Reign of Wrath (Dirty Broken Savages #3)(38)

“Don’t sweat it,” Knox replies, slinging an arm around his shoulder. “It’s not like Cyrus will be alive much longer to have any feelings about it one way or the other.”

Gage contacts the hacker to tell him to turn the cameras back on, and we head through the garage and into the club, following the sounds of music and partying that lead us in.

My first glimpse of Cyrus’s club isn’t that different from the first time I was at Sin and Salvation, the club the guys own and run. I was on a mission then too, so there’s the same level of anticipation in the air. The music is loud with a thumping beat, the bass-line of the hip hop song echoing like a heartbeat through the whole club.

The lights are dim enough that it’s hard to make out individual faces, which I guess works in people’s favor if they don’t want people to know they’re visiting a sex club for whatever reasons. Along the walls, the lights are colored, changing from blue to pink to red to purple in time with the rhythm of the song.

People are dancing in the center, a mass of people grinding and gyrating against each other, and there are women in cages along the wall, dressed in barely anything and grinding along to the beat.

It’s clear this isn’t just a club you come to for drinks and dancing. The air of sex and other carnal things is thick, even though in this main part of the club it isn’t as overt.

I know from the research we did that there are private rooms in the back where things get a lot more x-rated, but it’s still sexier than your average club in this place.

Gage puts a hand on my shoulder to get my attention over the loud music and jerks his head toward the bar. We move as a unit, me and the guys, and we make our way over, scoping the place out as we go.

“Cyrus,” Priest says, and he’s close enough that even though his voice is soft, I can hear it. He nods ahead of us, and we all look up to see Cyrus behind a roped off area, sitting at a booth in the VIP section.

There are a few bodyguards near him, big guys who are clearly armed, and there’s a pretty blonde woman in a skimpy outfit in the booth with him. The way she’s bent over at the waist with her head in Cyrus’s lap, bobbing up and down, makes it pretty obvious she’s giving him a blowjob.

Perks of being the owner, I guess. Just getting his dick sucked right there in the open.

Cyrus doesn’t look like anything special from this distance. I wouldn’t have been able to pick him out of a line up if someone asked me who I thought was the one running the sex club and buying drugs from Julian Maduro. He’s got a buzzed head and is wearing a blazer and dark colored slacks. He could be anyone, and soon he’ll be dead.

The five of us settle at the bar, and when the bartender comes over, we order a round of drinks. They come out quickly, and then the man moves down to the next round of people, making drinks fast. People shuffle up alongside us, getting their drinks before heading back to the dancefloor or back to the back so they can do whatever they came here for.

Most of them barely spare us a glance, although a few pause to take us in. The guys get as many looks as I do, though no one really lingers to talk to them. If the guys checking me out want to talk to me, they don’t, probably because of the way the four of my guys are flanked around me. It just doesn’t seem smart.

But one idiot doesn’t seem to get the message, and he manages to insert himself between me and Priest, leaning on the bar with a grin.

“I’ve never seen you here before,” he says. I can smell the alcohol on his breath, and the way he’s looking at me makes my skin crawl. Aside from the fact that he smells like he’s been drinking his way through the night, he’s nothing special. Black hair, blue eyes, and a rumpled t-shirt with a faded slogan on the front. He’s someone I wouldn’t give the time of day if I met him on my own, and he doesn’t seem like a threat aside from the fact that he can’t tell when someone doesn’t want to talk to him.

“Let’s pretend you didn’t see me now,” I tell him, putting as much disgust in my words as I can, hoping he’ll get the message and fuck off.

Of course, he doesn’t. I don’t know if it’s the booze giving him confidence and stupidity in equal measure, or if he’s just naturally a fucking dumbass.

Either way, he reaches out and puts a hand on my arm. “Don’t be like that,” he says. “We could get to know each other better. You know they have these rooms in the back of the club—”

His hand travels while he talks, going from my arm and heading toward my chest. He doesn’t get there, and his proposition is cut off by Knox grabbing his wrist and yanking his hand off me.

He twists the guy’s wrist hard enough that it makes him groan in pain, and gives him a death glare, daring him with his eyes to start some shit.

“Sorry,” the guy says, and when Knox releases him, he slinks away, disappearing into the crowd.

“Fucking asshole,” Knox snarls. “If we weren’t here on a job, I would’ve fucked that guy up way worse.”

“I know,” I tell Knox, patting his shoulder with a smile.

Gage gives him a look that says if we weren’t here on a job, he might have let Knox fuck that guy up the way he wanted to, and that seems to be good enough for him for the moment.

We sip our drinks, waiting and keeping an eye on Cyrus.

The longer we wait, the more the tension and nerves climb in me. We had it all planned out, lined up and plotted down to the last detail. But nothing’s happening.