Lyrics on the Wind (Lost Kings MC 17)

“Bring her,” he suggests. “The more casual the visit seems, the better.”

Thanks, Priest. Wasn’t planning to go without her.

“It’s not urgent, so whenever works for you.”

I’m going to take Priest at his word on that for now. This could be a test, though.

“Let me know how the visit goes.”

Yup, can’t wait.

Not that I want to be a little bitch, but the conversation I had with Priest feels like something I need to talk to Z about.

Valentina hands me a room key and points me in the direction of where we’ll stay tonight. The club has several small cabins behind the main clubhouse. From what I’ve been told it used to be a resort area in the Eighties. Lots of acreage and privacy.

Even though it’s hotter than fucking balls, everything surrounding the clubhouse is lush and green. Trimmed and landscaped better than some state parks too.

“Must take a lot of prospects to maintain this property,” Shelby says in a low voice.

I huff out a laugh. “I was thinking the same thing.”

“Please tell me this cabin has a/c?”

“Yeah, probably a window unit, but it’ll have it.”

“Thank gawd.” She pulls her tank top away from her misty skin and flaps the material around enough to give me a glimpse of her breasts.

“I want to lick the sweat from between your breasts once we’re inside.”

Her shocked side-eye melts into a sassier expression. “Well, there’s plenty of it.”

Fuck, I love her.

Inside the cabin is neater than I expected. Smells cleaner than I thought it would too. Shelby’s quick to flick on the air conditioner. She lifts her hair and lets the air blow on her neck for a few seconds.

“You mind if I make a few phone calls?” I ask.

“Nope.” She grabs her bag and pulls out her travel case. “I’m taking a shower.”

I push my face into a disapproving pout.

“I know.” She reaches up and pats my cheek. “I’ll sweat more. Don’t worry.”

I wait until I hear the shower start to call Z. He answers on the second ring. After I explain the situation, the motherfucker has the nerve to laugh for a solid minute.

“You done, Prez?” I grumble.

“Let me think on it.” A beat of silence. “Yeah, I’m finished.”

“Fucking hilarious. Really.”

“Aw, you fell for the old scare—compliment—favor routine. He’s done it to all of us. Just means he thinks you’re management material.” Z laughs even harder.

“Fantastic.”

“Look,” he says a little more seriously, “This sounds like a win-win all around. Show Dawson and his guys a good time at one of our clubs. Gather information for Priest, make him happy—which by the way will make me happy—then be on your merry way to the next destination.”

“You make it sound so simple.”

“Because it is.”

He should know better than anyone.

Nothing is ever simple in our world.

Chapter Forty-Three

Rooster

Big surprise—everyone’s eager to check out the Royal Dolls Gentlemen’s Club. Dawson, his crew, Shelby’s band, my brothers. I think the only person who didn’t share the enthusiasm was Wrath. Oh, and Greg. He didn’t even answer my text. Even Dex, who so far has mostly kept to himself on this adventure, is eager to check out their operation.

“Maybe they have some ideas I can bring back to Crystal Ball,” he explains.

I believe him. Dex takes everything he does for the club seriously.

“Such a diligent manager.” Pants slaps Dex on the back a few times.

Before we leave, I stop to see Priest and let him know where we’re headed. He seems pleasantly surprised. I knew that easy-going “stop in whenever you want” line of his was bullshit.

I also call ahead and let Digger know we’re coming. Basic brother-to-brother courtesy. When I let him know I’m bringing a rather large party, I can practically hear the cash register sounds going off in his head.

“You’re sure you’re okay with this?” I ask Shelby. First porn, then the pussy patch, now a goddamn pussy palace. “Dating me is getting to be a tour in degeneracy isn’t it?”

She palms my cheek and reaches up on tiptoes to kiss me. “You said it was important. A favor to your president and your national president, right?”

“Yeah.” I’d had to at least tell her that much.

She cocks her head. “Would you want to go to strip clubs otherwise?”

“Want?” I consider carefully before answering. When I was eighteen, hell yeah. Couldn’t wait to get my horny ass inside a strip joint. “Working at different ones the club owns across the country kinda killed all my natural curiosity.”

She holds my gaze, parts her lips, then hesitates.

“What?” I ask.

“Hypothetically speaking, if you were having a bachelor party, would you want it at a strip club? Or is that where you’d want to go for a ‘night out with the boys’?”

“I don’t deal in hypotheticals, Shelby. Ask me what you want to ask.”

“I just did.”

“No.” A genuine shudder of revulsion washes over me. Have a bunch of sweaty, glittered-up girls grind all over me for dollar bills to celebrate marrying my little chickadee? No fucking way. And why the fuck would I spend time at one instead of with my girl? “No,” I say again.