Claimed By The Rival Biker Boss

lia

. The official reason was to collect the bar's clean rags, a munda

row hall. He was carrying crates of top-shelf liquor for Brenda's VIP table, h

ng out his chest. "Stay out o

hing expensive vodka onto the floor. He shot me a hateful glare before hurrying on,

for a decade, approached me. Her hands, chapped and red from years of bleach and hard work, were tremb

rt giving a slow, heavy thud. I unfolded the note. The ha

gratitude before crumpling the note in my fist and shoving it deep into my pocket. She

le, smelling of sweat and rust. I stopped in front of locker 42, my ol

reflected off the tight plastic wrapping of banded stacks of hundred-dollar bills. Fifty thousand dollars. The

one, angled it perfectly, and snapped a clear, time-stamped photo of the cash sittin

the hall. It was Douglas, on his phone, his voice tight with pa

oment, he cursed loudly and kicked a trash can, the sound echoing in the empty hall. He had no idea the architect of his ruin was standing ten

ck wall in the alley behind my bar. An unmarked sedan pulled up.

s voice steadier now. "He enters at

sp, authoritative voice came through. "I have a table near the

the tiny mic, my voice a ch

me, the deadbolts clanking shut with a sound of finality. In the small office, I stared at my reflection in the

y. I traced the edges with my thumb. I felt no pi

frame like a second skin. I applied a coat of dark lipstick

e to go to