From the outside, it looks like what you would expect for a strip club—big, tacky neon sign, and dark, blacked out windows. I love it. Diesel doesn’t pay or even glance at the man at the door, just opens it and pulls me in.

Instantly, it’s dark, and the sensual music hits me, as does the scent of cigars, booze, and sweat. The wood floor in the hallway leads down to two, big double doors, which we open before slipping into the main area of the club.

The bar is behind us to the right, with the stage area taking up most of the room. There are floating platforms and cages in the air, and a VIP area upstairs. There are curtained off booths around each wall, which I have to squint to see. Everything is dark and moody with coloured lights. Poles are everywhere and small tables surround the stages.

It’s definitely a dive, so I feel right at home. There are neon signs across the walls—cherries, lips, you name it, they have it. The floor is a sticky wood, and my heels cling to as we walk. It’s busy, even at this time of day, with men in suits and leathers sitting around, and a few women too. Cocktail waitresses in slinky outfits wander through the crowd with trays, and there are two women behind the bar as well. A dancer is currently on stage in a jewelled bikini as she swings around the pole and writhes to the music. I tilt my head. “She’s good.” I nod, and Diesel smirks.

“You’re a strange one, Little Bird, I love it,” he murmurs, leaning down so I can hear him over the music.

“Hey, I took pole dancing, that shit is hard. These women are fucking athletes, and trying to get that glitter out? Not easy,” I scoff.

Just then, a woman approaches, and she smiles nervously at us, her eyes flickering between the guys. “Cherry is in back, honeys, want me to grab her? She’s in a meeting.”

“No, it’s fine, we can wait,” Garrett tells her, and then takes a table near one of the walls so he can see everyone. His hand is on his lap where his gun is resting, and his eyes are sharp, scanning everything. Diesel, on the other hand, grabs a chair and yanks me into his lap as we watch the woman on stage.

“Want a dance while you’re waiting?” the nervous waitress asks, clearly knowing who they are.

“No,” Garrett snarls.

“Sorry, I brought my own.” Diesel laughs.

The waitress scurries away as fast as she can, and I spot the others in the bar glancing back at us nervously. Some clearly know who we are, because they get up and leave, while the others stay. They might not know who Diesel and Garrett are, but they can sense what they are, even if they don’t know them personally.

Killers.

Rich.

Powerful.

The mood dampens as men straighten and sober up.

Every eye is on us, even if it’s quick glances so they don’t get caught. Drinks are dropped off instantly, we are checked on every second, and waited on hand and foot. This is the reaction the Vipers get from people—fear and awe. Like royalty.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” I murmur to Diesel as I get up. Garrett catches my hand and narrows his eyes on me, communicating without a word. “It’s right there, big guy, you can see into the door from here. I’ll be right back.” I lean down and kiss him, and I can tell I’ve surprised him when he lets go of my hand.

“Be quick, baby, or I’ll come after you,” he growls, as I pull back.

I wave that away and stroll through the crowd to the toilet, feeling every eye on me, all of them wondering who and what I am to the Vipers. I slip into the bathroom and do my business before washing my hands.

I open the door and the music hits me again. Just as I’m stepping back into the main club, a man blocks my path. He’s big, double my height, wearing an ill-fitting suit and a fake watch on his wrist. He’s trying to look richer than he is, unlike my guys, who don’t even flaunt their wealth.

The man’s eyes are glazed, so he’s high or drunk or maybe both, as he stumbles over to me. “Hey, darlin’, here’s fifty for a blowy.” He throws the cash at me.

Snorting, I roll my eyes before kicking out and slamming my heel into his crotch. He goes down with a squeal, dropping to his knees and wheezing.

“What the fuck, bitch?” he yells, as Garrett comes up behind him.

Pulling back my fist, I punched him in the face. “Finders keepers, honey.” I laugh as I pocket the notes and step over his prone, whimpering form.

“Stupid slut,” he snaps, and Garrett hears it, but so do I.

Nobody gets to insult me. Spinning, I grab my knife from my thigh and yank his greasy hair back, holding the blade to his throat. “You ever insult me again, and it will be the last thing you do. Is that understood, shit for brains?” I snap.

He freezes, the scent of alcohol wrapping around me, and I feel his body tremble.

“When I let go, you’re going to apologise. You will say, ‘I’m sorry, almighty Roxy, I’m a meat-headed idiot with a small cock,’ and then you will pay for all our drinks tonight, won’t you?”

He nods, and I laugh as I slide my blade away and step back in case he tries anything. He stumbles to his feet and turns, his face pale as he looks at me.

“Say it.” I grin, tapping the blade on my thigh.

“I-I’m sorry, almighty Roxy, I’m a meat-headed idiot with a small cock—” He stumbles, his eyes flaring in panic.

“You will pay for all our drinks,” I prompt, and he nods rapidly.

“All your drinks, so sorry,” he calls again, as I turn with a grin to see Garrett smirking at me.

“Baby, where were you even keeping that blade?” he asks, his eyes dark with hunger as he runs his gaze down my body and my extremely tight dress. Grabbing his hand, I drag it up my thigh until he feels the sheath. He groans, his eyes closing for a moment. “Shit, Rox.”

I pull away, giggling. “Don’t hurt him, I took care of it.” Keeping his hand in mine, I tug him back to the table, where Diesel is watching me with a grin.

“Little Bird, that was so hot,” he murmurs, running his eyes to my knife. “You’re using that on me later.”

Laughing, I drop into his lap, knowing Garrett needs to keep his hands free. We watch the next girl as another bottle is dropped at our table. It’s champagne. I pop the cork and take a swig, toasting the guy I threatened at the corner table with it. He nods and looks away in fear.

Just then, a bouncer stops at our table. He takes a look at me and snorts. “Get backstage, girl.” He turns to my guys. “She’s ready to see you, follow me.”

Diesel stiffens against me. Oh fuck. I throw myself harder against him before he can kill this idiot, but then Garrett’s there in a flash. He’s so quick, I didn’t even see him get up. His fists move rapidly, and then the bouncer is on his knees, his nose and lip bleeding, both busted, and Garrett is standing over him angrily.

“What did you say about her?” he snarls, his voice low and rumbling.

I watch the bouncer’s gaze widen as he realises he royally fucked up. He tries to look over at me, but Garrett steps into his path, blocking his view. “Do not look at her, ever.”

“I’m sorry, sir, I thought she was a dancer. I’m really fucking sorry,” the man rushes out. A minute ago, he was a big, burly fucker who even I would have hesitated to take down. Now he looks like a scared, little boy when faced with Garrett. “Please, please, I’m so sorry,” he begs.