Knight (8 page)

Agent Greene tossed the envelope onto my table. She settled on the couch and grinned.

“It’s not a warrant.”

No, it wasn’t. A handful of hundred dollar bills poured from the envelope. This hadn’t happened before, and I knew she wasn’t offering because she thought it was cute.

“What do you want?”

Agent Greene let her hair down, and the brunette locks looked real enough. If she dropped the shoulder pads, she might have looked only thirty or so. I braced for her bite.

“Not too busy tonight, is it?” She asked.

I didn’t take the money. “It happens.”

“I feel like Sorceress is the pulse of this city. When times are good, your seats are filled. When they’re not…”

“Never underestimate the lure of a nice pair of tits, Agent Green. Most are worth the risk.”

“To a man, maybe. But to one of your girls? This is a dangerous profession.”

“With all due respect…my girls aren’t issued a gun when they hop on stage.”

Agent Greene nodded, patting the weapon at her side. “Maybe they need one. I looked at the history here. Seems you set up shop in a dangerous area.”

“Real estate is hard to come by in the Valley.”

Agent Greene shrugged. “As are licenses, liquor permits, zoning restrictions…”

“I’d rather deal with a dozen city councils over pregnant dancers and abusive boyfriends.”

“No doubt. Especially when the boyfriends come from the more unsavory parts of the city?”

I thought the dance would be literal. Didn’t need heels for this interrogation. I should have packed tap-shoes.

“This is Cherrywood Valley,” I said. “The entire city is unsavory. We just dress up a couple areas to make people feel good.”

“A shame really. This city could be quite the attraction.”

It was in the desert. The only way the Valley would become an attraction was if it suddenly dug up oil like it did in the 70s. Or if it shuffled the billionaire corporate farmers out of the area and let the water drain from the Atwood’s corn fields back to the people.

“If you’re looking for a place to stay in the city, I got a dancer with a realtor’s license. If not, my time is precious.”

“Of course it is,” she said. “This is an impressive business. I noticed the bouncers out front. They looked expensive.”

No, just their cuts. Anathema made their presence known, and, usually, their name was worth the money.

“I pay for the best. I can assure you, Uncle Sam is getting his fair share as well.”

“Not here to audit you.”

Good. The IRS was usually a hell of a lot more frightening than ATF anyway.

“You’re a businesswoman,” Agent Greene said. “You’re also known around the city as someone who’s connected.”

“Part of the job.”

“You’ve got a reputation as a troublemaker. Sorceress is as dangerous as the lunatics we chase.”

I tapped my nails on my arm. “In case you didn’t check, that’s my
Mercedes
in the parking lot. I don’t own a bike.”

“And yet somehow your club is the center of every major conflict in this city relating to those who happen to ride a motorcycle.”

“Just lucky I guess. Keeps the tips rolling in.”

“I saw the building permits for your repairs. Pretty expensive construction costs.”

No kidding. “Needed to be renovated anyway. Change of fire codes.”

“You’ll need the best fire suppression system the next time somebody burns your business down.”

“I’ll have to remember to host a fundraiser for the local volunteer fire department.”

“Lyn, how long do you think this game will last?” Agent Greene leaned forward, her eyebrow arched. “Your boys are getting sloppy. Violent. The more VIP rooms they reserve and parties they hold, the more it’ll look like you’re complacent in their activities.”

She was completely delusional. I’d dealt with three separate motorcycle clubs today, and not a single one of them thought of anything beyond their cocks when they looked at me. Even Luke only saw me as a girl in need of rescue instead of a woman profiting from their disarray.

“I can handle myself,” I said. “And I don’t appreciate unsolicited advice from someone on assignment looking for trouble. I’ve spent my life staying out of it. I suggest you do the same.”

“We can help you.”

“No. You can help yourselves. Nothing you offer would benefit me in any way. You’d use me the same as any of these men would use a woman.” I shook my head. “Either I’d get shit on or I’d get cummed on, and either way you’d expect a tissue.”

“You’re quite the pessimist.”

“I’m a realist. I know what happens on this side of the tracks, both railroad and needle.”

“But you didn’t start out this way. Of all the people I’ve run background checks on, yours was the most interesting.”

She wasn’t the first to read my file. But she wouldn’t find anything to compromise my perfect record. Just a reputable family name, a couple trust funds, and one pissed off father.

“I’m flattered, but you’re wasting your time,” I said.

“You are more important than you give yourself credit for.”

“Modesty has no place in my industry. When I tell you I’m not the one you should investigate, you ought to believe it.”

“Lyn, you are unique. You’re a trusted confidant of many men who are currently riding free, breaking laws, and causing significant problems. We could use your assistance in a few projects.”

And there it was. “I’m not interested.”

“You haven’t even heard my proposition.”

“I know what you want. It’s not going to happen.”

“I’m not asking for you to do anything personally.” Agent Greene acted as though I hadn’t heard this routine before. “We need your club.”

“This is a private establishment.”

“Which is why I came to the owner. Lyn, we’re asking for the permission to do a little reconnaissance.”

“Somehow I doubt you’re sitting your agents at the bar.”

“No. That’s too dangerous. We need to set up surveillance equipment inside.”

I laughed. “And you don’t think that wouldn’t be dangerous to
me
?”

“You’d be protected.”

“I’ve heard that too many times today,” I said. “The only one who can keep me safe is me. Now get the hell out of my club.”

“Your only patrons are the type of men most dangerous to your dancers. You hire the very criminals who will cause damage to this club. The money you accept is what they’ve traded for drugs and guns. And you wonder why you’re hiding a fat lip today.” Agent Greene stood. “Your life isn’t all peaches and cream. You have a reputation to uphold and the lives of those dancers to think about.”

“Believe me, I’m thinking real hard about that right now.”

She wouldn’t like my solution. Anathema disliked the Feds almost as much as they hated The Coup. The badge was like a cut. It didn’t matter who wore it, it’d mark them with a bull’s-eye.

“Just…consider doing this for us,” she said. “Eliminate some of the more dangerous men from the city, and you might establish your club as more than a dead-end strip joint.”

That’s what I had been doing for years. It was the reason my girls took mandatory dance lessons at my instruction. It was why my closets were filled with elaborate costumes and designed ensembles. That’s why Sorceress featured burlesque shows and belly-dancing, jazz nights and pole competitions.

To those who looked for entertainment, Sorceress was the best club they could find for two hundred miles.

“Not interested,” I said.

“You have an awful lot of loyalty to a club that puts you in harm’s way any chance they can get.”

“Good thing I can handle myself.”

“Can you?”

Agent Greene grabbed her purse, oversized and five years out of fashion. She unzipped the pocket and removed a beat-up, leather shoe, custom-made in crimson. She set my lost shoe on the table and tucked her business card inside.

“Consider my offer, Lyn. We might be able to help you.”

“I don’t need any help.”

“I think you do. Not now, of course, but Cherrywood Valley’s getting a lot of notoriety about the problems within its borders. People are blaming corrupting influences on the populace as reasons for the crimes. There’s talk of reassessing the licenses and changing city statutes for various businesses.”

I said nothing. No need to dignify her threat with a response.

“I highly advise you work
with
us.” She stood, eye level with me without heels. “Or else you’ll cover those nipples with red tape. It’ll be hard to dance from a jail cell if you’re an accessory to a particularly violent charge.” She glanced to the envelope of money at the table. “Keep it. Consider it a donation to your newly formed legal fund.”

The door closed behind her.

I hadn’t even taken my clothes off, and somehow I got fucked.

This was the day from hell. I could handle guns at my head and bikers overstepping their bounds, covering for Anathema’s secrets, and wrangling Luke while he was framed for murder.

But no one came into my club and tried to intimidate me.

I had more than enough reasons to protect Anathema, and I retained that loyalty even when they disappointed me.

I needed another drink. As always, I had more work to do.

At least I didn’t mind getting my hands dirty.

The crash came from my living room. I heard it over the rushing water in my shower.

The conditioner bottle stilled in my hand. I listened. It wasn’t paranoia.

Someone was in my apartment.

It was the first time ever an idiot broke into my penthouse. I hoped this day wouldn’t come. Anyone brave enough to cross into the classy side of town, ditch their bike outside the elevator, and test the reflexes of whatever president decided to play hero wasn’t after my purse.

And I wasn’t about to give up any other goods.

Now would have been a perfect time for ATF to stick their nose into my business. Or for Thorne to send prospects to check on me.

I wasn’t that lucky anymore.

The water pounded the tile. I let it run and stepped from the walk-in shower. The frosted glass steamed, but my bathroom door hadn’t opened. At least the bastard who broke into my apartment afforded me privacy while I bathed. I’d either make a clean corpse or a soapy prize, stuffed in a cargo truck and shipped across state lines with other unfortunate women.

I hadn’t given Temple MC any of the information they wanted, and that either proved I knew nothing or pissed them off. Or both.

I wasn’t about to find out.

I wrapped myself in the robe—thick, fluffy, and bubblegum pink, stretching from my neck and hitting below my knees. It was the least sexy thing I owned, but it was comfortable. At least it gave me a bit of cover.

I peeked through the crack in my door. No one waiting in my bedroom. My thoughts turned less creepy and more morbid.

My options were limited. A gun tucked in my vanity and another in my living room console, but both were visible from the hall. I couldn’t risk grabbing those without alerting the asshole in my penthouse. At least I had a bat in the closet.

I hated needing to be prepared, but I hadn’t had to defend my own home yet. Like a fool, I thought I was safe. But I couldn’t avoid the war by snuggling into my den with a book and mug of tea.

My fingers wrapped over the thick wood. The bat dragged over my carpets.

White carpets.

Of course I chose white.

After all the garish lights and pulsing music, haze of smoke and sensual reds and purples in Sorceress, I lived what few hours I spent at home in a pristine, perfect cloud of white. The exact kind of taste that would all-too-easily reveal a crime scene and splatter of blood.

Fortunately, I could afford new carpets. The only thing my money couldn’t buy was any goddamned safety. A twenty dollar bat wouldn’t cut me any breaks.

I crept into the dimly lit living room. I kept low, avoiding my reflection in the recessed floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city.

The telltale crunch of leather was muffled by the wall. Boots struck the floor, poking through
my
bookshelf. The asshole wasn’t robbing me. That made it worse. What the hell was he after?

I clutched the bat. My cell charged on the couch next to my purse. A good whack would drop the cocksucker to his knees. Then I’d grab the phone and bolt to Pixie, Anathema’s safe house. The only place in the city as fortified as a bomb shelter.

My heart stilled as the bastard dropped one of my first edition books. His shadow bent as he reached to grab it. I’m sure the pages wrinkled.

Son of a bitch.

Now or never.

I burst around the corner, bat raised.

He was ready. The bat swung, missed, and crunched through drywall. I aimed again, but the douche bag reached me first quicker, stronger. He spun me against his chest, my back colliding with absolute muscle.

He overpowered my grip on the bat. The wood slammed against my stomach before stilling under my neck. I kicked. Just my luck. I wasn’t in heels. I was never going to walk around without a pair of sharpened stilettos again, to prevent this kind of bullshit from happening.