Page 6 of Kings Against the World

I sit up in my chair, my fingers still curled around my empty shot glass. I’ve only had three so far, which is nothing for somebody like me.

The manager jabs his finger into the bouncer’s chest, the veins in his temple throbbing. What the fuck’s got his panties in a bunch?

My Spidey senses tingle. I can feel it in the air. Something’s off. Something’s brewing.

Half rising out of my chair, I debate if I want to hang around and find out. Violence tends to be a fun pastime, and I’m never one to turn down a little chaos.

But this feels different. It feels like there’s a whole chapter of the story I’m missing.

Before I can make up my mind, my attention’s drawn toward the front of the dance floor. Up by the stage, a giant man in sunglasses and a shock of white hair has arrived with his crew. It takes me another blink in the neon-red lighting to realize who he is.

Asa Boone, entrepreneur in the light of day. Criminal kingpin come dark.

He takes his seat, front row at the stage. His men shuffle around him and claim the spots on his left and right.

The potential fuckery I’ve sensed slowly begins to fade. If Boone’s here, then that means the tournament’s taking place after all.

Apparently, it’s just a smaller crowd this round.

I’m about to sit back down when a server approaches him and his men. But not the server from earlier who had called me handsome and had lips like a baboon’s ass.

This server’s dressed in the same scantily clad outfit with a tight crop top that shows nipples through the thin fabric and a miniskirt that’s so short it’s nonexistent. Her tall, lean body looks fucking fantastic in the getup as my eyes scan her long legs and flick up toward the rest of her.

Nice tits that aren’t too small but not too big either, stopping at a handful.

Smooth skin that’s dark brown and decorated with sparkly body glitter.

Bubblegum-pink hair that’s eye catching and different but fits the vibe of the strip club.

And a familiar face that I’ve definitely seen before.

FBI Agent Zoe Strauss?!

2

OZZIE

A moment goesby where I don’t blink. I can only stare like a dumbass, questioning if the White Oak I drank was stronger than I thought. Either that or I’m a bigger lightweight than I’ve realized. Three shots are enough to have me fucking hallucinating Zoe Strauss.

AgentStrauss, the same hard-ass member of the FBI who grilled me and every other Steel King for hours. In the aftermath of our battle with the Chosen Saints, she and the rest of her FBI bros were determined to nail something to us too. They wanted to kill two birds with one stone.

Take out the Chosen Saintsandthe MC with the biggest reputation in the area.

But Silver was two steps ahead, covering our tracks, stitching together an iron-clad story.

The FBI had to settle for just the Saints.

So what’s Strauss doing here in a seedy strip club? Is she here for the underground tournament or did she ditch her gig as a fed to… be a bottle girl?

I’m lost as fuck, trying to make two plus two equal five. I was never a good student and flunked out of most classes, but I’m pretty sure it doesn’t add up.

I scratch the shaven part of my mohawk and consider what the fuck I want to do. If I still want to hang around or if it’s better I get the fuck outta here.

Houston has no shortage of titty bars. I could drive another block and come across the DollhouseandPeppermint Lounge. I could ditch the tournament altogether, despite the debt Boone says I owe.

But curiosity’s a bitch.

As I sit back in my chair and observe from afar, I realize I’m invested. I’ve got to know what the hell’s going on.ThenI’ll dip.

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