Ruger pulled up in front of Drifters twenty minutes later, parked his bike with the others, and went inside.

“Where you been?” Gizmo called out as soon as Ruger stepped in the door. “I been trying to get ahold of you all day.”

“If it had been urgent you would have sent a 911.” Ruger ignored the look of surprise that crossed his friend’s face and the narrow-eyed look that followed. He went behind the bar and checked things there before moving to his office in the back. Gizmo didn’t hesitate to follow.

“You left with a chick last night. Someone might think getting laid by a piece of ass like that would put you in a bet—” Gizmo didn’t get a chance to finish what he was saying because Ruger spun around and grabbed the front of Gizmo’s shirt in one fist. Ruger shoved him against the wall.

“Never again,” Ruger growled between clenched teeth. “Never again will you call her a piece of ass or speak about her that way. Do you understand me?”

“You got it, man,” Gizmo gasped. “Whatever you say.”

Ruger lowered him from the wall, released his shirt, and stalked around the desk to his chair. He shot the other man a withering look before sitting down. “What was the big deal that had you calling me all day?” He shuffled inventory forms and orders from suppliers, sorting them while he waited for the answer.

“A bit of trouble at the clubhouse. One of the prospects got drunk and stupid.”

“Sadist couldn’t handle it?” He continued sorting the papers.

“We couldn’t get ahold of him, either. His phone was shut off.”

Ruger looked up and focused on the younger man. “Have we made contact yet? Made sure he’s all right?” No answer at all was concerning. After the first call that morning, Ruger had texted back saying he would be busy all day. That hadn’t stopped them from trying to call him, but at least they wouldn’t panic because he was unreachable.

“Yeah, he called in an hour ago. Said he’d been busy and his phone had died without him realizing it.”

“Did we get shit straight with the prospect?”

“Yeah, Wally took care of him.”

“All right.” Ruger looked back at the desk, sure he was forgetting something. “Is there something else that needs my attention tonight?”

“Some of the guys were wondering if you’d be at the clubhouse tonight.”

Ruger glanced up and found Gizmo looking at the door as if he wished he could get away. “I might. Is there some reason they need me there tonight?”

“Not that I know of.” Gizmo’s gaze fell to the floor, and Ruger wondered what was up. “It’s just that you haven’t been around much.”

“I’ve been shorthanded here after George quit. I’ve had to cover the bar on top of all the shit to keep this place open.” Ruger looked down at the stacks of papers in front of him. He really needed to get this shit done. He’d already put it off longer than he should have. “Give me an hour or two then I’ll head over there, unless something comes up here.”

“I’ll let them know,” Gizmo said then left, closing the door behind him.

Ruger sighed. He didn’t want to be either here or at the clubhouse tonight, but both needed to be done, especially since he couldn’t be where he wanted. Having spent one night with Krissi in his arms, he wanted another. He’d slept better with her than he had in ages. With effort, he put her out of his mind as he got busy. This shit had to get done if he intended to keep the bar open.

* * *

“You’re telling me the Devils are pushing at our southern border, trying to move in on our territory?” Sadist asked the third man at the table, Crash. Crash was another of the Demented Souls members. He’d earned his nickname after crashing three bikes in as many months. The handlebars from the last one now hung over the bar at Drifters. Crash had come into the clubhouse ten minutes earlier and made a beeline for Ruger and Sadist. The way he’d searched them out and come straight for them, it was obvious he had something to report.

“Yes, sir. I saw it myself. They dropped off a group of girls on Grant.”

“How many exactly?”

“I didn’t count, but I’d say six, maybe seven.”

Sadist’s eyes darkened. “Did you do anything?”

“No, I was alone. I knew I’d get my ass kicked, by them and you, if I did more than watch and report without some kind of backup. Besides, there was more than a half dozen of them. Too many for me alone.”

“We’ll have to deal with this fast or they’ll push harder and do more than drop their hookers on our streets,” Ruger said, looking to Sadist for confirmation.

The club’s vice president nodded. “Swift and harsh is the only way to end this. It’s the only way to stop the Devils and keep other clubs from attempting the same thing.” Sadist glanced around the room. “I’ll talk to Tuck, we’ll get with Watt, and put together a plan of attack.”

“I’m in when you’re ready to put together a team.” Crash slammed one fist down on the table, making the beer in Sadist’s mug slosh. Ruger had his drink in his hand, resting on his leg. Crash had a habit of slamming tables when he was agitated, so Ruger had picked up his mug when he sat down.

“I’ll let you know.” Sadist picked up his glass and took a long drink. Crash got up and went to the bar. Sadist turned back to Ruger. “So, you left last night with that chick and were unreachable all day.”

“Not unreachable. I made contact.”

“Yeah, to tell us you were busy.”

Ruger lifted one shoulder and looked across the room. “Shit happens.”

“I’d lay money on you spending the day with her.”

“So?”

“Did you?”

“What if I did?”

Sadist shook his head, but Ruger was saved from whatever he was going to say next when Tuck, the club president, came in. Tuck was only about an inch taller than Ruger, putting him at 6’2”. He shaved his head except for his dark Van Dyke beard. He ordered a drink then came to sit with them.

“What’s up guys?”

“Not much with me, but Ruger’s got a new girl.” Sadist tipped his head in Ruger’s direction. Ruger rolled his eyes and ignored the dig.

“Crash just came in with some news.” Ruger told the president what the club brother had told them earlier.

“Well, shit.” Tuck leaned back in his seat and took a drink from the bottle Jake, one of the prospects, had brought him. Tuck was silent for almost a full minute before speaking again. “Where’s Crash? I’ve got some questions for him.”

Ruger scanned the room, spotted the man in question across the room, and called him over.

“Have a seat.” Ruger kicked a chair toward Crash with one foot. “We’ve got some questions.”

Crash sat and looked at each of the men in turn, waiting.

“I hear you encountered some Devils today.” Tuck eyed Crash.

“Yeah, I was down on Grant and saw some of them drop off a bunch of girls then take off.”

“Girls?” Tuck lifted one brow. Ruger knew he wanted Crash to say it.

“Hookers.”

“Would you recognize the Devils if you saw them again? The specific ones, I mean?”

Crash made a face. “Maybe a couple of ’em, but prolly not all of ’em.”

“How about the girls?”

“Yeah, there weren’t that many, and I got a better look at ’em.”

If the truth were known, he was probably paying more attention to the whores than the Devils. Not that Ruger could blame him. Ruger remained quiet during the exchange, waiting to see what Tuck had in mind.

“Take some guys. You said six or seven girls, so take at least ten men just in case they’re watching and go pick up the girls. The Devils just lost their whores.”

“Yes, sir.” Crash got up and went to gather some men for their mission.

“What are you planning to do with the girls?” Ruger asked while watching Crash move around the room, going from brother to brother.

“That depends.” Tuck tipped his chair back on two legs as he took a long pull from the bottle in his hand.

“On what?” Sadist studied Tuck then glanced at Ruger before turning back to Tuck again.

“On the girls.” Tuck pulled a coin from a small pocket on his kutte and started flipping it over his knuckles. “We’ll need to question them, find out if they’ve been forced into what they’re doing, or if they’ve chosen it. I’ve heard the Devils are into forcing women to hook for them. If it’s something these women have chosen to do, they can work for us. If the Devils didn’t give them a choice, they’ll have one now. I won’t force a woman into something like that. I’m not sure what we’ll do with them, but we’ll give them some choices.”

“I can live with that,” Sadist said, looking back to Ruger. “What about you?”

“It’s reasonable, but let’s see what the girls have to say before we make any concrete decisions.” Ruger drained his mug and waved at Lurch, who was manning the bar, for a refill.

* * *

Ruger was still sitting at the table, now alone, when Crash and the others returned an hour later. Tuck had moved on to check in with some of the other brothers, and Sadist had joined Gizmo in a game of pool. They were taking turns making bad shots and feeling up one of the club sluts. Some of the women who hung around the clubhouse were hookers, but most just liked the lifestyle for one reason or another. Double D, the piece of ass Sadist and Gizmo were toying with, was one of the latter.

The thunder of several bikes pulling into the lot let him know someone had arrived, and though he couldn’t be sure, he expected it was Crash. A couple minutes later, Crash came in the door, his kutte inside out so his club colors were hidden, and one arm around a girl who looked about fifteen. Watt was behind him, his kutte inside out as well and another girl with him. There were several more brothers coming in with their arms around a girl and several more without girls. It looked like they had pretended to be johns to get the girls to come with them without making a scene. Pretended. Ruger shook his head. Chances were most of them would end up sleeping with the whore they’d brought back, assuming the girls still wanted to after they’d been questioned. Scanning the room, Ruger spotted Tuck sitting in the corner. Getting up, he went to him.

“Well, he got them. What now?” Ruger spun a chair until the back was to the table and sat astride it, setting his beer on the table. He wanted this over with so he could go home where he was sure his bed still smelled of Krissi.

“Let ’em have a couple drinks. They’ll be more relaxed and talk easier after.” Tuck looked around, seeming to take in the newcomers. “Except that one.” He nodded his head toward Crash. “Get something on her. ID, prints, whatever, and run her. If she’s as young as she looks, we need to get her taken care of and out of here. Pronto.”

Ruger followed the president’s gaze and saw he was talking about the girl he’d been concerned about as well. He agreed she needed to be checked out right away. “I’ll get it taken care of.”

Taking his beer with him, Ruger stood and headed for the bar where Crash sat on a bar stool, the girl on one knee. Instead of coming to the front side of the bar, he moved around the back, picked up a couple shot glasses and a bottle of tequila. “How about a drink for the pretty lady?” He set the glasses on the counter and filled them both then set out the slices of lime and the shaker of salt. “Bottoms up.” He picked up his glass and watched as she picked up hers, tipping it back and drinking it straight. He did the same with his then set the glass on the counter with a thump. He waited until she did then carefully took her glass up by the rim and set it below the edge of the bar. “What’s your name?” He gave her his best smile.

“Holly.” She looked at him then back to Crash like she wasn’t sure which one she should be paying attention to.

Ruger slipped a plastic bag over the shot glass while smiling and keeping eye contact with Holly. He was doing his best to distract her from what his hands were doing. Ruger cocked one eyebrow at Crash. “That’s one beautiful girl you’ve got yourself. Better keep an eye on her or someone else might try to steal her away from you.” He kept his tone light and playful and winked at Holly before unobtrusively picking up the bag with the glass and heading for the back room. On his way, he caught Gizmo’s eye and tilted his head so the other man would follow him.