K*LL HIM
1389 Words
I stand near the edge of the VIP balcony and rub my temples to stop the headache forming behind my eyes, listening to the loud bass of the music shake the metal floorboards under my heavy boots. I let out a long sigh because I feel very tired tonight, and running a massive biker bar takes a lot of energy. I spent the last twelve hours dealing with bad liquor suppliers and broken equipment in the back room, so I just want a few minutes of peace to clear my head.
My Vice President, Luca, stands right next to me holding a wooden clipboard, and he reads down a long list of numbers while he talks about our security rotations for the upcoming week.
"The new shipment of imported whiskey arrives on Tuesday morning, so we need to double the guards at the back loading dock," Luca says, tapping his pen against the paper to get my attention.
"Make sure Dante handles the schedule for Tuesday," I reply, keeping my voice low and steady so he can hear me over the music. "We also have a wandering nomad crew drinking downstairs tonight, and I do not trust them because they always cause trouble when they drink too much cheap beer."
"They are just passing through on their way up the coast," Luca tells me, looking down at his notes. "As long as they pay for their drinks and keep their hands to themselves, we let them stay and drink at the bar."
"If they start a fight, you tell the bouncers to throw them out into the freezing rain," I say, leaning forward to rest my forearms on the cold iron railing.
Luca nods and writes a note on his clipboard. "Understood, and I will let the guys at the door know to watch them. The bank also called today about the loan for our new legitimate security firm, so we need to sign those papers tomorrow afternoon."
I nod my head to show him I hear his concerns, but I find it hard to focus on his words because my mind feels overloaded and exhausted. I look down at the crowded main floor to check on my bartenders and make sure the bouncers are doing their jobs right.
The air is thick with gray cigar smoke and the strong smell of spilled alcohol, and dozens of people are talking and laughing over the loud guitars. I scan the dark room and check the heavy wooden front door to ensure nobody is sneaking weapons inside, and then my eyes move past the pool tables and sweep over the raised dance floor in the center of the room.
I stop moving. The breath leaves my lungs in a fast rush, and my grip tightens on the metal rail until my knuckles turn white.
A woman is moving to the music right in the middle of the crowded floor, and she wears a skin-tight crimson dress that stands out bright against the dark leather jackets of the bikers around her.
I visually map the thick, heavy curve of her hips and the soft swell of her thighs as she sways to the loud beat of the music. She is not thin like the women who usually hang around the club trying to get free drinks from my men, and she has a plush, full figure that demands my attention in a very intense way I cannot explain or ignore.
I watch her lift her arms over her head and sway her hips from side to side under the flashing lights, noticing how her dark hair is wet and messy. She has a tragic, wild look on her face as she throws her head back and closes her eyes, and she dances with so much pain that the deep sadness mixed with her fierce movements creates an instantaneous pull right in the center of my chest.
I try to look away and focus back on Luca's voice, but I find it impossible to take my eyes off her. I watch the way the red fabric hugs her stomach, and I feel a strong urge to walk down the stairs and pull her away from the crowded floor so I can ask her who hurt her. I want to know her name, and I want to know why a woman who looks like she belongs in a luxury high-rise is drinking cheap tequila in my gritty dive bar.
"Sandro, are you even listening to me?" Luca asks, turning his head to see what I am staring at so hard.
He follows my gaze down to the dance floor and spots the woman in the crimson dress right away.
"I see her," Luca mutters, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning over the railing next to me. "She does not belong here, Sandro, because she looks like a rich girl who took a very wrong turn in the storm outside."
"She is definitely out of place," I agree, watching her spin around and toss her wet hair over her shoulder.
"Do you want me to send Dante down there to walk her out to a taxi before someone bothers her?" Luca asks, looking back at me with a serious expression on his face.
"No," I tell Luca, refusing to look away from her face for even a single second. "Leave her alone and let her dance because she looks like she needs to burn off some bad energy tonight."
"This floor is full of rough guys, Sandro, and she stands out too much," Luca warns me, pointing a finger toward the men playing at the pool tables.
"Just keep an eye on the men around her and make sure nobody touches her," I say, straightening my back and resting my hand near the heavy gun tucked into my waistband.
Luca nods and leans against the railing next to me, and we both watch her move to the heavy bass. For a few minutes, she just dances by herself and keeps her eyes closed while a real smile touches her lips. She looks beautiful and fearless, and my heart beats a little faster in my chest because I never saw anyone look so vulnerable and strong at the same time.
Then, the loud heavy metal music dips into a slower, quieter rhythm, and the crowd shifts around the dance floor to adjust to the new beat.
I watch a large man wearing the dirty leather cut of the wandering nomad crew step up right behind the woman, and my jaw clenches tight. I recognize him from earlier in the night because he caused a minor argument at the pool tables, and he has a nasty, arrogant grin on his face. He does not ask for permission to join her, and he does not even try to introduce himself before getting too close to her space.
He reaches out with a sweaty, calloused hand and grabs her bare thigh, pulling her backward against his chest with a hard, painful grip.
The woman gasps and her eyes snap open in pure shock.
A dark, violent rage spikes in my blood because no man touches a woman like that in my territory. I push away from the iron railing and prepare to head for the stairs so I can throw the nomad out the front door, but the woman does not freeze or cry for help.
She spins around to face the nomad biker, and the sharp, loud crack of a slap echoes clearly over the speakers as her hand connects hard with his jaw.
"Take your f*****g hands off me!" the woman screams, and her voice is filled with raw fury and defiance instead of fear.
The nomad biker stumbles back a step and touches his red cheek, and then he snarls at her and raises his heavy fist to strike her back.
My amber eyes go pitch black with rage, and I realize I do not have the time to run down the long wooden staircase to reach her before he swings his fist.
"Sandro, wait!" Luca shouts, reaching out to grab my arm.
"I am going to kill him," I growl, ignoring Luca and stepping up onto the ledge.
I vault straight over the second-floor iron railing and drop down into the crowd below.
- Writer
