“Brett…” his friend, a wiry Caucasian man who was really no larger than me, turned his scarred face in my direction. He remained in his seat but turned further in my direction as he tugged at the big asshole’s arm.
“May I help you?” I asked coolly when I approached.
“Yeah, I want to talk to the owner.” Asshole turned what most would call a resting bitch face on a woman on me.
What would you call it on a guy? I wondered as I looked at his ugly mug.
“I’m the owner,” I replied out loud.
“Then get your little bitch to do her job. I paid the cover charge and ordered over the limit on drinks. Now I want to give her a tip and she won’t come near me.” His words were slurred which proved his statement about the drinks.
“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to take a seat,” I replied.
“I will take a seat when I’m damn well ready,” he yelled and took a step toward me. His buddy was laughing and egging him on with his own snide comments.
Normally, the huge asshole came in with a much larger group but today it was just him and the small guy. A grin curved up my lips. Please try it, dumbass.
“Harpy,” I yelled and the tall African woman approached. She had flawless skin and could dance with a grace I hadn’t seen in all of the years I’d been running Banshee’s Babes. Another plus was that Harpy could handle herself with the biggest of bastards. “Want to take over for Little Lolita, please?”
“Sure thing, boss lady.” She smirked at me as she hopped up onto the stage. Her waist-length braids swished wildly around her as she took a practice swing around the pole and stopped to give Little Lolita a hug. The tiny Asian rushed off of the stage and disappeared into the back before the music even started back up.
“I’ve already seen her tonight,” the small man whined from his seat.
“Yeah, we already gave her money. We want the tiny girl back,” Brett the bastard agreed. “It’s George’s birthday. What George wants he gets.”
Mister tiny whooped and stared at where Little Lolita had disappeared.
“I want the China doll for a lap dance,” George demanded.
“Not going to happen, George,” I growled as my patience wore thin.
Obviously, I was pushing Brett’s buttons because he stumbled forward and raised his fist. Yes, I shouted internally in glee. I did love a good fight.
Using a nearby chair, I pushed off the cushioned seat and grabbed hold of Brett by the neck. The drunk was sloppy and he spun around easier than he should have. I almost pouted as I flipped around the man and kicked his ass as I let go and landed on the floor.
He bellowed and I pounced forward. Wrenching his arm up behind him as he fell over the table he and his buddy had been sitting at. Glasses crashed onto the floor while I climbed onto Brett’s back and held his arm to his back as I swung my leg out and stopped it an inch from George’s throat.
Thank you adopted daddy for all of those martial arts lessons, I smirked internally at the thought of Roark’s father and how he’d been worried about the tiny, pale little girl around all of the bikers and shifters that frequented the clubhouse. I took to the training like a fish to water and soon was able to kick everyone’s ass. Guess that’s how I became VP for the local Dark Leopards club.
“I think you boys need to leave before I get mean,” I cooed.
Then again, it could be simply that I’m a bitch who loves to fight.
George swallowed and nodded. Brett was still being an ass and yelling how he’d have the sheriff close my place down.
“Boss?” Flint approached the table. “Would you like me to take out the trash?”
“That would be lovely,” I replied with a smile at my bouncer.
I flipped off of Brett and landed several feet away in a crouch. I laughed as Flint easily took hold of the man’s arm and led him to the door. Poor George followed with his head hung low.
317
Dorain
“Piece of shit,” I growled and kicked the vending machine. My bag of chips that were hung up dropped down into the bin. The Imperial March began to play, making me groan.
One thing after another, I grumbled.
“Wesley,” I answered, not even bothering to look at the caller display. The Imperial March was my ringtone for the bosses– The North American Shifter Council.
“What’s the status?” Lucas, my handler, asked.
“I just made it to Michigan.”
“Good. You have new orders.”
I bent down and retrieved my chips then began to walk back to my motel room. Lucas was busy barking orders to someone near him so I wasn’t missing anything. The man was always angry about something.
“Wesley?” Lucas asked.
“Yeah?” I opened the motel room and kicked it closed behind me. The room was a piece of shit, but being an enforcer for the council meant keeping under the radar. This shit hole would definitely not call attention to me.
“There’s an albino,” he snarled.
An albino to the council was considered an abomination. I had heard stories of the albinos being hunted. There were superstitions revolving around albinos. An albino was said to bring bad luck to those around them. Kind of how humans think black cats are bad luck.
“The council wants you to take care of the abomination,” Lucas stated making me frown. I plopped down on the bed and opened my bag of chips.
“Take care of?” I asked. Killing people or shifters wasn’t my thing. Roughing someone up, setting their shit on fire, or kidnapping wasn’t beneath me; however, murder was a different ballgame.
“The council wants the abomination wiped off the map. Bring her head as proof that the job is done.”
“Her?” My question came out louder than I had intended.
“Yes. Her,” Lucas growled back at me. “Watch your tone
