Club 22 (Hades Book 3)

by Tate James

  I was so fucking pathetic. Whispering a few more curses at myself, I swiped on a coat of my favorite smudge-proof red lipstick, then called it done. I wore a tiny black dress that just barely covered my ass and showed off a whole lot of leg. Over the dress I wore my black leather gun holster and knife harness. They crisscrossed my chest and wrapped around my waist in a sexy-as-hell BDSM sort of way. Except functional, for holding my weapons.

  My red-soled heels were tall—of course—and a thin strap wrapped around each of my ankles like little ankle cuffs.

  I'd tied my hair up in a high ponytail, the softly curled length brushing my bare back, and I paused briefly before leaving my room to carefully slide a stiletto blade into my hair. One could never be too heavily armed when strolling into a potentially hostile environment. Not to mention Chase was still out there somewhere, and he'd be undoubtedly looking for revenge for those knockout drugs.

  "Fuck me dead," Zed groaned when I left my room and found him leaning against the wall opposite, waiting for me. "You're actually trying to kill me now, aren't you? This isn't fair."

  I couldn't help the wide smile that lit up my face at his reaction. I'd be lying if I hadn't dressed with Zed on my mind the whole time.

  "I don't know what you're talking about," I lied. "This is my usual business attire."

  Zed scoffed a laugh, his heated gaze running down the exposed length of my legs as he shook his head. "Bullshit," he accused in a whisper. "This is definitely a date now."

  "Have you heard anything from Archer?" I asked, changing the subject as we headed downstairs. "Seph is still not responding to me. She currently hates me for murdering Cass."

  Zed's hand rested on the small of my back as we made our way through to the garage, and it took all my strength not to spin around and pounce on him. I badly should have flicked my own bean in the shower to relieve some tension, but apparently, I loved the torture.

  "Maybe it's time you told Seph the truth," Zed suggested, not for the first time. "She's eighteen now; surely she's old enough to hear the whole story."

  I snorted a bitter laugh. "You think Seph can keep a secret as important as Cass being alive? No. Sorry, just no. I'd rather have her hating me for something I didn't do than pander to her sense of importance and potentially get Cass killed for real."

  Zed sighed, opening the passenger door to his Ferrari for me. His Audi was back in the garage, too, having come back from the body shop a day earlier. The scratch Chase had left was totally gone. "Yeah, fair point," he admitted. He closed my door for me, then circled around to his own side. "I still think she needs to know the rest, though. About Chase, certainly. Maybe if she understands the danger, she'll quit being a pain about all the protection."

  I grimaced. He was right, and I knew it. But selfishly, I didn't want my little sister to know the truth. I hated the idea of admitting everything I'd gone through with Chase when I was a teenager. Telling her my whole sordid tale would mean admitting just how much I let him get away with, how much abuse I let him dish out, and all because I stupidly believed I loved him. Or, in the later days, because I was just too weak, too broken to resist. My own sense of self-preservation had been so low that I’d done nothing to save myself. It’d taken a threat to Seph's safety to finally make me act... and that was one of my deepest regrets.

  I should have valued my own life higher. I should have done any number of things that might have meant Seph was never placed so close to danger. But I couldn't change the past. And reliving it for the sake of informing Seph? It gained us nothing.

  "I know," Zed said with a sigh when I didn't reply. "Agree to disagree. Again." He shot me a quick look as he drove, and I mustered up a tight smile to show him I wasn't actually pissed at his persistence.

  "You want me to fill you in on the Reaper bullshit?" I offered, getting comfortable in my seat. "Or leave it as a surprise?"

  He gave a short laugh, shaking his head. "I love when you get ruthless, Dare. But you’d better fill me in so I don’t shoot the wrong person in a misguided attempt to impress you."

  I rolled my eyes, but a stupid grin creased my lips. Only Zed would think killing someone was the way into my heart—and my panties. Thing was, he was already well into my heart, and I was starting to think my panties may not prove such a barrier after all.

  Nonetheless, I gave him all the vague information Cass had offered over the phone and added my own thoughts around this Reaper rat talking smack about PCP. At some point while I was talking, Zed's hand found my knee, and my breath hitched. He fucking heard it, too, because a smug smile crossed his lips, and he kept his hand there for the rest of the drive to Scruffy Murphy's.

  The security on the door recognized us instantly and hurried to usher us past the crowd lined up outside. It wasn't even the weekend, but Scruffy's often had popular bands playing and could be busy any night.

  "Hades, sir," one of the tattoo-covered security guards inside the club greeted. "Zed." He nodded to my second.

  I gave him a cool look, trying to place his name and coming up blank. "Where's Roach?" I asked, giving up on trying to remember his name. It was something to do with snakes, I thought. But then maybe I was just guessing that because he had a huge snake tattoo around his neck and up his bald head.

  "He's out back," the snake guy replied. "I'll show you the way."

  "Unnecessary," Zed told him. "We know where it is."

  The dude gulped and nodded, stepping out of the way. Zed followed me closely as I made my way through the packed bar, his hand on my back again in a touch that I was growing way too comfortable with. We knew that "out back" was the private room in the back of the bar where Reapers hung out like a clubhouse. When Zane had been running the club, the whole place had been a shitty dive bar, not a fraction of the success it was now. The back room then had been full of gangsters sitting around drinking and doing drugs or fucking gang whores in full view of their friends. Typical male-run gang shit.

  We passed down the corridor where the restrooms were located, and Zed leaned in close to murmur in my ear. "Oh look, a supply closet."

  I snorted a laugh and shot him a clear shut the fuck up look. Still, it was a supply closet that would forever hold fond memories for me. It was where I'd unknowingly taken Lucas's virginity.

  When we reached the door at the end of the corridor, I didn't hesitate before pushing through it and strolling in like I owned the damn place. A quick glance around told me it had only marginally cleaned up since the last time I'd seen it. Then again, no one ever expected the Shadow Grove Reapers to be sitting around studying the Bible in their free time.

  "Roach," I called out, spotting the new Reapers’ leader at the pool table in the corner. He sunk a ball, then glanced over to see who was calling him. When he spotted Zed and I, his eyes widened, and he slowly straightened back up.

  Before he could say anything, though, a clearly intoxicated guy stumbled closer and gave my cleavage a long leer.

  "Who's the new whore?" he slurred, licking his lips as he looked me up and down. The entire room went silent, but the drunk fuck didn't even notice. "She's so fucking hot. Tight little waist and shit. I bet I know what else is tight." He lurched forward, his hand extended toward my crotch.

  He never made contact, though, as I grabbed his wrist with one hand and drove one of my daggers into his throat with my other. I didn't tolerate sexual assault, and I sure as fuck didn't tolerate disrespect in an environment like this one.

  The stupid Reaper remained frozen, my knife in his throat right up to the hilt and blood beginning to pool around the entry point. I held him like that for a moment, then raised my foot and kicked him backward. My knife slid free with a sickening, wet pop, and blood spray arced across the dirty floor as the Reaper collapsed in a heap, choking and gurgling as he died.

  Still, the whole room remained silent like no one wanted to draw my attention by moving or making a noise.

  Zed handed me a dark gray handkerchief from his pocket, and I used it to
calmly clean off my knife as best I could before sliding it back into its sheath.

  "Roach, I understand you're new to this position, but I think you can guess my feelings toward disrespect in any form. No?" I tilted my head to the side as I eyed the new Reapers’ leader. Fuck, he was young. I hoped to hell Cass knew what he was doing on this one.

  He jerked a sharp nod, meeting my eyes in return and not flinching at the unrestrained violence he must have seen there. Good.

  "My deepest apologies, Hades," he replied, casting a disgusted look at the dead man. "Mad Dog has been letting his addiction to our supply get out of hand. This was inevitable."

  I arched a brow. "Mad Dog, huh?" That was convenient. I'd planned on killing him tonight anyway. “I imagine that concludes my reason for visiting you this evening.”

  Understanding flashed across Roach's face, and he gave a short nod. "Yes, sir. I imagine it does." Then he raised his voice as he addressed the still dead-silent room. "Does anyone else want to challenge my authority over the Shadow Grove Reapers? Maybe you need a reminder that I have the support of Hades and the Timberwolves."

  Not a single one of the Reapers spoke. Smart little gangsters.

  Zed gave a cold chuckle. "I think they got the message." He clapped Roach on the shoulder like they were old friends. "Don't hesitate to call if you need a hand with anything."

  The violence in his eyes said exactly what kind of help he was offering, and I doubted anyone missed the implication.

  Roach jerked a nod. "Understood. It was nice of you both to stop by."

  I inclined my head in acknowledgement. "Macy will be in touch tomorrow." Because my help didn't come for free. Macy, my lovely, mild-mannered bookkeeper, would issue Roach an invoice. After all, we weren't friends, and all businesses needed to remain profitable. Even the illegal ones.

  "I look forward to it," Roach responded without hesitation. His gaze was steady and confident, and he earned a small amount of my respect for not flinching. He was already doing a hell of a lot better than the previous Wraiths’ leader. Fucking Skate had been like a skittish weasel.

  Zed and I turned and left the clubhouse area like we were goddamn royalty, feeling the hostile eyes of the Reapers on us the whole damn way. I didn't blame them for hating me; it was understandable. But they also feared me, and that was the important part.

  "Well, that went a whole lot quicker than anticipated," Zed murmured as we headed back toward the main club. "Feel like staying for a drink?"

  I wrinkled my nose at the sweaty death-metal crowd. "Not here. We could go check out that new club over in Shadow Heights."

  Zed peered at me with a surprised brow raise. "Meow Lounge?"

  I gave a casual shrug. "Sure, why not? Always good to check out the competition, right?" Because as rapidly as Copper Wolf was expanding, I still couldn't own every bar and club in the state. There would always be competition; it was up to us to keep up-to-date with what they were doing and where the customers were favoring. Right now, the Meow Lounge was getting a lot of hype for being so newly opened, and I was curious to see what they were doing differently.

  Zed gave me a bemused smile, then brushed his hand over my back. "Seems like as good a reason as any," he murmured, "and you're definitely dressed for it."

  I gave him a puzzled look as we made our way out of Scruffy Murphy's and headed back to his car. "Is there a dress code?" Not that it mattered; I'd go wherever the fuck I wanted and wear whatever the fuck I wanted. But I did like a good dress code. It was what I enforced at Club 22—with Gatsby era costumes—so I was interested to know what Meow Lounge was asking of its patrons.

  "Oh," Zed chuckled. "You'll see."

  21

  If the lineup of scantily dressed patrons decked out in leather and PVC wasn't a clear sign of what kind of "club" the Meow Lounge was, then the woman strapped down and being spit-roasted by two masked men on the main stage would clue me in.

  My face must have registered a hell of a lot more shock than I intended because Zed smirked at me like a smug fuck and guided me toward the bar.

  "Everything okay, boss?" he asked in a teasing voice, leaning his elbow on the bar like he was right at home. He'd ditched his suit jacket in the car, and his black shirt was rolled up to the elbows, showing off his strong, tanned forearms. With his own guns still holstered, he fit right in. Shit, he was gorgeous.

  Clearing my throat, I schooled my face calm before meeting his gaze. "Fine. Why?"

  His smug-fuck grin said he knew damn well I’d had no clue the Meow Lounge was a sex club, but he was happy to play along. "No reason. Just thought I saw a hint of a blush here." He brushed a knuckle across my cheek, and I almost growled my irritation.

  Zed just gave another throaty chuckle and turned his attention to the bartender. There were plenty of patrons, both singles and couples and more, who were just drinking and people-watching, so I doubted there was any requirement to participate. Not that I would, even if that was their rule. I had a reputation to uphold.

  I let my gaze drift around the room as we waited for our drinks, taking in the various stations where enthusiastic patrons were "performing" for anyone who wanted to watch. It was hot as hell; I wasn't even going to pretend otherwise.

  "See something you like, boss?" Zed murmured in my ear, and I gave a sharp inhale. I hadn't even realized I'd fixated on watching one particular grouping until he said that, and I instantly looked away.

  "You're enjoying this way too much, Zed," I muttered back, accepting the sugar-rimmed cocktail from his hand.

  He just grinned and indicated I walk with him over to a free table. Here in Shadow Heights, outside of the usual gang territory, we had a certain level of anonymity. The security knew who we were, so they’d quite deliberately ignored the amount of weaponry on full display for both of us. But the patrons largely had no clue. I quite liked not having so many people watching my every damn move. It was refreshing.

  "So, I'm going to assume you've been here before?" I asked Zed with an arched brow as we sat down. The table was tiny, barely large enough for our two coupette glasses to sit side by side, and the seat was just one miniature velvet sofa. To avoid landing on the floor, I practically had to sit in Zed's lap. Oh, the hardships.

  Zed was way too fucking amused for his own good; he was likely to catch my fist in his nuts soon. "Nah, I haven't actually. They only opened a month or so ago."

  I gave a shrug. "So? This seems like your kind of place." I watched him from under my lashes as I sipped my cocktail, a sidecar.

  "Because I'm such a deviant," he replied, his tone dry but still entertained as hell. "I've been a bit busy lately. Besides... there's only one woman I want to fuck, and she wasn't here."

  Oh. Yeah, fair enough. That made sense.

  Zed draped his arm around my waist, ever so casual, and took a sip of his own cocktail. "They make good drinks, I have to admit."

  "Mm-hmm," I agreed. My attention had somehow returned to the same grouping that I'd been watching earlier, despite my attempts not to stare. When I caught myself, I huffed a frustrated sigh.

  "It's okay to watch," Zed commented. His fingers were teasing the back of my bare arm, and it was only adding to my sexually frustrated state. This was, of course, a terrible idea, considering the tension radiating between us. But I was too stubborn to bail out of the club so quickly. That would be far too close to running scared, and that was something I would never do. Especially from Zed.

  So instead, I relaxed my shoulders and leaned into his side to get comfortable. "I know," I replied, sassy as fuck. "I was just taking notes."

  That comment made Zed stiffen, and his eyes followed where I'd been looking. It was a small area near the side of the room where a woman wearing nothing but some leather straps was being worshipped by three extremely well-hung men. At the same time. I wasn't even joking about taking notes; whether I wanted to or not, my mind was already jotting down ideas. Never say never.

  Zed didn't respond to that comment; h
e just hummed a sound that could have been approval or disagreement and calmly sipped his drink before placing it back down on the table. I put mine down too, not totally sure I wouldn't spill it from how hyperalert I was to his touch.

  Curious, and somewhat emboldened by our anonymity, I shifted to peer up at him. "You like to be watched, don't you?"

  His brows lifted and he looked down at me with an edge of surprise. "I do." His tongue swiped across his lower lip, and I swallowed heavily. Damn, I wanted to kiss him. Did he know how turned on I was?

  "So," I continued, chasing my thought train, "do you also like to watch?"

  A bemused smile touched his lips, and he shifted his grip to pull me closer as he dipped his face. His mouth was so close to my ear when he replied that his breath tickled my skin, making me shiver.

  "Are you asking whether I liked watching you and Cass fucking in my garage before the fight," he murmured, "or watching you riding his dick after his funeral the other day?"

  I gave a throaty laugh. "You didn't just watch that time." He didn't respond, clearly waiting for me to answer his question. "Yes, that's what I'm asking." My breath rushed out at that admission.

  Zed's nose teased a line along my neck, and I needed to stifle a moan as his lips brushed a kiss across my skin. "Well then, yes. I watched it, loved it, replayed it again later with my dick in my hand and came harder than I have in fucking years."

  Oh fuck. My pussy throbbed at that mental image, and I found myself clenching my thighs on reflex. I couldn't hide how my breathing had spiked, though, not with Zed still placing hot, open-mouth kisses against my neck.