Page 38 of Devil's Queen
The roar of motorcycles echoes off the building as we hurriedly ride as a group toward the strip club. Tension fills me at what we could find when we get there. Harlow has only hit the SOS signal one other time when an ex-husband came into the club looking for his wife.
When we arrive at the club, it’s pandemonium. People bolt from the interior of the building in droves. I push through the crowd, moving slowly against the flow. Once I’m inside, I find Harlow standing near the entrance, her eyes glued to the scene in front of me.
There on the stage is one of our dancers, Brittany, and a man I don’t recognize. He has her pinned to the pole behind her. His body presses so tightly against hers that she can’t move with his hand wrapped around her throat like a necklace. The lights and smoke blur his features. Two other men stand behind him, watching the man on the stage closely.
“You good?” I ask Harlow as I pass her, drawing my gun from my hip holster. Cheyenne is on my heels as well as Maya. She nods her response. “Secure the room,” I order her.
Behind her, I catch a glimpse of Pam, another dancer, ushering a group of terrified women out of the backroom toward the side exit.
With the back room clear, we can focus completely on the situation in front of us. None of them notice our approach until it’s too late. I hiss under my breath. The tension in the air is thick and suffocating. I can feel the weight of the situation bearing down on me as we approach the man on the stage. Once I’m a few feet away, a familiar cut comes clearly into view.
He’s a fucking Zulu King. Cheyenne stiffens next to me when she notices it. This has gone from bad to worse in the blink of an eye.
“Let her fucking go, asshole,” I command, my voice firm and unwavering. His two buddies shift to face me. The man on the stage turns as well, dragging Brittany with him until she’s blocking my shot. He shoves Brittany down to her knees in front of him, putting her face at eye level with his groin. His large hand remains on her throat.
The man’s eyes dart from Brittany below him to me, a twisted smirk forming on his face. “Who do we have here?” he sneers. “The so-called leader of this pathetic club?”
I resist the urge to react, to let my anger fuel my actions. Instead, I maintain a calm façade, hiding the storm raging inside me. “We’ve got you and your buddies outnumbered. Let her go.”
He laughs, a harsh sound that echoes through the room. “You think you can intimidate me? You’ve got another thing coming, sweetheart. I’m not afraid of a bunch of women who think wearing a leather cut with a pretty little patch makes you a fucking motorcycle club.”
Before I can react, he tightens his grip on Brittany’s throat even more, making her gasp for air. Panic flashes across her face as she struggles against him.
I shift forward with Cheyenne and Maya, who come from behind us, flanking me on either side. The rest of my club falls in behind us.
“Let. Her. Go,” I order again.
“I don’t think I will.” He smirks. “Brittany here owes our club some money, and I’m here to collect.”
She whimpers loud enough that I can hear her from where I stand.
“How much does she owe you?” Cheyenne barks.
“Two grand. Your girl here likes the good shit.” He uses his free hand to caress the side of her face like a lover. “I’d offered to let her pay off the debts on her knees, but…” he laughs, “… you can see she didn’t like the idea.”
“I can see why,” I fire back. “Sucking your cock wouldn’t be worth the STD test later.”
“You’re funny,” he answers sarcastically. “Maybe you should take her place. I bet your whore of a mother taught you all about blowing powerful men.”
His attempt to get under my skin fails. If I had a nickel for every time I’d been subjected to misogyny in my father’s club, I’d be living high in the hog. Women there are nothing but a hole to fuck for the bulk of their members. They hold no power, no say, and when the members are done with them, they cast them out just like they’d done to my mom and me when we refused to live the rest of our lives servicing them.
“She taught me a lot of things,” I fire back. “Most importantly, how to shoot a man between his legs and feel zero fucking remorse for it.”
“Look at you, puffing up that mosquito bite chest of yours. It’s cute, really.” He releases Brittany. She falls forward, her head crumpling to her knees as she gasps for air. The asshole starts for the stairs of the stage on the left, putting him closer to us as his buddies stick close to Brittany, trapping her on the stage with no place to run. “You don’t scare me, sweetheart,” he sneers, seemingly oblivious to the danger he’s in. “I’ve dealt with worse than you before.”
He’s playing a dangerous game, but I’m willing to risk everything to save Brittany and bring him down.
“I may not be what you’re used to…” I retort, “… but you’re about to learn your place.” I tense, feeling violence threatening to boil over within me. My gun steadies in my hand as I follow his movements.
He stops at the bottom of the steps, pulling a half-full glass from the bar next to him. The Zulu King tips back the amber liquid, sucking it down before wiping his lips with the back of his hand. He points at Brittany, the glass still in his hand. “We’ll be taking the girl with us. We need some fresh pussy at the clubhouse. Our new club president has been hogging the ones we have.”
His attempt to rile me almost hits home. If Rex had plowed his way through the club girls, that’s his business. Not mine. Who am I kidding? The thought repulses me, but giving him the reaction he’s looking for isn’t something I am going to do.
“The hell you will,” Maya barks from beside me.
With a fierce determination, I raise my gun, steadying my aim. My finger hovers over the trigger. “You’ve made your move,” I say calmly, my voice barely above a whisper. “Now it’s my turn.”
He chuckles dryly, seemingly unafraid. “You’re nothing but a pawn in a game you have no idea you’re playing. A scared little girl playing pretend.”