Chapter 3
Solomon
Arson. Okay. It wasn’t as bad as, say, taking out somebody. I’d done a few unsavory things for the club and I would do a hundred more if it meant wearing that patch on my back.
I needed this. They didn’t need to know how bad I wanted it. I was a master at hiding my emotions—a skill I learned out of necessity in foster care.
“I’ll do it,” I said, nodding.
I was a man of few words. They knew that and respected that. Although they tried to be hard with me and keep me on my toes, Evan told me how they liked my commitment to speaking with my actions more than my words. Every task I was given got done—no matter what.
“It needs to be tonight,” Warren said, patting my shoulder heavily.
“Consider it done,” I said before walking back to my bike.
I didn’t have the luxury of beer drinking and time—not tonight. I had a plan to formulate and a building to burn down. The how wasn’t as easy as one would think. I’d have to acquire an accelerant and make sure the fire spread and turned everything to dust before the firefighters could respond, all while leaving no evidence that would point to me. It would be a damn shame to finally get into the MC only to end up behind bars.
Blue Nights was one of the only clubs in town that wasn’t owned by The Bandits. I’d heard rumors about Blue Nights hosting an underground sex club. If that was true, then I’d be doing the world a good service. If it wasn’t, at the very least, I’d be weeding out the competition. In that case, I’d better make sure they couldn’t get their insurance money.
My watch said it was 7 p.m. I had just enough time to prepare. First stop: go buy some gasoline. I drove about an hour out the way and stopped at the first beat-up gas station I saw.
A girl who looked barely legal stood behind the cash register. She stared down at her magazine, lazily turning pages, practically screaming, “Go away. I don’t want to serve you.”
I knew how to handle girls like that.
“You playing hard to get or you really don’t want my business?” I said to her.
She either hadn’t heard me come in since there weren’t any bells on the door or she’d been too engrossed with Top Twenty Kinky Moves to Spice Up Your Sex Life. She seemed fully ready to roll her eyes, but once she looked up at me, she dropped her magazine. Her eyes took me in, starting from my fitted jeans and moving up to the unpreventable bulge of my crotch, the cut muscles of my arms, my leather vest, my scar, and my face. Her eyes widened with arousal and fear.
I tended to have that effect on women.
“N-N-No, sir. I didn’t see you there.”
She blushed as I leaned against the counter.
“I need a gas container.”
She pointed to the aisle farthest to the right.
“Thank you, and ring me up for three gallons.”
She nodded before tucking her chin into her chest and turning away from me.
I grabbed two big, red containers and dropped some cash on the counter.
“Those cameras work?” I asked, tipping my chin to the camera inconspicuously hidden in the corner above the door.
“Um… no. They’ve been broken for a while. It’s just for show.”
Nice to know.
“You have a good night,” I said, seeing myself out.
After pumping gas and tying it at the back of my bike, I rode home. The house wasn’t much, the run-down remains of my childhood, but it was rent-free and it housed my bike and a car comfortably.
The car wasn’t too fancy either. Without me having restored the insides and replacing most of the exterior, it would have stuck out like a sore thumb. Instead, it was as inconspicuous as could be: a black Honda Accord. Everybody had one of these.
I transferred the gasoline to the trunk and went inside to shower. I was going to a club after all. I had to look and smell my best. My best wasn’t all too different from what I had on now—jeans, a t-shirt and my prospect leather jacket. The only difference was the shirt color—black to blue—and me no longer smelling like I just pumped gas. I didn’t own cologne. I found spraying myself up was too much like primping. Whatever my soap made me smell like was just fine and I had yet to hear a woman complain. I was a simple man. No cologne, no jewelry but a watch, and whatever clothes felt good—they didn’t have to be expensive.
I fit my body into the cramped space of the Honda. Being in a car after being on a bike felt a lot like a prison cell. This car, like the house, was given to me and the last person to drive it came in at an even five feet. I pushed the seat back as far as it could go and drove off.
It was a little before eleven; I was right on time. I parked my car as far back in the shadows, away from the streetlights, as possible. I didn’t need anyone to see where I came from or smell what was in my trunk.
The plan was to scope the place out, get in to select the ideal points to start the fire, find a spot outside where I could watch all exits and wait until the club closed. I’d hang back until everyone left then I’d break in and burn it down. It seemed easy, but my gut told me not to speak too soon.
I took off my cut, folded it carefully and left it on the seat before getting out if the car. The message could be clearly from the MC. I didn’t need my jacket tipping my hand too soon.
The front of the building was crowded with women in barely there clothes and faces full of makeup. I called it “clown face.” They thought they looked so cute and the asshole in me wanted to lick my finger and wipe their eyebrows off. Nothing about it said “sexy” to me. It screamed desperate, and I knew desperate. This shit was too much like how my mother looked when she’d been out on her corner. Whatever they were selling, I wasn’t buying.
Ignoring the line, I strolled to the front. Bandits didn’t wait in lines. We were the start of the line. People waited on us, not the other way around, and even though I didn’t have the cut quite yet, I had to act like I already did because the leather vest didn’t make the man; the man made the vest.
The bouncer crossed his arms over his chest and blocked the entrance. “Sorry. You’ll have to get in line like everybody else.”
Keeping my back to the queue, I slipped him a couple of hundreds. “That enough to get me in?”
The bills disappeared into one of his pockets and he stepped to the side.
Moving forward, I was immediately patted down for any weapons. I left my knife and pistol in the car, not that I needed them. Well, at least I hoped not. Then I was let through the door and music enveloped all my senses. It was ear-splitting techno which I’d never come to appreciate, but it didn’t matter; I wasn’t here to dance. I strode to the bar, the crowd parting with ease around me.
The bartender was a cute brunette with a buzz cut. Her face was stunning, and I knew she could pull chicks as well as she could pull me.
“What do you need?” she said over the booming base.
“Rum and coke.”
“On it, boss.”
She moved to the next customer and mixed our drinks with the efficiency of one who’d tended bar for years.
With a glass in my hand, I swiveled around to see what Blue Nights was all about. My first impression was that they took their name too literally. Blue shit was everywhere. Blue strobe lights. Blue couches. Blue drinks. Talk about tacky. Still, there must be something about this place because it was filled to the brim. I think its main pull was the fact that it was owned by someone other than the MC. We had a tendency to scare people away.
The ceiling was high, giving a false sense of expensive taste, with a chandelier that gleamed with the strobe lights that hang on the balconies upstairs. The room was a big square. Everyone on the upper level could see everything that was happening below. The entrance was on one end and the opposite end had the seedy staircase to go upstairs. I could just make out a hallway on the edge of the stairwell, but it was too dark to see where it led. To the right was the DJ booth and to the left were the VIP booths.
My eyes completed the tour and returned to the dance floor. More girls gyrated, and a few tried to catch my eye. I ignored them as I sipped and scanned the crowd, looking for nothing in particular until one girl caught my eye.
She was in a plain, black dress yet nothing about her could be described as plain. She was beautiful. The simplicity of her clothes accentuated her delicate features.
And she was in flats. In a sea of bimbos teetering on heels, she was in flats and still standing tall. Around five-foot-seven and willowy.
I liked a tall woman. I know a few men who preferred their women tiny, but not me. Bending down to do everything with your woman was not my idea of fun.
I stared at her, taking in her body. She had a kind of understated beauty, perhaps because she was so disarmingly unaware of her prettiness. The black dress did nothing but allude to all the curves she was hiding. The longer dress didn’t turn me off; it got me intrigued.
Even from here I could tell she was barely wearing makeup, if she had any on at all. I loved that.
She raised her hands in the air, making an effort to dance but couldn’t quite lose herself in the music. She was looking in my direction, oblivious to the men watching her. Of course they would. Hell, I was doing the same thing.
I finished my drink and turned around to ask for another. I couldn’t see her, but I could imagine her. What I’d seen was enough to last me the entire night.
She looked a little lost in the crowd and a little uncomfortable. Maybe this wasn’t her scene.
I hoped not. I liked a girl who could have as much fun home and sober as she could on the dance floor.
But there was something else. Why was she alone?
I’ve studied women and one thing I knew as a fact was they traveled in packs. They even went to the bathroom together. So unless she was looking to get into some trouble—which if she was, she was underdressed for the occasion—I’d say she was abandoned by her friends.
Innocent. Effortlessly beautiful. That was what she was, so of course the sharks were circling. They could smell the fresh blood in the water.
I wanted to save her. I wanted to be the one to take her in my arms, but I couldn’t. So I contented myself with watching her move.
Eyes closed, she danced slowly, swaying and unconcerned, with the fast beat of the music. She bit her bottom lip, and I leaned forward. I didn’t bother hiding how interested I was because she was in her own world.
It took everything in me to stay in my chair. She raised her hands in the air and brought them down her body in time with whatever count she was keeping in her head and I swore, for a moment, time slowed to a standstill.
Where ever she was, I was there too. It was just me and her. She entranced me with the movement of her body and I got caught in her trap—I didn’t want to be anywhere else. For just one moment, I didn’t want anything else more than I wanted to be with her.
I cursed under my breath as a man stepped to her, snapping me out of it.
Focus on the mission.
I wasn’t here to catch a broad. I was here to burn a building.
Work first.
Dick later.
That was a first for me. For the past ten years, I was consumed with my need to belong, to have a family. Now that I was so close to achieving my dream, would I really let a woman—no matter how beautiful—distract me?