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One
Dante
I never thought my life would sink as low as it has. Being the president of a motorcycle club puts me in some precarious situations, but this takes the cake.
The underground club doesn't look like much from the outside. It reminds me of the speakeasies back in the 20s, with a nondescript entrance, complete with a password. Three weeks ago, I was struggling to find my way into one of the Guild's elite parties.
Now I'm giving the password to the man behind the slit in the door. I overheard it at the dogfight I was at two nights ago from a kid who didn’t look old enough to drive, but was clearly spending Daddy’s money.
When I rushed off to Synd to help Ryker Helms, another MC president, fend off the Guild, I assumed they only had one operation. The deeper I dig into their organization, the more I'm horrified by the things they dirty their hands with. The Trade and the Auction where they sell people are the worst by far. Every other event is just more bullshit piled on top. This gambling ring is mild in comparison.
I straighten my tie, and pull my cuffs over the expensive watch I picked up last week. It's cumbersome and too flashy, but it certainly helps me fit in. I fucking hate it. I'm used to leather jackets and grease on my hands, not fancy suits and clean nails. If I'm going to infiltrate the Guild, though, I must play the part.
The heavy metal door screeches as it opens, revealing a long, dark hallway. Music thuds through the space, pounding in my ears. I'll have a headache by the time the night is over. Hopefully, this venture is more fruitful than the previous ones I've been to.
I'm already a week past when I said I'd be back at Vipers' headquarters. Leaving Maddox in charge isn't the most ideal situation. I can only hope I have a club to come back to when I'm finished gathering information on the Guild. I can’t bring them down by myself, but with reinforcements, we might have a chance.
Slipping into another persona, one I don't particularly like, I prowl down the hall toward a black curtain draped across the doorway. A man with a wicked-looking knife hanging from his belt grins as he pulls the fabric back, exposing a den of iniquity.
On the surface, the space looks like any other gambling hall. Round gaming tables are laid out around the space with a bar set up on the side. A stage lines the other wall with scantily dressed women dancing.
On the surface, they look like they're having fun, but as I make my way closer, the outline of bruises flash across their exposed flesh. There's a deadness in their eyes, as if they've been doing this for so long, they no longer register the men reaching out to grope them.
A couple women work the floor, carrying drinks back and forth from the bar. As they pass the men seated around the tables, hard hands snatch at their arms, their hips, their hair—anything to harass them. The women scamper away as soon as possible, only to be subjected to the treatment again when they return with glasses filled with more liquor.
"Would you like something to drink, sir?" a timid woman asks, and I turn.
Makeup cakes her face, hiding whatever atrocities the Guild has visited upon her. Glancing at her hands, I notice a slight tremor as she grips a notepad and pen. My gut tightens as I stare at her blue eyes, fear blowing out her pupils. I may rationally understand what I have to do, but it doesn’t make it any easier to pretend to be like every other man in this room. Reminding myself I can't save them all, I clear my throat.
"Whiskey on the rocks," I say, and she nods. Latching onto her arm, I yank her back. "Top shelf."
She shakes in my grasp and I drop my hand. A bitter taste overtakes the back of my throat, but this is the way things must be for now. I track her as she scampers away to the bar. A man, probably not much older than eighteen, if that, brushes past me, taking my attention away from the woman. Gripping his wrist, I stop him, squeezing as he spins around.
"Best not try that here," I growl.
Shaking his lanky brown hair from his face, he nods, a glint of defiance in his eyes. I wonder how he got in here. He’s not particularly skilled in pickpocketing. He wasn’t even able to unclasp my watch. I doubt the Guild would employ him, especially for this.
"They'll let any riffraff in here, won't they?" a man around the same age as me murmurs from the table a few feet away.
"It's disgusting, really.” I push the kid away.
He stumbles, then flips me off before disappearing. Scanning the table, the other men are all younger than me, shooting wary looks at the man who spoke. The dealer hesitates to lay the next card, glancing at the one who is clearly in charge.
"Get to it. I'm here to play cards, not watch you bumble around," he barks out, drawing the attention of the others at the next table. "You joining or are you here for other entertainment?"
He glances up, bright blue eyes piercing me as a smirk pulls up his lips. The serving girl rushes up with my drink, practically running away as soon as the glass is in my hand. The man's hand snakes out, wrapping his around her waist. She winces as his fingers dig into her flesh. My palms itch as he drags her onto his lap and his hand reaches up to grope her chest.
Falling into the chair next to him, I school my face before he can see my disgust. The dealer slaps down the last card, indicating final bids. The man continues his quest on her body as he throws in a handful of chips. Everyone groans as he reveals his hand, several shoving back from the table.
"If you're waiting for an invitation to join, you won't get one," he mutters before planting an open-mouthed kiss on her neck.
"Women shouldn't be allowed at the table," I grunt. It's the only excuse I can think of to get her away from him.
He laughs, shoving her off his lap, and she stumbles away, righting her clothes as she goes. Another man sits down in a vacant seat and pulls out a wad of cash. Taking the money from my pocket, I peel off several bills, laying them down. I don't gamble often, and every den has different rules, but this one seems pretty straightforward.
"What business are you in…" He raises an eyebrow.
"Dante Cruz. And I deal in many things, mostly offshore affairs. You?" There's no way I'm giving out my real last name, but I won't fall into the trap of not answering my first name if I give out a completely false one.
