Page 6 of King
Chapter Three
ALANA
AmeliaandIarelaughing like two crazy bitches as we walk inside the Sinner’s clubhouse in Oakland, California when all eyes turn to us. Other than the 80s heavy metal music blasting through the surround sound, you can hear a pin drop. Everyone’s looking at us like we’ve got three heads. Like we don’t belong—like we’re outsiders. I get it. Nobody here knows either of us, but I hate being the center of attention while my best friend doesn’t give two fucks. She acts like she’s right at home.
The women are glaring at us which isn’t all that unusual for either of us. And the men do what men always do—stare, like we’re their next damn meal. Today I actually don’t mind. It’s been a while since I’ve had good sex. My vibrator has been my go-to for a while now. I wouldn’t mind having a good fuck from one of these gorgeous men to release some of the tension of having to uproot my life because of my ex. Hopefully soon incarcerated ex.
As it stands, we probably don’t look like we’re running for our lives. We’ve been laughing and joking around the entire ride down here just trying to make this situation as normal as possible. While I know the seriousness of the situation, I can’t let it get to me or I get more pissed off at myself for being so stupid for getting involved with a sorry motherfucker like Matteo Messina. If I had listened to that little voice inside my head that said ‘bitch you better run,’ when we first met, I’d be in my tiny studio apartment right now, writing my next novel, and enjoying my life. Instead, I’m in California with a bunch of gorgeous men, which I hope won’t be so bad, despite the women looking like they want to claw my eyes out for just existing. I assume they think we’re stepping onto their turf. Women can be worse than men when they believe another woman is creeping into their territory, trying to take their man. I’m not here for any of that. But I’m not making any promises either.
Amelia’s totally in her element seeing as she grew up in this type of atmosphere. Me, not so much. I’m a country girl from the backwoods of North Carolina who moved to Sin City to make a new life and escape my old one. It has been absolutely amazing. Everything I could dream of. That is until Matteo.
Never in a million years did I think the craziest shit to happen to me would be getting mixed up with amade manfrom one of the country’s most notorious mafia families and having to go to a biker gang for protection. But I can’t say I’m surprised it all turned to shit. My life has always been full of surprises. Shitty surprises most of the time.
Everyone’s attention goes back to what they were doing before we came in and I’m relieved. Heavy metal music continues to blare through the surround sound system. Half-dressed women walk around drunk off their asses wearing heels too high to be worn off the stage of a strip club. I’m not judging, it’s just not practical for this environment. But what do I know about bikers and their women?
There’s also a couple bent over the pool table. The man’s pants are around his ankles and the pantyless woman’s skirt is pushed up over her narrow hips. No one seems to pay it any attention, not even Amelia. Like it’s normal for someone to fuck in front of a crowd. Not for me, but I guess my friend is used to this kind of atmosphere because she didn’t spare the couple a second glance.
Minus the woman bent over the pool table, all the other women are either propped on the laps of men who have their tongues shoved down their throats, hands on their breasts, up their skirts, or wrapped around beer bottles.
It reminds me of what a hippie commune would look like—free love and all that shit. Not that I’ve ever been to a hippie commune before. But I imagine it’s something like this. Free love for everyone.
Dagger, a Sinner from Las Vegas, and our chaperone for the trip from Vegas to Oakland motions for us to move to the bar. To me, he’s more like our grumpy, mute babysitter.
The gruff man barely spoke two words to us the entire trip despite both Amelia and me asking a million questions about what’s happening with the information I gave them. All he would say wasits club business. I rolled my eyes every time he said that shit. If it wasn’t for me, they wouldn’t have club business. Last I heard from news reports, Alonzo, the head of the Bianchi Syndicate, and my ex were on the run from the Feds. On the run to where is the question.
Can he find me here?
Probably.
I got involved with Matteo Messina after he relentlessly pursued me after we bumped into each other at a coffeeshop not too far from my studio apartment. At the time I had no idea who he was and no clue he was a soldier in the Bianchi Syndicate. Or who the Bianchi Syndicate even was. The only thing I really knew about the mafia came from movies. Never in my life did I believe it would become a part of my reality.
For years I was around these men before Matteo slipped up and got comfortable enough around me to speak about family business. For a long time, like an idiot, I thought he managed one of the local nightclubs which wasn’t completely a lie. He manages one of the nightclubs owned by Alonzo Bianchi, which they also use for some of their illegal operations.
In their world women are seen and not heard. And I learned how to play the part of a wallflower to perfection. The perfect, obedient mafia girlfriend. When we sat in the VIP sections of the club or certain restaurants, I always kept my eyes and ears open, gathering information for the day I’d run away. He told me, I’d never leave alive and because of the threat, I had to have some kind of plan in place when the time came. Information I could use to keep me protected.
When I found out about the human trafficking operation, I really understood the danger to my life. It scared me shitless, but I also knew the more information I got the more people I could help. Then when I overheard some of the guys who hung around our penthouse say the Sinners had an undercover FBI agent in their clubhouse and a judge on their payroll, I decided it was time to come forward with what I knew. It didn’t matter Matteo, or some other Bianchi soldier would kill me. Being quiet is being complicit and I’d been complicit too long. So, I confided in Amelia about the shit my ex-boyfriend was involved in and what he’d been putting me through in our relationship in hopes that it would be useful to her family. And just maybe they could save me too.
“Make yourselves at home,” an older man calls out from one end of the bar, pulling me from my thoughts about where my life has ended up. “Prez will be with you in a few minutes.”
He’s greying at the temples, with a salt and pepper beard, and tattoos on every available space on his body that can be seen except his face. Silver foxes aren’t usually my thing but this one is fine as hell.
“I’m stepping outside to call Grimm,” Dagger says, pulling my attention away from the gorgeous older man. “Let him know we made it safely. Sit at the bar, have a drink, and don’t cause any shit while I’m gone.”
Amelia rolls her eyes. “How much shit can we cause, Dagger?” Amelia taunts, knowing very well the amount of shit she can get into giving the opportunity.
He glares at her like she just said some of the stupidest shit he’s ever heard, but he doesn’t respond. I guess he knows her well enough to know all the trouble she can get us into. Amelia Grace is definitely the troublemaker out of the two of us.
“Asshole,” I mumble, as I watch Dagger head out the door.
He’s an asshole, but I have to admit he’s a fine asshole. Grumpiness and all. The man wears the hell out of a pair of blue jeans. They mold to his firm ass and sculpted thighs like a second skin.
“Come on and stop perving.”
“I’m not perving, just enjoying the view.”
“Same thing,” she says, laughing and dragging my attention away from Dagger’s ass as she pulls me to the bar. “You’ve been enjoying the view since you were introduced to him at the clubhouse in Vegas.”
This is true.
