Page 39 of Devil's Queen

I smirk, my eyes never leaving his. “I’m not a pawn, I’m the queen, and I can checkmate you any fucking time I want, asshole.”

“Take the girl,” he orders his two men. They reach forward to grab her from behind off the stage. Time slows down as I make a split-second decision.

“Get Brittany,” I order Cheyenne before I charge toward the Zulu King by the stairs. I fire at him, but my shot goes wide, hitting the wall behind him. Using the glass in his hand, he throws it at my face. I dodge, and it barely misses me. The motion sends my gun flying from my hand and sliding on the floor behind me. It gives him enough time to charge forward. He swings wide, his fist connecting with my jaw with a sickening crunch.

As I fall back, I feel a searing pain in my jaw, but I refuse to let it slow me down. I put my hand across my jaw, my vision slightly blurred, and focus on taking him down. The metallic taste of blood trickles into my mouth.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he taunts, backing away from me. “You’re a disappointment, even to your pathetic little club. Wolff was right about you. You don’t deserve to wear a patch or claimourshop. You should do us all a favor and die like your father.”

Ignoring the pain, I pull out my knife and lunge at him. He manages to dodge my attack, but not without taking a slice from his cheek with my blade. The blood now staining his face, he laughs, undeterred.

“Pathetic,” he sneers, a hint of panic in his voice now.

Maya and Cheyenne raise their weapons and open fire on the Zulu Kings’ crew. The atmosphere in the bar is heavy with tension as bullets whiz past, shattering glasses and plastering the walls with impact. The Zulu King, unfazed by our gunfire, lunges at me again, his rage fueling him to take me down.

I take a deep breath, focusing on the pain and the adrenaline rushing through my veins. It’s now or never.

I’m standing face-to-face with one of the Zulu Kings. He doesn’t seem to care that he’s vastly outnumbered. His eyes are nothing but pure hatred for me. I can feel the venom radiating from him, brimming with contempt for everything I stand for.

“You can’t handle what’s coming for you, bitch.” He sneers, his expression turning even more menacing. His voice is cold and empty, devoid of any humanity.

“Handle this, asshole,” I hear Harlow from behind him. A metal baseball bat comes into view over his head, and she brings it down on top of him. The Zulu King’s face contorts in pain as Harlow hits him repeatedly, each blow echoing throughout the bar.

The Zulu King crumples to the floor, unconscious but still breathing.

Maya and Cheyenne quickly secure his men after he goes down. Harlow picks up my gun from the floor and hands it to me.

I look around the bar, taking in the wreckage around us. Shattered glass, scattered bullets, and the lingering scent of blood and sweat fill the air. It’s a mess we’ll have to clean up later, but right now, what matters is that we’ve saved Brittany.

Marissa goes to Brittany on the stage as Cheyenne keeps watch over jackass’s buddies. She nods once she checks her over.

“We’ve got her,” Marissa promises, putting an arm around her.

“Find out what she knows.” Marissa nods as she helps Brittany out of the stage exit.

“What do you want to do with these assholes, Prez?” Cheyenne asks.

I consider the options. Ending it here and now would be too public. We’d fired too many shots for it to go unnoticed, even with the music pumping through the speakers to muffle it. The Parish police would likely be here in a matter of minutes, and the last thing we need is for them to walk in on this firefight. If they can’t stay here, there’s only one option.

“Does the club still have a car out back?”

“Yeah.” Harlow nods.

“Take the trash out and dump it on their fucking doorstep. If they want to send a message to us, we can send it right back.”

REMY

The cops showup only minutes after Cheyenne and Maya take our new friends back home. It had taken over an hour to convince them it was nothing more than a bar fight and that the perpetrators had gotten away before we could stop them. I’m not sure they believed me, but as one of the owners of the business, it was up to me to press charges.

Once they left, Harlow and Tinley, who had come in on the tail end of the interview with the police, stayed behind to clean up the mess at the club. Marissa had texted that she had Brittany holed up in one of our secure locations outside of the city that we had for off-the-books casework.

With everything settled for now, I head back to the shop instead of going home. Between my injuries and the uncertainty of whether this was an isolated incident, I can’t take this home to Beaux or Mom. The shop is the safest place for all right now.

I stare into the mirror in the locker room, noticing a purple bruise already forming on my face. I clench my jaw tightly, trying to alleviate some of the pain. My finger grazes the delicate skin, and I hiss at the pressure. Taking a washcloth from my locker, I soak it in the sink with warm, soapy water and wipe away the streaks of blood from my face.

As I tend to my wounds in the dimly lit locker room, tonight’s events replay in my mind like a broken record. The chaos, the fear, and the raw aggression that unfolded within the club still linger in the air, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. I can’t help but feel a gnawing sense of unease. They were Zulu Kings. Rex had given me his word that he had his club in hand, but tonight proves otherwise. The trust I had put into his words shatters with it.

Shaking the thought from my head, I take a hot shower. The sting of the water on my wounds is almost too much to bear. I step out when the water begins to run cold and change into a set of spare clothes I keep in my locker.

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