Dirty Secrets (Get Dirty 4)

At least, until I touch the accelerator and the work that my boys at the chop shop did on it comes to life and I quickly leap out of the parking lot.

I easily catch up to her, maintaining a safe distance behind her so she doesn’t notice me, and follow her straight to Petals from Heaven. I’m a little surprised. The other times I’ve guarded her like this, she usually stops for a quick energy drink and sometimes a bite to eat.

Tonight, though, I phone in to Logan, who’s working the back door, and he wisely answers my call on the first ring.

“She’s coming to the back parking lot. Escort her in,” I tell him.

I pull over to the curb, my lights already turned off so that I blend into the night. I want to keep her safe, not creep her out. I know I’m walking that line. Shit, I’m probably over it, but I also know how to make sure she doesn’t ever have to worry about her safety again.

Before she even turns her car off, Logan is at her door, his muscular frame properly contained within his suit, just like I insist. I can read his lips, greeting her politely and offering to accompany her inside to safety without a smile but also not hard. It’s why I trust Logan to do this job more than the others. He walks that line perfectly.

I see the flash of lights as she locks her car before tossing her keys into her bag. Logan scans the lot, keeping his eyes open for any threats and off Allie.

Smart man.

He sees my car and gives the slightest lift of his chin. It’s why he works for me. He’s smart enough to know better than to touch what’s mine but also skilled enough to protect it.

I wait until they’re both inside and then move the Lexus to the front of the building, parking it in the far corner of the lot next door. I own it too, so no one will question the lengthy stay.

In my office, I check the crowd through the one-way glass that overlooks the floor. I have security monitors, of course, new ones that cover every inch of the club to make sure nothing ever happens again like what happened before.

But still, it’s sometimes better to look out over the club this way. It gives me a better feeling for the atmosphere. I know that nothing is amiss, or else one of the security team would have alerted me, but I like to check for myself as well.

A man who depends solely on others is a man who is neither independent nor dependable.

Everything seems to be in order tonight though. There’s a group of businessmen, more interested in their wheeling and dealing than the show, a bachelor party by the stage, a few couples, and multiple tables of single guys, both alone and in small groups.

Everyone is being respectful and behaving themselves, not that I’d have it any other way in my club. Some places may get rowdy, but not Petals. I won’t allow it, and anyone who knows a damn thing about me wouldn’t dare. I don’t just run Petals with an iron fist. I run the whole damn city, though I prefer to keep that little tidbit quiet.

Let the local media think it’s someone else. I don’t need the adulation. I just want the power. Those who need to know, do, and those who don’t should hope they never need to meet me or it’s a sure sign their life insurance is about to come due.

The knock on the door is expected since I saw Logan climbing the stairs on the security monitor.

“Enter,” I say simply.

Logan comes in, his bald head freshly shaved, his coat and slacks impeccable, and his respect obvious in his stance, feet apart and hands clutched behind him.

If I hadn’t investigated him thoroughly myself, I’d think him a military man. But Logan’s background isn’t military. No, he grew up in strict fighting gyms, respect beaten into him by trainers who pushed him to be better with every landed punch and kick.

He’s my best fighter, though I rarely need him to use his considerable skills. Why use a precision scalpel when a dirty axe does just as effective of a job? Logan seems to appreciate my respect for his abilities too, especially when he has a fight coming up and needs to stay fresh.

I like that about him too.

He has dreams and plans of his own and isn’t dependent on me for some lifelong goal to be a made man in my crew. I don’t play by the old-school rules like that anyway, though there are a few of my dad’s old company men still running crews.

No, I prefer for everyone to know that today could be their last day and act accordingly, myself included. This isn’t the old days. There are no gimmes, no free passes, nothing deserved. Only earned.