Page 40 of Filthy Secret
That was not the voice I expected to hear ever again. But that name comes attached to another one. The one that put me in the hospital. So I don’t fling the door open the way my sister probably assumed I would at the sound of her voice.
In fact, I am more cautious than I ever have been. I hold my breath for a moment, then let it out slowly, trying to release my anger with it, but it doesn’t work. I’m still pissed off. Completely and totally pissed off. She didn’t even come to the hospital to see me, not that I ever wanted her to. But it would have been nice if she tried. If she gave a shit.
“What do you want?” I snap.
“I just want to talk to you,” she calls out, adding in a sniffle for good measure.
I almost laugh, but I’m too scared that Golden Joker is lurking around the corner, ready to take me and force me to work off Ellen’s debts. Lifting my hand to my forehead, I hold it there for a long moment as I just try to breathe. I don’t know what to say or do next, so instead of saying anything, I stay quiet.
“Ryan,” she calls out. “Please. I just want to talk to you.”
Every bit of my gut instinct tells me to call Grover right this instant. But for whatever reason, I decide to ignore my gut. I don’t open the door because Adam is inside, and I’m not about to put him in danger, not over this.
“You can talk to me through the door,” I state.
ATOMIC
Nash follows us back to the clubhouse. It’s getting late, and I should probably go back home, but I need to find out exactly what the fuck Nash has planned. I know he’s talking about a strip club, but there is a lot that goes into that. The thought of Nash and all the retired OG Dark Horse MC men running a strip club makes my head fucking spin.
Dirty fucking bastards.
That’s what they are, and as much as it annoys me, it also makes me laugh.
I hope in twenty years, I’m exactly like them.
It doesn’t take us long to pull into the clubhouse parking lot. Kicking the stand down on my bike, I throw my leg over and stand up tall as King and Nash fall in beside me. Together, the three of us head inside.
I jerk my chin toward the conference room, where we hold church, as I head around to the bar and grab a couple of bottles of Crown Royal, along with a few glasses, before I make my way toward them. If I’m going to talk about this shit, I’m going to need a fucking drink.
King and Nash are sitting at the end of the table as I approach, closing the door behind me so we won’t be interrupted. Although, just because the door is closed doesn’t mean that these fucking heathens won’t just bust into a room anyway.
“Let’s discuss this,” I say, pouring the three glasses of Crown.
There is a moment of silence as Nash reaches forward, taking a glass before he lifts it to his lips and takes a drink. He hisses as the liquid burns his throat before he leans back in the chair and his gaze flicks between me and King, then lands on me.
“Got a building. It’s across from the university.”
My eyes widen. “Yeah?” I ask.
He jerks his chin. “College girls needing cash, college boys needing to see tits and ass,” he chuckles.
“You sound like a goddamn pervert,” King states.
Nash shrugs a shoulder, obviously unbothered by his son’s snarky remark. “Call me what you want. I’m not doing it to stare at the dancers. I’m doing it to make some fuckin’ money. You don’t want us to run a stable. This is something we can do to make some money for ourselves and the club.”
“Plus see tits and ass?” King remarks.
Nash’s eyes widen, and he leans forward with a smirk playing on his lips. “Son, I can see tits and ass any minute of any day. You already know that shit. We got clubwhores, and if I get tired of them, I can just hop on my bike and ride to another club and taste theirs. This isn’t about tits and ass, although I’m not going to cry about the view.”
Point. Made.
King rolls his eyes without saying another word. Nash is drinking his Crown as if he’s just laid out the perfect mic drop. Which, to be fair, what he said was pretty legit.
“Let’s talk numbers. What is the startup cost for something like this, and do you have the capital in your club, or will you need money from us? And how does this affect what work you’ve been doing for us, vetting and recruiting clubs to patch over to the Dark Horse MC?” I ask.
Nash’s lips curve up into a shit-eating grin. It’s clear that he has been waiting for this moment so he can give me his whole fucking speech. Thankfully, whatever he has prepared isn’t long because if it was, I would tell him to cut it way the fuck back.
“I got five guys working on the club shit, and nothing gets approved unless my eyes have landed on it. The building was a club that closed down during all that Covid shit. It’s empty, but it’s been left as is. We get furniture, everything. A little touchup paint, carpets cleaned, and it’s good to go. Nothing needs to be updated yet.”