Page 1 of Biker's Conquest: Property of Rage

Chapter One

Deacon “Rage” Hollingsworth

Half an hour until I close tonight and Ethan Shaw’s stupid ass still isn’t here. Where the fuck is he?He said this was important.I don’t have to question what the fuck is wrong with him. I know what’s wrong with him. We all have our vices. Ethan should be more private about his weaknesses. It’s not healthy to have all your business out there. That degenerate probably stopped somewhere to buy scratch cards and is losing his fucking head over the Chiefs game right now.

I have an important appointment when I’m done here. My weekly. I can’t miss it, especially not after spending two weeks on the road. I’m pent up. I open the text message chat I have with Ethan. No response to my last seven text messages. The last time he replied to me at all was for completely selfish reasons.

He always texts me his “winning parlay suggestions” and right now that suggestion is going down the toilet. The Bills are down by 7 – and they don’t look like they’re going to climb back up considering half their roster has some type of injury. That one Tyler Bass kick had everybody too damncocky. Ethan is a fucking idiot. There’s a reason that the betting app tells you that you get to win a million dollars if that parlay hits.

It’s not gonna fucking happen.

He had better gethis ass over here soon. I don’t want Oske to charge me for lateness or some other bullshit fee. She had major problems over how I handled the last one, like I didn’t make myself entirely clear on exactly what I needed. The liquor I had tonight already passed through me. I need something intense – an upper after another boring ass night running this barely concealed casino front.

I hear arguing outside my office door, so I slam the football highlights on my laptop shut and open the door to shut them up and hopefully, find Ethan hunched over at the bar. That dumbass starts bar fights pretty much everywhere they go.

No Ethan, it’s just Seneca and Moses having the same stupid ass arguments they keep having ever since Oske got her the job. She insists I “owe her” and that she can’t have Seneca working for her up at the Fire Spot because of the type of clientele.

Once he sniffs me out, Moses launches straight into his complaints about Seneca.“Boss, she’s doing Zyns on the job. Women don’t need to be doing that shit. It disgusts the customers.”

Moses is a traditional man. Possibly some type of Hispanic, but I don’t give a shit about color as long as you don’t steal and you don’t overdose in the saloon bathroom. Seneca is the opposite of traditional – and she has the unhinged feral attitude all the Indian girls around here have. She might be a mix of Indian andsomething else, but she has those cheekbones and piercing eyes…

“It’s my body, my choice,” Seneca snaps at him, glaring like she wants to stick a needle in his voodoo doll. People who work nightshift are all fucking crazy. If they don’t start off crazy, not seeing the sun gets them there pretty quickly. Moses puffs out his chest. He’s one of those bouncers that does a great job because he’s five-foot-five and desperate to prove himself. Dad had him patched-in years ago, but he didn’t pay club dues, so Harlan Shaw kicked him out. He might be an alcoholic, but he’s a loyal one – and that matters.

“It’s not your body,” Moses says. “It’s the body of whoever pays for it.”

Seneca gives me a pleading expression like she expects me to intervene. These people are in their thirties. I’m pretty sure they both have kids, although I’m not sure how often either of them see their kids considering the job here. Once she realizes that I won’t chime in to defend her, Seneca yells at Moses, “I’m not a slut!”

“You’re a hooker.”

Seneca’s face changes color and her body language changes like she’s actually considering whooping this man’s ass. Definitely time for me to intervene.

“Hey. Enough,” I chime in, not bothering to conceal my exasperation. “Shut down the slot machines and get the grandmas out of here. Ethan Shaw is coming tonight.”

“We can’t actually shut down the slot machines,” Seneca says sassily. “Vickie says you’re causing problems with the internal… thingy.”

Sometimes I wish I had Vickie here instead of the ditzy chicks that Oske doesn’t have the patience to employ at Indian establishments. Then again, I sometimes get suspicious that Seneca plays dumb and she’s more of a spy forOske. Unlike Moses, I have no desire to stand here arguing with her.

“Whatever. I don’t care what you do. Get those women out of here before Ethan comes and I lose him for the night because of a near-miss on those machines.”

“I need your help getting everyone out of here,” She says to Moses imperiously. “I’ll be the brains, you can be the muscles or whatever.”

I don’t like the idea of leaving them alone. They’re like grown cats fighting in a fucking alley, especially this late into the night. Instead of heading back to my office, I walk around the bar to make a drink. Almost immediately, like a bloodhound for trouble, Ethan Shaw walks through the saloon style doors to our establishment.

He looks almost straight out of a Western movie – but a little too solid around the shoulders to not be from a time period with access to protein shakes. I want to make a light joke, but one look at him and my stomach sinks. There’s something wrong. We all grew up together, we know each other like brothers. Some of us are closer than others and even if I have always been closer to Owen than Ethan, they have always sort of come as a pair. The only ones to clean up each other’s messes.

He drags a bar stool out and I know exactly what I need to do.

I pullout another shot glass. Ethan sits at the bar and slips his head into his hands before he says anything. It must have been a long ride all the way up here and judging by the look on his face, there is some serious shit on his mind. I pour him a shot. It’s the good stuff. Hollingsworth Whiskey.Ethan drains the shot within seconds. I pour him another. He takes his second shot as I take my first.

He grips the glass. I can tell he’s about to speak, but I almost don’t want him to say anything. The club has had enough bad news in the past couple years.Please let it not be another murder.

“Mom has cancer,” he says.

Shit.It’s something worse. Something dark and unexpected. Something that could destroy the Shaws and, let’s be honest – all of us. We love Aunt Deb. She’s been a rock for our families for years. She always fit in with the biker lifestyle. She’s tough. Too tough for this news to be real. But I know it is. Ethan wouldn’t make light of this type of shit.

I slidethe bottle across the bar to him. Ethan grasps it. He doesn’t look at me. He can’t. There’s a part of me that really gets it. He was her first boy. I can’t imagine what that meant to a woman like her. He takes a sip and I wait for him to continue. Nothing I can do but wait, because… there are too many questions. Too many thoughts. We’ve lost too many people in this club.

We can’t afford to lose another.

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