The Ex Ops Team came down to Miami and did an undercover gig with information my boys and I had dug up on missing women in our area. They ended up leaving with their mission half-finished to regroup and bury two of their men; although, not before they were able to get the name of a man who might be connected to the missing women—Lazaro Sandoval. What Lucas and his team don’t know is that the Regulators have picked up where they left off. We are on a mission of our own now.
The music changes, drawing my thoughts back to my office and the budget needing my attention. After Midnight is our female strip club, the place I prefer to spend my time. To corner the market on both sides of legally selling skin, we also have Alibi, an all-male strip establishment for the ladies to come toss their dollar bills around. The Regulators MC has to have some sort of legitimate business front—enter the two clubs for us. To keep the damn Internal Revenue Service off our asses, I make sure the books stay on point. We wouldn’t want some of our not so legitimate business associates to look into us and find anything off point, either. Tonight, it is my night to update Alibi for the month.
The music changes once again, this time to Shane’s opening song. The lyrics make me shake my head. Why in the world bitches would want to ride on a ‘disco stick,’ I don’t know. What I do know is Shane makes more money off that routine than any of the other boys that strip here.
Hearing the ridiculous fucking song, I know it means I won’t be stepping out of this office anytime soon if I can help it. Seeing another man’s dick swinging around is fucked-up when you don’t swing that way. Almost enough to traumatize me, and I saw some seriously screwed up shit when I was in the Army. Not to mention I had to see more hairy asses in the communal showers during my service than a ninety-year-old woman sees during the course of her marriage.
Then it hits me. Shane is headlining this week. If he is going on stage, then it is around eleven. Looking at my phone, I am met with a blank screen. No new notifications. Brooke is required to be home by her curfew, which is ten on school nights and eleven on weekends. I know it is far from freedom, but the later it gets, the more things she could get into that she shouldn’t. With the late nights I keep, it is necessary for Brooke and me to have a system in place. She is supposed to call me from our home phone, that way I know she is tucked safely away inside our house.
Dialing my landline phone at home, I feel the tension rise in me with every ring that goes unanswered. The life of an outlaw biker is hard enough on its own; however, being a single dad to a teenage daughter is a never ending nightmare. Combine the two, and I am one trigger happy bastard.
We live in a gated community already, but I have a security system installed that could rival the White House. Even then, I keep a prospect on watch if I am going to be any later than midnight. My lifestyle isn’t conducive to parenthood, and Brooke could be used for leverage against me. No, I don’t raise her in a perfect scenario, though I do the best I can to give her a better future. It is what it is, and we make it work… well, usually.
Calling her cell phone, I am more on edge when she doesn’t answer that, either. Met with her perky voice recording, adrenaline kicks in.
“You got me. Leave a message at the beep if you’re hot,” Brooke’s teen voice radiates in my ears.
“Oh, I got you all right. You best believe I’m hot, too. Only it’s the kind of hot that’s going to get your ass grounded for a month. Call me, Brooke, before I come find you. If I have to come looking for you, little girl, we’re going to have serious problems.”
Rather than waste another minute, I use the app on my smart phone to track hers. She may think she knows everything, but she has no clue. Teenagers—sigh—they don’t understand the real dangers that lurk, the bad things that can easily happen in the blink of an eye.
Recognizing the address on the screen, I see it is one of the upper class neighborhoods in our area. My heart pounds wildly in my chest. She obviously isn’t studying at Janessa’s, since she only lives two doors down from us, and this is showing her phone is not on our street.