Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 81285 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81285 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
“No way in hell Sergei would ever let that happen.”
“You’re right about that.” His smile faded as he leaned in and asked, “You heard any mention about us expanding?”
“Another strip club across town, and possibly a tattoo shop?”
“Yeah, what do you think?”
“I’m all for it. More business means more money, but we’re stretched thin as it is. We start adding new locations, we’re gonna need more help.”
“Prospects?”
“Or start hiring outside help, and that includes security detail and everything in between.”
“Dad said the same thing.”
“He’s right. Growth is good as long as you keep a handle on it.”
We stood there for a moment, letting the conversation sink in and the reality of what expansion really meant for us. More opportunities were always good, but the added responsibility could do us in. Memphis finished off his beer before saying, “Still.. a tattoo shop could be badass.”
“You’re just looking for an excuse for more ink.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
Before I could answer, the front door swung open, and Smitty strolled in like he owned the place. He strolled over to us with a big smirk on his face. “Do not fret, my brothers. The party has arrived.”
For a split second, none of us said a word.
We all just stood there, staring at our prospect with a mix of relief and concern. He’d had a hard time recovering from his injuries, and for a moment there, we all thought we might lose him. But the little asshole had too much fight in him for that.
I walked over to him and slung my arm over his shoulder. “Glad you decided to get back to the land of the living.”
“You missed me, didn’t ya?”
Smitty reached over to the bar and grabbed a beer, chugging it like it was just another Saturday. Seeing him standing upright and smiling hit me harder than I expected. As happy as I was that he’d come to give a hand, I didn’t want him to jeopardize his recovery. “Blade know you here?”
“Hell, no. But he cleared me for light activity.”
“Perfect,” Seven chuckled as he motioned his head toward the back. “Get after it.”
Smitty nodded and made his way over to his post near the back bar, and one by one, we each took a moment to welcome him back. For some, it was a pat on the shoulder. For others, it was a knuckle scrub on top of the head or shared beer.
It was clear from the big smile plastered on his face that he was pleased to be back in the fold. Unfortunately, the smile wouldn’t last long. In fact, all the good vibes we were all feeling went flying out the window when we heard a loud bang coming from the back.
It sounded like metal on metal, and it was loud enough to rattle the walls. Before any of us could process what was happening, the front door blew open and four men filed in. Four more came in through the back.
“Nobody move!” one of the men shouted. “And that includes you Fury boys. You even think of doing something stupid, and I’ll end every fucking one of ya.”
I would’ve given anything to know who these assholes were, but they were masked and wearing all black, making it impossible to get a good look at them. We’d faced a lot over the years. Rival clubs looking to make a statement. Gangs thinking they were tougher than they were. Even a brush with the Russian mafia.
War was something I understood.
Eye for eye. Blood for blood.
Masked men with guns threatening our girls and our customers were more than your typical altercation. This was a threat on a whole new level. I shot a look over at Memphis, and he nodded, confirming that he’d triggered the silent alarm that would signal to everyone at the clubhouse that there was trouble.
There was no doubt that they would come, armed and ready.
But it would take time—time I wasn’t sure we had.
The front pair moved fast. They had their weapons drawn and were sweeping the room with precision. The others circled the perimeter, securing all the exits.
Tight formation.
No wasted motion. This shit was rehearsed.
This was a hit. I just had no idea who was running the show.
My pulse steadied, but my brain was busy running every angle, every exit, and noting every face in the crowd. There was panic in everyone’s eyes. One wrong move, and this thing would turn into a massacre.
One of the men stepped on the stage. All eyes were on him as he aimed his weapon toward the ceiling and fired a single shot. Screams and shrills filled the room but quickly died when he fired a second shot and shouted, “Everyone on the floor. Keep your heads down, and nobody gets hurt.”
And just like that, the room folded in on itself.