118
Emory
Why the hell was I so nervous? My stomach was doing somersaults, and my palms were sweaty.
Because this place is full of dangerous criminals and bikers! the angel on my right shoulder whispered in my ear.
But you love dangerous men! They’re all gonna be lusting after you when you walk in, the devil on my left shoulder whispered.
They were both right, unfortunately. So, I got out of the car and smoothed down my black sleeveless top with the half zip that was all the way down, showing some cleavage. My jeans were already pinching my thighs they were so tight, but at least the black ankle boots were comfortable. I was about five-foot-seven, so with these shoes on, I was even taller. I was glad Holden was so tall. I hated being taller than the guy I was with. Holden had to be at least six-one, maybe six-two. I was horrible at guessing heights, though.
The front door wasn’t that easy to find, but I eventually made my way through it, and the odor of sweat and beer immediately hit my nose. The sounds of screaming and yelling were the first things I heard. My eyes immediately darted toward a large boxing ring in the middle of the club, two men pummeling each other. Blood and spittle flew as a smaller guy with a lot of muscles punched the other man in the mouth. His head snapped to the right and he went down onto the floor.
A cat-call whistle rang out behind me, and I cringed.
“Well, hello, gorgeous. What’s your name?”
I turned to see a short guy wearing jeans and the same leather vest with the cat logo on it that Holden wore. He was slurring his words and his eyes wouldn’t quite focus. Deeming him too drunk to be a problem, I simply walked away, looking for Holden.
Someone grabbed my bare arm and I stopped short. I turned around to see another guy, about as tall as Holden, but with a striking exotic look to him, staring down at me. He also wore the leather vest. “Who the fuck are you?”
I looked down at his grip on my bicep and then quickly yanked it out of his grasp. “I was invited by Holden.”
“Get your fucking hands off her, asshole.”
Holden.
Relief flooded through me.
“Okay, Craig. Fuck, warn someone before you bring guests in here.”
“Fuck you, Oz.”
Oz laughed and walked off.
He looked down at me and put his arm around my shoulder. “You all right?”
I nodded and put on a brave face. “Of course. I’m a nurse. I’ve handled worse when I worked in the ER.”
He chuckled. “Good point. Oz is harmless, anyway.” Then, his face went serious, and he leaned down and kissed me.
I kissed him back, my body erupting into goosebumps and my panties immediately getting damp. Damn, this guy was gonna break me.
“You don’t leave my side the rest of the night. This is the second fight, there’s usually three, so just hang tight, then we’ll get outta here. I’ll take you someplace more civilized.”
I laughed. “Okay, sure.”
“Drink?” he asked.
I could definitely use one. But just one. “Yep.”
He grabbed my hand and led me to a large bar that took up the entire east side of the building. A good-looking Hispanic man with perfect hair and a nice smile greeted us.
“What’s up, man. Another whiskey?” He glanced at me.
“Sure, that sounds good. Chuy, this is Emory.” Holden looked at me. “What do you drink?”
Wine. But this didn’t seem like the place to order that. “Uh, I’ll take a… screwdriver.”
Chuy grinned. “You got it, cutie.”
After we got our drinks, Holden led me to a table where a man and woman were sitting watching the fights. The man definitely looked like he was running the place, and I could immediately tell he was the boss. His woman was gorgeous with thick locks of black hair and olive skin.
“Six, this is Emory.”
“Nice to meet you,” I said, shaking his hand.
“And this is Twistie,” Holden said, introducing me. I shook her hand, too.
Interesting names, I thought. Oz, Chuy, Six, Twistie.
“Enjoy the fight,” Six said, smiling at me.
“Thank you,” I replied, having no interest in the fight, really. All I could picture was how many stitches it was going to take to sew up that gash in the man’s mouth who was currently losing the fight.
“How come you don’t have a cool nickname like the rest of the people in here?” I asked into Holden’s ear so he could hear me above the sound of people cheering.
“What nicknames? Those are their real names,” he deadpanned at me.
I almost choked on my drink, as I’d just taken a sip. “You’re shitting me.”
He just stared at me, not smiling. “It’s not really nice to make fun of people’s names, Emory.”
I swallowed hard and stared back at him, trying to read him. He had a pretty good poker face, but I’d also learned he liked to tease, but I wasn’t falling for it. Nobody named their child Twistie. Nobody.
“Whatever. So… what’s your, uh, road name. Is that what it’s called?” I needed to back off the Netflix shows.
He burst out laughing. “Damn, thought I had you!”
I punched his arm and said, “I’m not falling for your stupid teasing anymore. Answer the question.”
“I don’t have one, they just call me Craig. And I like it that way.”
“Well, I’ll help you think of a road name,” I teased.
“No, you won’t. In fact, after this fight, we’re outta here before this place contaminates you. You’re too pretty to be in here, anyway.”
I glanced at the three women walking around in skimpy bikinis, then back to him. “What about them? They look pretty to me.”
“Club whores,” he murmured. “It’s literally their job to walk around here looking slutty.”
I’d heard the term club whores before on one of the many shows I’d binged. “And to service the club members whenever they want, right?”
He just peered down
