River scanned the busy club. It was Saturday night, so the place was packed, which was exactly what she wanted. More people meant less chance of being seen. A perfect opportunity to sneak down to an unguarded basement.
Michele tugged at her top. Yeah, she wasn’t comfortable either. Michele’s skintight tank was extremely low cut, and River’s top…could she even call it a top? It was basically a bra.
Then there were the heels that were tall enough to make walking an absolute nightmare. And, of course, River’s blond wig and the pound of makeup.
Thankfully, the man at the door had been new, but even if he hadn’t, he’d barely looked them in the eye; all his attention had been on their breasts.
“I owe you, Chele.” She had to yell over the music so her friend could hear her. Sheesh, she was too old for this.
Michele shook her head. “I don’t mind.”
Not true. Everything about her friend contradicted her words. The way her eyes pinched in the corners. How her gaze darted around the room.
A pang of guilt hit River in the chest. Maybe she should have risked the trip on her own.
Taking her friend’s hand, she pulled her a bit closer. “A quick in and out, okay?”
Michele nodded.
Yep, River owed her big time.
Tugging her forward, they squeezed through the crowd. When a man touched her ass, she itched to turn around and give him a piece of her mind. That, and a solid punch in the face. She sure as hell would have any other day. But the last thing she could risk was drawing attention to herself. Mickey’s office was upstairs, and he had a huge window overlooking the club.
So instead, she gritted her teeth, kept her head down, and continued moving.
When the dark, narrow hallway that led to the basement stairs came into view, River’s heart sped up a notch. That was where she needed to be.
She knew Mickey had cameras on the hall, but she also knew the monitors were rarely, if ever, looked at when the basement was locked.
Moving to the bar—the end closest to the hallway—River squeezed in so they had a spot, tugging Michele with her. Kenny was just visible down the other end of the bar, but he wasn’t looking her way. Good. She was almost certain he wouldn’t rat her out, but why take the chance?
A woman with brown hair and a sleeve of tattoos stepped in front of them. River almost sighed when she didn’t recognize her. “What can I get you, ladies?”
River smiled. “Aperol Spritz, please.”
The woman nodded before turning to Michele.
“Uh…I’ll have the same.”
River scanned the crowd, looking for one person. Mickey.
No sign of the man. Maybe this crazy plan just might work. So far, everything had been going well…touch wood.
Once they had their drinks, River shifted her head closer to Michele’s and lowered her voice. “The hall behind us leads to the basement. Keep it in your line of sight and message if you see anyone heading down.”
Obviously, she wouldn’t be able to get out if someone entered the basement, but she was hoping a text would at least give her the time to hide.
Michele nibbled her bottom lip. “Are you sure about this, River? It doesn’t feel very safe.”
Nothing had felt safe lately.
“I’ll be fine. Remember, quick in and out.” She mentally crossed her fingers and toes that her words were true.
Michele nodded, still looking nervous as hell. “Okay.”
River squeezed her friend’s arm. Then, before leaving the bar, she took a massive sip of her spritz. Some extra liquid confidence never hurt, right?
Turning, she walked toward the bathrooms. The women’s bathroom was right beside the hall. At the last second, she diverted and stepped into the dark entryway.
Her steps were quick but silent. The further she got, the darker and quieter the hall became. It actually made her feel a bit safer. Or at least gave her the illusion of safety.
At the end of the hall, she shone the light of her phone on the keypad lock and typed in the five-digit code she recalled Mickey reciting. When she heard the soft click of the lock releasing, the air whooshed from her chest.
A small part of her had been worried—okay, not worried, scared shitless—that the code had been changed. It hadn’t. She was in.
Quickly, River slipped inside and pulled the door closed. For a moment, darkness blinded her. She turned on the flashlight of her phone again and used it to guide her down the stairs.
At the bottom, she shone the light around the rest of the room, and a small breath escaped her lips.
Holy shit.
A fighting ring. Surrounded by wire fencing.
She took slow steps forward. The space was massive, the ring itself large and centered in the room. There were chairs stacked taller than River along the lengthy wall beside the stairs. Dozens of them. Maybe hundreds. There was a dark hallway midway down the wall to her left and what looked like maybe an office door in the back wall.
Cage fighting. That’s what Mickey was hiding down here.
Moving closer, she skimmed her fingers over the fencing. Everything made sense. Ryker’s bruises. The droplets of blood staining the clothing she’d found in the wash. And the way some of his anger had dissipated over the last month. The fighting had been an outlet.
Why didn’t you tell me, Ryker?
Had he thought she wouldn’t understand? Of course, she would have. The man had needed something to manage the anger. And Ryker had always been into his boxing. There’d been a boxing ring in town that he and Jackson had visited when they were growing up. Both of them loved it.
But what River didn’t understand was…how had illegal fighting led to Ryker being declared dead?
The question had barely entered her head when her phone vibrated in her hand. River’s eyes widened when she scanned the screen.
Chele: Two men coming. HIDE NOW!
Crap crap crap!
Her gaze lifted to the hallway. She could go that way, but what if the doors were locked and the men walked down the hall? She’d be boxed in. And she didn’t have enough time to cross the space to see if the other door was locked.
Half a dozen kegs sat against the wall opposite the hallway, and there were the stacked chairs near the stairs. She beelined for the chairs, knowing being closer to the exit was the safest option.
As silently as possible, she moved behind the rows of chairs and crouched, only just turning her flashlight off before footsteps sounded on the stairs.
“It’s fucking wild here tonight.”
River recognized the voice. Johnny. One of Mickey’s right-hand men.
“No shit. Mickey fucking loves it.” The lights flicked on, momentarily blinding River.
She recognized the other guy’s voice, too. Brooks. He’d been the one to drag her out of Mickey’s office after Ryker’s death and toss her right into the middle of a damn bar fight.
“About time he was in a good mood,” Johnny said.
She continued listening as they reached the bottom of the stairs.
“No shit. The guy’s been more of a bastard than usual lately,” Brooks said, his voice darkening.
“Yeah, well, him and Elijah are having a fucking pissing contest over turf,” Johnny muttered. River made a mental note to remember the name.
Rustling noises sounded from across the room. Maybe near the kegs? Thank God she hadn’t chosen to hide there.
Brooks grunted. “They’ve both been on edge since Ryker. Especially Elijah.”
River’s skin chilled at the sound of her brother’s name.
“That scumbag deserved to die. I hope he fucking rots in hell,” Johnny growled.
A blazing-hot fire ignited in River’s belly, heating her blood. Oh, how she would love to jump out and give those assholes a piece of her mind!
“Damn straight.”
A door unlocked, and she heard them step inside the small room at the back. The voices quieted, footsteps disappearing.
Rising a fraction, she shot a look around the room, then up the stairs. This was it. Possibly her only chance.
As quietly as possible, River moved out from behind the chairs and climbed the stairs. Her heart pounded the entire time, and when a wooden step squeaked, she gasped, expecting them to rush out. She quickened her pace, reaching the door and all but sagging when she made it back into the narrow hall.
Swallowing, River moved cautiously toward the bar.
Michele’s eyes were wide when she reached her. “Are you okay? Oh my God, I was so worried!”
River grabbed the barely-touched spritz from her friend’s hand, downing the remaining alcohol before setting the glass on the bar. “I’m okay. But we should go.”
Before her friend could respond, she grabbed her hand and tugged her through the dense crowd. Christ, were there even more people here now than there had been ten minutes ago?
Shoving through the masses, she’d just made it to a small clearing near the door when she saw him. The last man she expected to see.
Jackson.
What the hell was he doing here?
Cole and Declan stepped into the club behind him, all three looking big and dangerous.
She’d barely shifted her attention back to Jackson when their gazes clashed. His eyes narrowed.
Oh shit.
Michele’s mouth slid open when she spotted them. River dragged her in the opposite direction. She didn’t know where she was going, just…away.
They’d only taken a few steps when a figure stepped in front of her and she collided with a big chest.
River’s breath caught in her throat.
Mickey.
His eyes slitted, lips pressed together. When he grabbed her, his fingers dug into her skin, bruising her flesh.
Behind him stood two of his guys. Men she knew as more of his muscle.
For a moment, fear seized her chest. Fear that he’d caught her going down to his basement. Fear of what he’d do about it.
“What the fuck are you doing here? I thought I made it clear you aren’t welcome.”
The air rushed out of her lungs. He didn’t know. Or at least, it didn’t appear that he knew. “I—”
“Get your fucking hands off her.” Heat pressed into her side. She looked up to see Jackson. A very angry Jackson, who was looking down at Mickey like he was seconds from killing the guy. The muscles in his arms were bunched and his fists clenched so tightly she knew he was preparing to swing.
Mickey studied Jackson. “Who the hell are you?”
Cole stepped to one side of Jackson, and Declan crowded beside Michele.
“I’m someone you don’t want to fuck with,” Jackson said quietly. So quietly, his words almost scared her, and the guy never scared her. “Now, let go of her before I pull your arm from its fucking socket.”
Good God, did the man have a death wish? No one spoke to Mickey like that.
Not that his words surprised her. Jackson wasn’t afraid of anything. And the way he and his buddies stood around her and Michele…
River held her breath as she waited for Mickey’s response. A beat of silence passed. Then, finally, Mickey released her. “Get her the fuck out of my club—and make sure she never steps foot in here again.”
A muscle ticked in Jackson’s jaw, and she just knew he was bracing himself. Trying not to hit the guy. “If I ever see you touch her again, it won’t be just a dislocated shoulder you have to worry about. Got it?”
She could just about feel Michele shaking beside her. Declan crept a step closer to her friend.
The veins in Mickey’s neck were popping. He gave a small nod.
Jackson wrapped an arm around her waist and tugged her—no, towed her—toward the exit. She waited until they’d stepped outside before attempting to free herself.
His arm around her waist only tightened, not allowing an inch of space. Then his head lowered to her ear. “I’m holding on to my temper by a fucking thread, River. Don’t push me.”
There was something in his voice that had her obeying. Something dark.
They continued to walk, right up until she realized Michele was no longer with them. Neither were Cole or Declan.
“No, Michele and I are driving ourselves home.” She stamped her feet to a stop.
The growl from Jackson was loud. Before she realized what he was doing, he swung her onto his shoulder like she was a piece of luggage and continued to march down the sidewalk.
