The Fear That Divides Us (The Devil's Dust #3)(11)

“It’s f*cking Phillip,” he clips angrily.

Everyone at the table laughs, pissing Lip off more.

“You got news for me or not?” Bull asks around his laughter.

“Yes, my Uncle Warner is opening a bar a few miles away—”

“That one just built?” Shadow cuts in, his voice sounding just a little too animated for the guy who married the president of the club’s daughter.

“Wicked Birds?” Old Guy questions anxiously, his eyes lined with wrinkles from age, as they rise in excitement.

“Yeah,” Lip answers shortly. “They are hiring girls for the floor today, I believe,” he informs, the tip of his tongue playing with his lip ring.

“I think we should go over there and acquaint ourselves with the potential employees,” I suggest with a smirk.

“You just want some *. I saw Doc turn you down out there,” Hawk says, laughing from the back of the table, before hurling into a fitful cough. Nobody here believes I’ve slept with Jessica, and she does nothing to prove she has slept with me. The boys often think I am telling stories when I speak of being with Jessica. It irritates me that she does nothing to admit to being with me at all either, but what am I supposed to say? She made it clear from day one that we were not together.

“She didn’t turn me down, and what would you know about *? You haven’t seen any since you came out of one.” Hawk and I don’t see eye to eye on anything. Ever since I was a prospect, he has been giving me hell. But I know he would have my back in the line of fire; he told me when he was drunk and all sappy one night.

Hawk stands up angry, his face scowling, making his lips come up to his eyes because he doesn’t have any f*cking teeth.

“All right, boys,” Bull warns. I take my gaze from Hawk and look at Bull, who is eyeing me grimly. I shrug. I live to piss Hawk off.

***

We pull up to the Wicked Birds and see pink etching around the top of the building and around the black double doors. It’s nothing but black brick, and is windowless. There’s a small pink awning poking out from the building sheltering the doors.

I climb off my bike and follow the rest of the brothers to the door where two men in black jeans and black shirts stand guard. Their arms crossed at the chest, their faces are humorless. There is pink velvet carpet lined outside the doorway, with tall hedges in planting pots on either side of the entry.

“Not open,” one of the guards says dismissively, his face directed at the parking lot instead of our direction as he speaks. They are both bald and pale, their arms bigger than the width of my head.

“It’s okay. They are here to meet my uncle, beefcake,” Lip insults, pushing past them. The guy on the right who is a fraction slimmer than the other guard, pulls his black sunglasses down the bridge of his crooked nose and looks Lip up and down before stepping away from the doors, replacing his sunglasses over his beady eyes.

Walking into the club, I’m hit with the overwhelming scent of perfume and beer, mixed with a hint of fresh paint. The lights implanted in the ceiling display three stages with chrome dance poles along with one that holds a cage around it. The carpet is black and the walls are painted a dark, sultry purple.

“My favorite nephew!”

I look over my shoulder and see a tall, bald man standing behind a bar, with a wooden case in his hands. Looking above the bar, I notice a black leather swing hanging above him. Is that a sex swing? I have never played in a sex swing, but looking at that black leather contraption displayed above the bar, the idea of having a woman naked in it makes me want to go buy one.

“Uncle Warner, it’s good to see you. You said you were interested in doing some business with my crew. That offer still standing?” Lip asks, walking toward the bar.

“Of course. I have been waiting for you to bring them by so they can see what I have to offer!” Warner chuckles, radiating his cockiness. He steps around the bar, holding his hand out to shake. Bull steps forward to reciprocate the greeting.

Warner has a white dress shirt elegantly tucked into his expensive-looking jeans, giving off the image of professionalism, but by the look of his huge gold chain hanging from his neck and shaven head, I know better. His eyes are dark and beady, giving a presence of danger, like he’s been through some shit. That alone tells me he’s a ‘take no shit’ kind of guy.

“You got a nice place here,” Bull says, eyeing the joint.

“Of course it is.” Warner crosses his muscular arms across his chest, his comment full of arrogance. “It’s mine, and if you work with me, you will benefit from it nicely,” Warner smiles, revealing a gold tooth.

“Shall we talk business elsewhere?” Warner asks, his smile suddenly fading. I turn away from the guys checking the place over.

“Too Fat. Too Fake. Stay away from the tanning bed and maybe…” A bitchy tone sounds from behind the stage behind us. I walk toward the sound, ever curious, and see a woman with a clipboard hurling insults at a line of half-naked women.

“Maybe one of them will pity you enough to f*ck you,” Shadow says, his voice serious. I look over my shoulder and see him smiling wolfishly, glancing at the women.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, eyeing him intently. He folds his left arm across his chest while the right one rubs at his chin as if he is thinking of a clever comeback.