Filthy Devil (Dark Horse MC #6)

Chapter 19

CHAPTER

NINETEEN

JAMES

The strip club has a weird vibe before we even pull into the parking lot. I know without a doubt that something is off. If Bugsy and Rev feel it, too, they don’t say anything, but they also don’t sit around and hang out. They are out of the SUV before Bugsy even kills the engine.

Scrambling down from my seat, I jog behind them. When Bugsy reaches for the door, he tugs on it before he attempts to unlock it, and it opens. Looking over my shoulder, I see a bike parked in the lot. It’s the only vehicle aside from the SUV in the whole parking lot.

“This door shouldn’t be unlocked,” Rev murmurs.

Whipping my head around, I open my mouth to tell them that Nash’s bike is parked here, but snap my lips closed when both men take out guns. They hold them loosely in their hands, and at this moment, the air around us charges.

It feels almost like static electricity.

And it flows through me as I move behind them.

One step, then another, and another.

Until we’re at his office. The door is closed, and when Bugsy throws it open, the room is empty. There are no lights on anywhere. Together, the three of us silently check out every single crevice of this club, including private rooms, dressing rooms, anywhere and everywhere.

“Where is he?” I finally ask when we end up in the dance area, standing near the stage, alone.

Bugsy and Rev share a sideways glance, but I can’t read the message they’re trying to convey even if I wanted to. Instead, I begin to panic even harder than I was before. My breathing comes out in short pants, and I reach out behind me for a chair, tugging it out from the table, and sink down.

Only then do the men stop to look at me. They watch me for a moment, then Bugsy closes the distance between us and crouches down in front of me. Slowly, my gaze lifts to meet his.

“We will figure this out. First of all, there is no sign of a struggle, no blood or anything like that. Which is good.”

“What do we do now?” I ask.

It’s Rev’s turn to clear his throat before he speaks. “First thing we’re gonna do is call King and the others. See if they’ve heard anything. Second thing we can do is put our ears to the ground, and the third is wait.”

Well, I hate that idea. So, I tell them just that.

“I hate all of that. Something has happened to him. I know it. We need to find him as soon as possible. What about surveillance cameras?”

Again, they share a glance that I cannot read.

“The only ones on are the ones outside during the day. Nothing inside until the club opens.”

There will probably be nothing outside, but thankfully, Rev says that he’ll check anyway. I watch as Bugsy pulls out his phone and starts aggressively tapping the screen before he holds it to his ear.

“King,” he murmurs. “We got a fuckin’ problem.”

Those words. They make my whole heart sink. I don’t listen to anything else, mainly because my mind replays… we got a fuckin’ problem in my head over and over again. My hands begin to tremble in my lap. Holding them together, I wring them in my lap as I try to keep from shaking.

I’m seriously worried, like, beyond worried. Something has happened to him, and I have a feeling it’s because of me. Because of that stupid, stupid fucking contract. I hate myself for ever signing it. I was stupid and scared, but mostly stupid.

“King and some men will be here by tonight. Let’s get James back to the clubhouse, and I’ll pull the footage from the club's perimeters,” Bugsy announces.

“I already got it uploaded. Nothing in or out. Just fucking nothing.”

“Great,” Bugsy barks.

Wordlessly, the three of us walk out of the strip club. Them with heavy stomps and me with trembling thighs. I knew something was wrong hours ago. I just felt it. It’s been too long now to even try to find him.

We step outside, but I turn to face them. “Wait,” I cry out, and I know that my voice sounds as panicked as I feel on the inside. But I don’t care.

“What?” Bugsy asks, but thankfully, he doesn’t seem annoyed with me.

“Nash’s phone,” I state. Then my gaze flicks to Rev. “Didn’t you say that his location pinged here? If that’s so, where is it?”

They share a glance. Then I watch as Rev digs his phone out of his pocket and starts to touch the screen at a flurried pace. Then, without another word, he holds his phone to his ear and spins around, heading back into the club.

Bugsy and I follow behind him. Rev stops when he reaches the middle of the dancing area, holding his hand up for us to stop and be quiet. All three of us strain to hear Nash’s phone. If it’s in here, it’s probably on silent because you could hear a pin drop it’s so quiet.

Then I hear something. A faint buzzing sound.

Dropping to my knees, I start to crawl around on the floor, trying to hear the buzzing better. Moving forward, I stop a few feet from the stage, and there it is, flipped over so you can’t see the screen, but it’s buzzing.

“I got it,” I call out.

Picking the phone up, I stand and hurry over to Bugsy and Rev. Bugsy reaches for it, gently slipping it from my fingers, then looks at Rev and hands it over to him. Clearly, Rev is the IT guy for this club. When he takes it, I watch as he moves his fingers over it but then shakes his head.

“There’s nothing here,” he mutters. “If he dropped it, maybe it was only by accident.”

That doesn’t sound like Nash. I may not know everything about him, but I do know that he wouldn’t just drop his phone for no reason. Everything he does is intentional. Every little thing. I don’t say any of that, though. Instead, I go with Bugsy and Rev.

“I’ll get a truck here to load up his bike. He wouldn’t want it sitting out here,” Bugsy murmurs.

But I’m still stuck on the fact that not only was his phone left here, but this man walked into work, and someone was waiting to ambush him. Someone who wasn’t seen on any cameras, and someone who was able to either already be inside of the building or get inside undetected.

“What about dancers?” I ask.

Bugsy clears his throat. “Babe, let us take care of this. We are going to find him.”

But I can’t just let them take care of anything, not when it comes to Nash, and especially not when this is probably all my fault. So, instead of sitting in the backseat quietly, like a good little girl, I talk.

“No, hear me out,” I begin. “If those guys, the Southern Mafia, got me to sign my life away, and one of them has already been to the club here, what would stop them from trying another way? What would stop them from offering money to a stripper to be a decoy?”

Both Bugsy and Rev’s spines straighten, and then they swing their heads around to look back at me from over their shoulders. Their eyes are wide, their lips parted in what I assume is awe. And I’m not sure if that awe is because I thought of it when they hadn’t or if I am just some twenty-year-old who thought of it.

Either way, they seem somewhat impressed. “I think you’re onto something,” Bugsy grunts before he turns back around to face the windshield.

We leave the parking lot a few seconds later, and with each moment that passes, my heart cracks a little more. I’m falling in love with this man, and something has happened to him. He’s vanished from thin air, and I’m scared. Not for myself, for what could happen to me if he doesn’t come back, but for him.

Because I am done falling. I’m in love with him.

NASH

I’m not sure how long I’m left alone in the cement block of a room, but my stomach growls and I need to take a leak. Thankfully, as if Pencil Dick can read my mind, the door opens, and he’s standing there with a smirk on his lips.

“Come on,” he demands.

Standing with a groan, I limp a few steps on my stiff muscles, following behind this prick. He stops at a doorway and holds his hand out as if he’s presenting something to me. “If you try anything, I’ll come in there and fucking watch,” he grinds out.

I don’t know if he thinks he’s scaring me or intimidating me at all, but he’s not. Without a word, I walk past him and slam the door closed. I don’t bother flicking the lock into place. If he wants to walk in and compare dicks, he can do just that. But I know that mine’s bigger. I don’t even have to look.

Once I’ve pissed, I wash my hands and wrench the door open. Jerking my chin toward him, I arch a brow and wait for what’s next. I expect to be taken back to my cell, but I’m not. Instead, he lifts his hand and motions for me to follow him.

Interesting.

Moving through the building, I’m not surprised to see that it’s one of those metal warehouse-type ones. When the hallway comes to an end, it opens to a huge room, and I should not be surprised to see women everywhere.

They are lining the walls, standing side by side, shoulder to shoulder, wearing panties and bras. Looking around, I try to find the bitch who played me, but she isn’t anywhere to be seen.

I don’t ask Pencil Dick what is happening here because I already know. These women are getting ready for transport and, ultimately, sale. Pencil Dick stops and turns to face me, his eyes finding mine.

“James agreed to this life. She signed on the dotted line just like these girls. Except, unlike these girls, she was promised better.”

“Better?” I ask, knowing that there is no such thing as better in this world.

There is slavery, there is abuse, there is being used for the totality of what is between your legs, and then there is death. There is no better or worse to that. It’s all fucking bad. And there is no sugar that you could coat it with to make it better or any different.

“These women are all going to buyers. No vetting, no idea who the fuck they are, and I don’t give a shit either. My job is to find buyers and collect money.”

“But James wasn’t going to have that fate?” I ask, knowing already that the fucker I killed claimed she was going to be his.

He tilts his head. “Are you seriously asking me a question when you already know the answer?” he asks.

My lips curve up into a grin. “Are you seriously pretending you don’t know that the fucker who said James was his is dead? Because he is. I watched the life drain from his body myself, and I smiled when I did it.”

Pencil Dick flinches for just a moment, then replaces that flinch with a cocky smirk. It’s his go-to expression I’ve discovered when he wants to hide his reaction. He’s just not fucking good at being indifferent. Obviously, he hasn’t been properly trained. Which makes me wonder how high up he truly is in the Southern Mafia.

He’s no Conrad, that’s for sure, and I inwardly chuckle at the thought of the former leader of the Southern Mafia because that fucker is dead. It makes me wonder if he knows this little factoid or not.

“It doesn’t matter if the person she was promised to is dead or alive. James is the property of the Southern Mafia, and she has been promised to the Southern Mafia, no matter what man uses her at the time.”

“So you have her as a Southern Mafia whore?” I ask.

This doesn’t surprise me. James is fucking gorgeous, but also, they know who her biological mother is, and it wouldn’t shock me that they would assume her to have the same fate.

Vixen was a whore, there is no way around that, but she was a Dark Horse whore, and that is not the same as being a Southern Mafia one. Years ago, when we worked with the Southern Mafia, I partook in their whores. But they were not treated the same as ours, not even back then. I can’t imagine how they are treated these days.

“It doesn’t matter what we do with her because she’s ours to do with as we please.”

Arching a brow, I clear my throat and shake my head. “That doesn’t work for me. How about you get your boss here and let the men have a conversation.”

Without a doubt, that pisses him off. I watch as his eyes twitch before he jerks his chin. “I am the boss,” he growls.

It’s funny because this little prick is younger than King by about a decade, so I have a feeling he’s about as low on the food chain as one can get without being a gopher. He takes a step backward, holding his hands out around him.

“I am the fucking boss,” he barks a bit louder.

I don’t laugh, even though that’s exactly what I want to do. Instead, I stare at him impassively.

Then, I tilt my head to the side before I speak. “Well, if you’re the boss, then get moving on your plan,” I state. “I’m hungry and need my own fucking bed tonight.”

Pencil Dick jerks his chin toward a banquet table with a couple of chairs. “Sit the fuck down, then,” he demands.

Big man.

I do as he says because I’m ready to get this done and go home to my woman. I am absolutely not intimidated by him in any way whatsoever. I also know that I don’t have any kind of weapon or means to protect myself and end this shit right this second. So, I’m playing his game until I don’t have to any longer.