They were nearing the Jeep when shadowy figures approached them from all sides. The Death’s Head jackals leered at them, anger burning in their eyes.
The Dragons did a partial shift, prepared for whatever was coming.
One of the jackals puffed his chest and spat, “Because of you, we had to forfeit both fights, you sons of bitches. Those purses you’re carrying should be rightfully ours.”
Mason growled, straightening to his full height. “You’re doping your fighters. That’s against the rules.” He looked at the pair of siblings they’d dragged out with them. “You two should find new management. Wolves shouldn’t be hanging out with jackals. Where’s your pride?”
The lead jackal snarled at the insult. “You should learn to keep your nose out of business that’s not yours. Now, hand over the money or we’ll start breaking legs.”
Stone laughed. “If you keep running your mouth, the only thing here that will end up broken is your nose.”
They didn’t heed his warning. Fists flying, they came at Quake and the others, ready to do serious damage. He shook his head when one of them hit him with a tire iron. It bent on impact with his hardened skin.
Snatching it from his attacker’s hands, Quake wrapped it around the jackal’s neck. “There. Let’s see how you like wearing a collar.”
The skirmish didn’t last long. It ended with the Death’s Head members on the ground, nursing bruises and cracked ribs.
“You’re gonna pay for this,” the first one who threatened them spat.
Quake’s answering grin held no humor. Maybe it was stereotyping but Death’s Head jackals were all the same. Worthless pieces of shit who doped fighters and kidnapped, raped, and sold women.
Killing Khan was going to be a pleasure.
When they arrived back at the Citadel, they found The Order of the Phoenix brothers busy cleaning up. The stench of smoke, ash, and chemicals was heavy in the air. Thankfully, the blaze had been confined to a storage room and a hallway outside it.
They were damn lucky.
“Is there anything we can do?” Stone asked Tobias when they found him inspecting the damage.
The other cadre leader sighed. “Yes, thank you. We’ve worked so hard to renovate this place. Every surface on the first floor needs cleaned, plus the stairs and the hallway on the second floor. The men contained it before the smoke went higher.”
Quake groaned. He knew that meant lots of washing things down. The Hell’s Fury MC were men of action, not domestic creatures. Warriors, not camp followers.
They rolled up their sleeves and pitched in anyway.
Some of their brothers in The Order of the Phoenix seemed distracted as they worked. He could hear Zac and Aiden speculating about someone named Morgan. Malik and Iosefa were whispering concerns over a redhead they had seen at the fight hanging out with the wrong crowd.
Quake checked his phone a few times but found no messages from Magenta. It made him wonder what she was up to. Thanksgiving dinner with Madam Belle and the other women she lived with? After the run-in with the jackals at the fight, he hoped she was staying safe.
He’d know tomorrow. They’d be heading out early in the morning, landing at Vegas equally early, thanks to the different time zones. Shit. He should call Magenta, see if she was up to eating out. There was a great little mom-and-pop diner that offered all-day breakfasts. Regardless of the time, he was certain he could sweet talk her into going.
At least he didn’t have to wonder how she liked his presents. He hadn’t gotten a mile down the road after dropping them off before his text alert sounded, thanking him for his gifts. The flowers. The cookbook. The guitar pick and his promise to play for her.
Magenta had been undecided about the song, though. She promised to give it some thought.
She’d had time to pick one while they were gone. Hopefully, she would have an answer when he saw her again.
Quake couldn’t wait.
He shut off his phone for the flight. Turning it back on as soon as they landed, he saw that he had a text message from Magenta. He opened it eagerly but what he read nearly sent him to his knees.
I’m sorry.
I can’t do this anymore.
Take care of yourself.
I wish you all the best.
“What the fuck?” he grated, unable to believe what he was seeing. Had she just been stringing him along, giving him hope?
Or had Madam Belle nipped things in the bud, forcing her to part ways with him if she wanted to stay in the fold?
Well, fuck that.
Quake was royally pissed. Who the hell did Belle think she was? Who the hell did the Fae think he was? She’d vastly underestimated him if she thought a single text message was going to put him off after the week of correspondence they’d had.
And if it was Magenta’s idea, Belle wasn’t about to turn down the money he had to buy her time. He was prepared to offer double the going rate if that’s what it took.
One way or another, he intended to confront Magenta and learn exactly what the hell was going on.
He was at the front door when The Pole Barn opened. Amos looked at him oddly but said nothing. Quake headed back to where Madam Belle was consulting with her bar manager.
She didn’t seem surprised to see him.
She didn’t look pleased about it, either.
He waited for her to finish before speaking. “I want to book a VIP session with Magenta tonight. All night,” he added meaningfully.
“I’m sorry, you can’t,” she replied flatly.
Quake’s resentment boiled up. “I’ve got the cash if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Belle shook her head. “You still can’t.”
“I’m not good enough to see her, is that it?” he snapped. “Or she doesn’t want to see me?”
“She’s gone,” Belle informed him. “Turned in her notice and left. Candy, tell him.”
The pink-haired stripper popped her gum and nodded. “She’s gone, Quake, but I’m here. You need to forget about her, you come see me, alright? I promise
