by Nicole Fox
“I agree,” he said. “You boys deserve to cut loose tonight, but those Spawn fucks are gonna be out for blood before too long.”
He took his boots off the desk and sat forward.
“And don’t think I didn’t notice the role you played in taking them out. This was some do-or-die shit, and you were right there on the front lines. That’s the kind of shit I like to see. So, I’ve got a special assignment for you.”
Xander raised his eyebrows.
“What’s that?”
“I want you to take point on the next phase with the Devil’s Spawn. You’re dead on: the more time goes on, the more they’re going to be able to rebuild until they can get to a point where they’re able to take us on again. My top priority is going to be making sure we keep growing, that we claim more territory and more distribution. Not to mention product. I’m gonna make sure that we’re good and strong for when the Spawn, or whoever the fuck else comes sniffing around, we’re ready for them. But that doesn’t mean I want the Spawn to be left to their own devices.”
“And where do I come into this?”
“You’re going to be doing a little recon, keeping an eye on those fucks. If all goes according to plan, we’re going to outpace them by so much that they’ll never hope to stand a chance taking us on again. But they’re desperate, and desperate people do stupid shit. So, you’re going to be my eyes and ears with the Spawn. Keep tabs on ’em, make sure they don’t get up to anything that they’re going to regret. They’re going to be your special project.”
Xander nodded. He didn’t say it, but he was glad that Grayson had the foresight to make sure the Spawn didn’t come around to bite them in the ass.
“I think you’ll do well with this,” Grayson said. “I wouldn’t put you on it if I didn’t think you would. And if you do as good of a job as I think you can, I just might be able to find a place for you overseeing some of these new distribution lines once they’re set up.”
Xander couldn’t help but raise his eyebrows. An overseer position like that was no small thing- it’d result in enough steady money to make him a very wealthy man, very quickly.
“I’m on it,” said Xander.
“Good,” said Grayson. “But I got one more little project for you tonight. Important shit.”
“Yeah?” asked Xander.
“Yeah—go get drunk. Have some fun with the boys; you’ve earned it. You’ll have plenty of time to ponder all this shit over, so you need to learn when to relax. Go get good and wasted, find yourself some good pussy while you’re at it. If I hear that you’ve been sitting at some table by yourself sipping whiskey and ruminating, you and I are gonna have words. Got it?”
“Got it,” said Xander.
“Now get out of here,” said Grayson. “We got a shitload of work ahead of us. But tonight’s about the Shadow Hunters.”
Xander nodded and left the room. Moments later, he was back with his boys, another shot of whiskey in his hand courtesy of Cutter. But as he cut loose, he couldn’t help but think about the Spawn.
And he couldn’t shake the fact that he had a bad feeling about what was to come.
Chapter Three
Daphne
“Woooo!”
Margaret’s cry cut through the house. Wearing a party hat and a sticker that said “Birthday Bitch” in big, sparkly letters, she pounded the rest of the glass of wine in her hand.
“Who’s ready to get fucked up?” she yelled. “‘Cause it’s my fucking birthday!”
The girls at the party yelled, and Daphne joined in with them, a small smile forming on her face. However, she couldn’t help but feel guilty, as though a night like this was something a single mom like her shouldn’t be getting up to, like she wasn’t allowed to have this kind of fun.
“And that goes for you too, momma,” said Margaret, pointing to Daphne from where she stood on the couch in her home. “You got a babysitter, you don’t have shit to worry about other than drinking that wine and pouring yourself another, then another.”
Daphne smiled and raised her glass. She did her best to kill the drink, but it had been so long since she’d party-drunk that she almost gagged as the wine poured down her throat. But seconds later it was gone, and one of Margaret’s friends was right there with an open bottle, ready to top her off.
Daphne drank her wine and milled around the dozen or so girls who were partying at Margaret’s. She did her best to cut loose, but her legs were beyond sore from her day at work. Part of her just wanted to go home, get Jack, and cuddle up on the couch with her boy and watch a stupid movie.
You can’t be a total recluse, she thought to herself. You’re in your twenties—you have the rest of your life to be a boring mom.
This thought in mind, she drained half of her new glass of wine with a single sip. About ten minutes later, despite herself, she was feeling a little better, a little more social. She mingled with the other girls, having fun chatting with them despite the fact that all of them seemed to be the post-college types without kids, husbands, or a care in the world beyond hoping to find a hot guy to spend the night with.
“You about ready for phase two?” asked Margaret, finding Daphne and speaking to her in a sloppy slur.
“I’m afraid to ask,” said Daphne.
“Don’t be,” said Margaret, a sly smile forming on her pretty features. “We’re all about to head to this fucking awesome bar a little outside of town. I rented a party bus and everything.”
“What’s so great about this bar?” Daphne asked.
“Cheap drinks, hot guys, and lots of space to dance—what more you do want? And there’s tons of other places in the area we can get fucked up.”
Daphne wasn’t sure how she felt about all that, but the wine working through her system was doing a good job at convincing her that more booze and fun was what she wanted.
“Okay, I’m down,” said Daphne. “When do we leave?”
Right then, Margaret’s phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out and looked at it, her eyebrows raising.
“Right fucking now, it looks like.”
She rushed over to the living room window and pulled back the curtains. Sure enough, parked right out front was a big white party bus.
“Ready, girls?” said Margaret.
The girls let out another “woo!” in response.
Moments later, all the girls were piled onto the bus. Soon, they were in motion. The party continued, with dance music blasting through the bus and plenty of drinks to go around. Daphne watched as they drove further and further out of town, but by this point she was so full of wine that she felt ready for anything.
After a little while, the bus pulled up to a large bar in the middle of an unpaved parking lot. The place was adorned with dozens of neon signs of all different garish colors, and even from where Daphne stood in the bus she could hear the low thumping of bass. A crowd was outside of the bar, dozens of people drinking, smoking, and carrying on. A quick scan of the crowd showed that these weren’t the college-bar types; plenty looked like they’d come fresh from the wrong side of the tracks.
Daphne found Margaret and pulled her aside.
“You think this is a good place for a bunch of women to get drunk?” asked Daphne, her eyes flicking over to the crowd out front of the bar.
“I think it’s the perfect place for a bunch of women to get drunk,” Margaret said, a sly smile on her lips. “You should see the men in there; not exactly the kind of guys you find at the office.”
Margaret intended for her comment to sound enticing, but all it did was make Daphne’s stomach drop. But her anxiety quickly dissipated once another drink was shoved into her hands then poured down the hatch.
“Don’t worry about it,” Margaret said. “They have bouncers; it’s not like it’s a free-for-all in there.”
Her eyes on the neon spectacle of the bar, Daphne, in spite of herself, began to feel a little more excited.
“Okay, let’s do it!” she said.
“Atta girl,” said Margaret. “But I get first dibs on the men!”
The girls filed out of the bus, wooing and carrying on all the way to the front entrance and attracting the attention of just about every man there. Soon, after the bouncer checked all of their IDs, they were inside.
Daphne stepped in and looked around. The bar was like some kind of combination between a honky-tonk bar and a biker hangout. The interior was huge, the floors and walls made of wood, and the décor more neon, along with racy beer ads and highway signs. In the center was a horseshoe-shaped bar staffed by a dozen or so bartenders who zipped here and there. A large dance floor was in the center of the bar and packed with dancers, and country-rock blasted from the speakers. Daphne couldn’t quite tell how many people were jammed into that place, but it had to be in the hundreds.
The girls all rushed into the place, the noise of the bar so loud that the screaming of the girls was just one sound among many.
“Come on!” shouted Margaret, pulling Daphne into the crowd. “Let’s get wasted!”
The girls packed up against the bar, each one of them shouting out their drink orders in slurred voices. Once the nearest bartender turned his attention to Daphne, she felt as though she’d been put on the spot. She couldn’t figure out what she wanted, and after moment or two, the bartender shook his head, turned away, and returned with a red drink in his hand. He placed it in front of Daphne and she took a small sip.
“Vodka cranberry?” she asked, surprised that he knew one of her favorites. “How did you know?”
“Let’s just say you girls are the type,” he said. “Five bucks.”
Daphne fished a five and one out of her pocket, placed them on the bar, and took her drink. Sipping the cocktail down, she looked over the crazy scene of the bar, not sure where to begin. Daphne liked to have fun out with her friends, but she couldn’t help but feel out of place whenever she walked into a place like this. Part of her wished she and the girls were back at Margaret’s place, drinking wine and being silly.
But she knew that Margaret was right: she needed to get out there and look for a man if she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life single. As she scanned the crowd, however, she couldn’t help but feel as though she might be in the wrong place if she was looking for any love other than the kind that was fueled by cheap booze and took place in the backseat of a car.
Daphne scanned the crowd, sizing up the men. There seemed to be mostly scuzzy, blue-collar guys, the types who wore mesh caps and flannel shirts with the sleeves ripped off.
Jesus, Daphne thought. Maybe I need to join a church group or something.
She sipped her drink and slowly made her way through the crowd. As she walked, she realized her steps were unsteady, and she felt lightheaded; she realized the booze was already doing its work.
“Shots, shots, shots!” chanted Margaret, gathering the girls around a table, a tray topped with a dozen or so tiny glasses of booze in her hands.
The girls let out another series of woos from around the bar and gathered around.
“Drink up, girl,” said Margaret, handing Daphne her shot. “I can tell you’re not nearly drunk enough.”
Margaret gave the yellow, fizzy shot a sniff and realized that it was some kind of girly drink.
More woos sounded, followed by the girls all downing their booze.
“God, I just have to dance, like, right now,” said Margaret, grabbing Daphne by her slim wrist and pulling her into the crowd.
Seconds later, Daphne was surrounded by a tightly-packed mass of sweaty, drunken dancers, the bassy rock music blaring around them. Daphne started off awkwardly at first, swinging her hips just a bit, trying to be careful not to spill her drink. But as the shot and the rest of the booze she’d been drinking kicked in, she started to loosen up. She tossed back the rest of her vodka cranberry and found herself getting into it, letting the music take her away. Soon, the men who she had already dismissed as not her type became a little more appealing. She danced with guys here and there, teasing them just enough to make it interesting.
After a time, she realized that she needed a breather. She slunk out of the crowd, and as soon as she was off the dance floor she realized just how drunk she’d gotten, and part of her wanted to call a cab and get back home.
But before she could think the matter over too deeply, a raucous noise sounded from the entrance of the bar. Turning towards the sound by instinct, Daphne saw that it was a group of men, all dressed in leather, patch-covered vests, dark denim jeans, and heavy black combat boots. Half of them had shaved heads, and the other half had faces mostly hidden beneath long, unruly hair and thick, long beards. Tattoos covered their arms, shoulders, and chests. As she watched the men pour in and swarm the bar, all demanding whiskey and beer, Daphne realized right away just who these guys were: they were a biker gang.
“See something you like?” asked Margaret, sidling up to Daphne and watching the men enter.
“I don’t know …” said Daphne. “I mean, I knew this place wasn’t the kind of bar I’d normally go to, but I didn’t know it was a biker bar.”
“It’s an ‘everyone’ bar,” said Margaret. “And what, you’re scared of guys like that?”
Margaret looked the rough men over, biting her lower lip as she did.
“I don’t know,” she said. “They’re kind of hot.”
“Trust me,” said Daphne, noticing her voice slurring a bit, “you don’t want to get involved with guys like that. Nothing but a lot of bullshit.”
The word “bullshit” shot out of her mouth dripping with venom. Even Daphne was a little surprised with herself.
“Oh, that’s right!” said Margaret. “I forgot that Jack’s dad was a biker. Well, sounds to me like you’ve got a type.”
The suggestion made Daphne’s blood run cold. She’d considered the idea that she was just impossibly drawn to men like that, that she was cursed to chase after the exact type of men that she shouldn’t be. She knew that she should be looking for some nice man who worked in an office and had a steady, well-paying job, but even now, her eyes locked onto the bikers, she couldn’t help but feel that same thrill that she’d felt when she first saw Xander at the party so many nights ago.
“I think someone’s intrigued,” said Margaret with a naughty smile.
“Oh, shush,” said Daphne, giving her friend a playful slap on the arm.
But Daphne knew she was right. Daphne couldn’t take her eyes off the bikers. Her gaze flicked from one thick, tattooed bicep to another. Finally, as if her eyes were being pulled in a particular direction, her eyes settled on one of the bikers. He was a towering brick wall of a man, wearing a leather vest like the others, one that showed off his muscles and tattoos. His face was mostly hidden behind a thick brown beard with red tinges, and his hair was styled in a long, backward sweep.
“Looks like you’ve found a winner,” said Margaret, still watching Daphne.
“I don’t know …” said Daphne, feeling ashamed at the way her stomach did flip-flops as she looked at the man.
“He’s built like a damn tank,” said Margaret. “And those tattoos are super fucking hot. I don’t blame you one bit.”
“I’m being so stupid,” said Daphne.
“How about this,” said Margaret as she flagged down a passing bartender and ordered two more vodka cranberries. “You have another drink, try to relax, and just see what happens. A night like tonight isn’t about planning things out; just go where your gut takes you.”
“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of,” said Daphne.
Moments later, the bartender returned with the drinks.
“I’m gonna go … scope out the merchandise,” said Margaret. “Just try to enjoy yourself.”
And with that, Margaret was gone. Daphne watched as Margaret strolled over to one of the bikers and pretended to bump into him—a “trick” she’d seen Margaret pull off countless times before. The biker turned, gave Margaret a very obvious once-over, and the
two started talking. Margaret looked over at Daphne and gave her a sly wink before turning back to the object of her attention.
As soon as Daphne turned away from Margaret, her gaze went right back to that same man.
What is it about him? she found herself wondering. Even if I just accepted the fact that I’m into guys like that, there’s something more to him, something that I just can’t put my finger on.
However, she decided to do what Margaret said. Taking a sip of her drink, she attempted to let herself go.
Here goes nothing, she thought, wandering back into the crowd.
Chapter Four
Xander
