I ran my tongue over my lips, wetting them as my whole mouth had gone very suddenly dry, then I pulled my shit together.
"Send me copies of their medical files," I told him. "What condition are they in now? Lucid enough to talk?"
"They are. Already given a statement to my guys too. I'll include that for you to read. Nothing stands out to me as suspect, except that they got their hands on angel dust to fucking start with." The fury in his voice was clear, and I expected nothing less. Some other fucker selling banned drugs on his turf was a clear challenge to his authority.
"Get to cleaning up, Vega," I told him with a hard edge. "Whoever is doing this isn't working alone, and I don't believe for a second the Wraiths were the only street gang infiltrated."
He let out a frustrated sigh, but he knew I was right. "On it," he growled.
I ended the call as the elevator doors opened to the parking level and stalked over to my car. My favorite mode of transport, my motorcycle, was still parked at 7th Circle where I'd left it on Saturday night, but I’d been feeling far too Hades this morning to drive my Range Rover. So I was in my hot red Corvette and loving how it matched the soles of my shoes and my lipstick.
Rather than calling Zed, I just drove straight back to Shadow Grove, knowing I'd likely find him at 7th Circle. He was officially the group’s manager overseeing all the bars but was standing in as venue manager for 7th until we found someone who was a good fit for the role.
My phone pinged a few times along the way, and I knew it'd be Vega sending me the files he’d promised. While I appreciated his honesty in bringing me the information, it sure as fuck wasn't what I wanted to hear.
It was sounding more and more like a targeted attack across all my zones at once. Reaper dealers being arrested outside Anarchy, kids in Vega's town OD'ing, Sonny getting murdered... all in the same night.
I'd put money on it that Maurice had something to tell me, too, but was still searching for his balls.
It was late by the time I pulled into the parking lot outside 7th Circle, and there were more cars than usual for a Tuesday night—always a good sign for a profitable night at the bar and in the back rooms.
One of the reserved spaces beside my bike was free, so I parked my Corvette and frowned when I realized Zed's Ferrari was nowhere to be seen. Maybe he'd caught a lift in with Emily or Annika or Selena or whoever the fuck he'd spent last night with. Hoping I would find him, I headed inside anyway.
The buzz inside the club as I passed through the main doors was electric, something more suited to a weekend than early in the week, and I frowned with confusion. What the hell had the crowd so worked up?
My silent question was answered a second later, though, when I entered the main bar area and stopped dead in my tracks.
There on my main stage, working the pole like he’d been born to dance, was a very sweaty, very sexy, very possibly underage Lucas Wilder.
Fuck. It was his first night, and I'd forgotten to fire him.
15
Joanne, my 7th Circle bar manager and most likely choice to promote to venue manager, sidled over to me as I stood there frozen in shock.
"Bet you're glad you hired that one, boss," she commented, her admiration for Lucas's skill on the pole evident in the way her eyes sparkled and her smile spread wide over her face. "This is the most worked up I've seen a Tuesday crowd since we opened. They're barely even paying attention to poor Destiny." She indicated to the next stage over, where one of our full-time girls was shaking her tits for a group of sloppy businessmen.
Jo had a point; the attention was mostly on Lucas, from men and women alike. Damn, if that didn't make my blood burn like acid through my veins.
Lucas seemed to sense me watching because his eyes scanned over the crowd until he locked with my gaze. A slow smile curved his lush lips, and with a confident look in his eyes, he sent me a slow, deliberate wink.
The women watching let out a collective scream, each of them probably imagining it'd been sent to them, but I just gave a slow shake of my head. He fucking knew he was in deep shit, yet he didn't run. He didn't back down or cower away from the impending doom that was my anger.
I kinda liked that.
"Ho-ly damn," Joanne coughed a laugh. "I think I just creamed my pants, and he wasn't even looking at me."
I scowled. "He's half your age, Jo. Keep it professional."
The older woman just gave a small shrug. "Age is just a number, boss. So long as he's legal, ain't no one got any reason to judge."
Fucking hell, hadn't I only recently thought a very similar thing when justifying my attraction to Cass? Why the hell should it be so different if Lucas was the younger one? So long as he was, in fact, legal. If I found out he was actually seventeen, I might have to put myself into witness protection from myself.
"Send him to my office when he gets off stage," I told Jo as Lucas performed some particularly jaw-dropping move on the pole that should have been straight out of the circus. He had said he was into gymnastics.
Jo grinned knowingly. "Yes, boss. Can do." I leveled a flat glare at her, and she quickly wiped the smile from her face and cleared her throat. "Uh, sorry. Yes, absolutely, the second his set finishes. Can I get you a drink?"
"Yes," I replied, "a gimlet. Have you seen Zed tonight?"
She nodded. "Yes, sir. He left about half an hour ago to sort out a stock issue over at 22."
Damn it. I needed to tell him about the kids in Dogwood and read through the notes Vega had sent across. Jo was already heading back behind the bar to make my cocktail, so I decided to wait for it at the bar to save pulling a waitress away to deliver it to my office.
Yeah. That's why I stayed. To save a waitress from walking up a flight of stairs to deliver my drink. It had nothing to do with the stunning creature gyrating on the stage for a horde of screaming women. It definitely had nothing to do with the way his gaze kept coming back to me or the way his movements seemed to echo what he'd done to me in bed a couple of days ago.
Ugh. I was clearly getting bitten by karma for all the people I'd killed.
Jo handed over my cocktail way too quickly, but I forced myself to look away from the stage as I headed up to my office. At least I knew he'd be getting a good look at my ass in the tight lace-up pencil skirt I was wearing.
Even with the door to my office closed, though, I could hear the music booming up through the floor. I hadn't bothered sound-proofing this room, knowing it wouldn't be my office for more than a few months, but now I was regretting that choice. Especially when “Pony” by Genuwine came on and the crowd went mental.
"Oh, come on," I groaned, then promptly turned my CCTV monitors on. Yes, I was that level of masochistic. No, I didn't care when there was no one around to witness me self-destruct.
Luckily—or unluckily—my phone started ringing with Zed's name flashing on the screen, so I switched the screens off again before answering.
"Trouble at 22?" I asked him after connecting the call.
"Minimal," he responded, the sound of live music playing in the background of his call. We often had a jazz band at Club 22 early in the week, and a local dance school had taken to dropping by after class to let off steam. It was a fun atmosphere.