Page 17 of Murder & Mayhem

“Everyone ready?” I wait for each of my men to meet my gaze before stepping up to the door with my gun raised. Raising my boot, I kick the door in with a bang and the five of us rush inside. I barely get the chance to take in the scene before I press down on the trigger, the bullet lodging in the forehead of some guy sitting at the table in front of me. The restaurant is half-filled with men who jump to their feet, sending tables, bottles, drinks, and cards flying. The rattle of gunfire goes off around me as, one by one, they fall before any of them can retrieve weapons or fight back.

It takes no time at all until we’re the only ones left standing, a sea of dead bodies scattered around us.

“Huh, that was easier than I thought,” one of my men remarks.

“We caught them off guard. Half of them probably weren’t even armed… it’s not like gangs are lining up to take Bedlam territory.” I glance around the room, adrenaline buzzing through my system and sending my senses into overdrive. “Check the rest of the building,” I order.

We all break up and spread out, ensuring no one is waiting to ambush us. When the building has been cleared, I leave the men to tidy up and head back to the clubhouse. It appears I’m the first one back, and while I wait, I grab a shower, washing off the blood and sweat from tonight. I sigh wearily as I step under the hot spray, the sound barely heard above the rushing of the water.

It’s always one thing after another. Grim Bastards. The Antonellis. Whatever daily shit comes up with the Rejects. There’s never a fucking break, and somedays I feel far older than my twenty-five years. But then Red’s fiery hair and aqua-blue eyes come to mind, and maybe—just maybe—all of this will be worth it. Maybe wecaneliminate the Antonellis and takedown Grim and his crew. Maybe wecancarve out some sort of semi-peaceful life for the Rejects. MaybeIcan carve out a life here, working with Cain during the day and curling up to Red at night. It sure sounds a hell of a lot better than all these years I’ve spent mourning a ghost, unable to move on with my life.

Chapter 7

On Thursday, I strut into Belle Donne with my brown contacts and brunette wig disguise in place.

“You must be the new girl,” Franny, a sixty-something-year-old woman with wrinkles and hard eyes, says when I step into a small, disorganized office. Her eyes run over my slim frame before she nods, seeming satisfied with what she sees. “The dancer.”

“That’s me.”

“What’s your stage name?”

“Uhh.” Shit, why hadn’t I thought of that? “Red?” She quirks a brow, her eyes flicking to my obviouslybrownhair. “Bottle dyed,” I blurt out by way of explanation. Not that she really seems to care, as she just shrugs.

“Alright, let me show you around.”

She shuffles out from behind the desk, her back slightly hunched with age. I have to admit, she isnotwho I was expecting the office manager to be. Leaving the office—and moving surprisingly quick for an old lady—she moves further down the corridor, and I hustle after her. As she passes a notice board, she taps on it, “Any information—themed nights, special events, that sort of thing—will be posted here. Check it regularly. I have a bunch of outfits for ya.” She turns to glance over her shoulder, once again running her eyes over my body. “They should fit alright.”

As we walk, she gives a quick rundown of the club, the various rooms, a brief overview of the clientele, and what will be expected from me before leaving me to get changed. “Chrissy will look out for you on the floor tonight. I’ll let her know you’re here,” she says before the dressing room door swings shut behind her.

I quickly change into one of the skimpy outfits, not caring what I wear. It’s not like having my skin on display is anything new. In fact, this job isn’t all that dissimilar to what I do at Strip Tease. Which is perfect. It makes it seem less daunting, more normal.

I’m dressed in nipple tassels and a thong, and I’ve intensified my makeup with smokey eyes and bright red lipstick, when a skinny, white-blonde ducks her head through the door. “You the new girl?” she questions.

“Yeah. I’m Red.”

Her eyes flick to my brown hair, but she doesn’t say anything. “Chrissy. Come on.” She jerks her head in a gesture for me to follow as she slips back out of the room. “You’re on stage in five so let me show you the floor before then.”

Exiting the staff corridor, we enter the front of house. It looks exactly the same as it did the last time I was here, with its dim lighting and sensual music. I follow as Chrissy leads the way through the club into the room I found what-was-his-name in… Charles? Chase? Oh, Chad! Yeah, that scumbag.

Just like last time, the main focus of the room is the front stage with its bright lights and the current dancers putting on some sort of Cabaret. The rest of the room is shrouded in darkness, providing some element of privacy for the club’s patrons. Other than the low light offered from the wall sconces, the primary source of lighting is provided by the flickering candles lit on each of the tables, surrounded by leather booths composed of high-backed chairs that block the occupants from the wandering eyes of the rest of the room, providing an extra layer of privacy.

“You’ll mostly be on the stage tonight. But when other dancers are up, you’ll be expected to help serve the guests.”

“Sounds easy enough,” I remark casually, only half paying attention as I scope out the room and try to scrutinize the occupants of each of the booths, looking for my mark. He doesn’t seem to be here, but it’s early, and tonight is only my first shift. I’d have to be seriously fucking lucky to run into him on my first night—and we all know I’m not that lucky.

Ushering me onto the stage, I have to put a halt to my mission as the bright stage lights blind my vision. I didn’t really expect it to be as easy as showing up and him being here, but damn would that have made this so much easier. At least it’s nothing to me to shake my ass on stage to a bunch of horny, drunk men, which is exactly how I spend the rest of the night.

It’s the early hours of the morning by the time I exit the club. The night was a bust. Dante didn’t show up, and nerves knotted my stomach as I wondered whether or not this was a stupid idea. I’d hoped he maybe worked in the club or ran it—based on his position within the Famiglia—but based on what little information I gleaned from my new co-workers, it doesn’t seem as if that’s the case. Of course, I couldn’t just ask,oh, hey, do you know Dante, the heir to the Antonelli Empire? By any chance, does he stop by on a regular basis?So I can’t be sure, but he’s definitely not a daily visitor.

I pause as I step out of the alley onto the sidewalk. I’d taken a bus over here earlier, not wanting to leave Raven vulnerable on the streets at night or have anyone asking unwanted questions about her owner, but public transport doesn’t operate this late at night. This means I’ll have to order a taxi. I hate having to phone for a cab. Not only does it feel like a waste of money, but most of the drivers are complete fucking creeps.

Taking my phone out of my pocket, I’m pulling up the app for the taxi company when the flashing lights of a car snag my attention. Looking up, I have to raise my hand to block out the bright xenon headlights as I squint, trying to see through the front windshield.

I take a step back, out of the direct line of the headlights, which enables me to better discern the make of the car—a Cadillac. My body is coiled tight, ready to jump into action as I approach the passenger side. Oliver had said he’d have someone keeping an eye on me while I was working, so I can only assume the driver is a Reject, but I’m not stupid enough to blindly accept that whoever is inside the vehicle is a friend.

Leaning down, I peer through the dark tinted window, cocking a brow as I wait for whoever is inside to lower it. After a second, I hear the electric whir of the motor, and the window disappears into the door, revealing a surprising sight. My brows hitch as I stare at Cain’s broad form behind the wheel. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, you know, I was just catching up on the latest episode of Pretty Little Liars and got a craving for ice cream.”

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