Page 4 of Filthy Hot

“No shit,” Piston growls. “We’re office-holding members. We should not be doing this shit.”

He’s right. We probably shouldn’t, but it needs to be done, so at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter. We’ve got more clubs patching over and joining us, but we’ve also upped our personal workload.

Everyone is fucking loaded down with duties. It isn’t just us or just our club. It’s all of them. Between the warehouse pickup and drop-offs, the keg deliveries, and the loans that happen here and there, we’re fucking swamped. We are definitely at all hands on deck for the moment.

Closing the truck bed, I make my way toward the driver’s seat and climb inside. Piston jumps into the passenger seat beside me. My melancholy from yesterday is now gone. I drownedmyself in booze last night and passed out. Today is a new day, and I can’t think about that shit anymore.

The past is the past.

Starting the engine, I turn the AC on full blast, crank up some music, and shift it intoDrive. We have two deliveries today before then, and I need to help out with a shipment at the warehouses. It’s going to be a busy day, hopefully followed up by an exciting evening of debauchery.

I know I’m going to need the downtime for sure after a day like that.

After we drive toward the first stop, Piston unloads the back of the truck while I grab the iPad and head inside the building. The owner, Sal, is standing behind the bar. I’ve known him for years. He jerks his chin in my direction as I approach.

“You got the keg?” he grunts.

Nodding once, I clear my throat and slide the iPad across the bar. He picks it up, then shoves his hand in his front pocket and produces a pair of glasses. Once he slips them on, his gaze flicks to meet mine.

“Getting old is a sonofabitch,” he grumbles.

I let out a chuckle as he looks over the order. He jerks his chin, lifts his fingers, and touches the payment options, then hands it back to me. “Wanted to talk to your boss about some shit, too. Can I get a meet with your president?”

Sal’s bar is one of the best in town. It’s a traditional bar—nothing fancy, just beer and hard liquor. There are a few greasy fried finger foods, but what makes it not only the most popular but also the most profitable bar in the area is the two back rooms.

A card room.

A stripper room.

Pineville doesn’t have much as far as evening entertainment, which is why people flock to Sal’s Bar. Not just anyone cango back to the card or stripper room. He has to approve you. Sometimes, he’ll book one or both for bachelor parties, but entrance into the back rooms is by invitation only.

They are never at risk of being shut down because the biggest patrons are the chief of police, along with the mayor and all the city councilmen. I’ve been a few times myself when I wanted to play cards and get away from the clubhouse.

“I’m an officer of the club. I can bring it up to him if you want to tell me what you want to meet about. Otherwise, it may be a little bit. He’s about to have a baby.”

“A baby?” he asks. “Girl or boy?”

I smirk, thinking before I answer. “Girl, I think.”

He nods his head up and down several times. “I wanted to know if your group would wish to invest in my club.”

Arching a brow, I ask a question without having to actually say it. Sal understands because his lips twitch into a smile, and he answers me.

“I want to expand, and conventional loans aren’t for me. I figure aligning myself with the Dark Horse MC is not only the smartest move but also the safest.”

“Safest?” I ask.

He chuckles softly. “You guys seem like the type that would always protect not only your investment but also your investors.”

Thinking about his words for a moment, I already know what he’s partially after, and that causes me to pause.

Protection.

There is a reason he emphasized the wordsafe.

“What do you need protection from?” I ask.

I keep my voice hushed, unsure of listening ears, because I’m no fucking fool. They are everywhere. Even when they don’t appear to be, they are. Leaning over the bar, I take the iPad from his hand and listen intently.

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