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.