accustomed to. Panic threatened to either choke me or send me into a blind rage. All I could think about was Jess, somewhere in this hellish labyrinth. But I stopped myself from imagining the worst, because if I did then I would most certainly yield to blind rage.
Finally, we stopped in front of a door. I strained my ears, heard voices on the other side, and a shot of adrenaline traveled through my system like a lightning bolt when I recognized one of the voices as Jessica’s. I had to clench my jaw and ball my hands into fists to keep from charging forward.
“After you, handsome,” Christine said, opening the door wide and giving me a sinister smile.
I didn’t need to be asked twice.
I walked into the room and scanned it, my eyes immediately latching on to Jessica. She was sitting on a black leather couch, and next to her was Claire. They both looked pissed, but unharmed. My chest eased, some of the panic I’d been fighting dissipated. The girls weren’t looking at us. They were looking at the man on the adjacent couch, a man I recognized as Razor Dennings, president of the Iron Order.
“So you boys made it,” he said without turning his head; Razor’s eyes were on his daughter but he lifted his chin toward Jess. “I knew you’d come if I invited your girl here for a visit.”
Jess’s attention finally moved to where I stood, her eyes telling me most of what I needed to know. She wasn’t surprised to see me. And she was scared, and feeling stupid for some reason, trying to apologize without saying the words.
“I don’t see why all this was necessary,” Repo drawled. I glanced to my right, found him sitting on a stool in front of a black lacquer bar. He had a whiskey or a bourbon in front of him, but it looked untouched.
I forced myself to see beyond my Jess tunnel vision and took a quick survey of the room. Besides the eight-biker escort behind us, Razor, and Repo, there were two other Order members in the room, both as big as mountains. I recognized one as Catfish. I knew him because he liked to fish and sometimes went out with Hank Weller and Beau. He was difficult to overlook.
“This is all necessary, Repo, because you take too fucking long to get shit done,” Christine spat as she strolled past me and crossed to her old man, giving him a sloppy kiss and whispering something in his ear.
“I have the situation under control,” Repo responded through gritted teeth, glaring at the back of Christine’s head.
“Enough. This shit needs to be settled.” Razor pushed his old lady aside and she fell into the couch. He stood, stepped over her legs like she was a nuisance, and scanned us.