Chapter 1: Ryker

Club Swank was anything but. It wasn't in the best area of town; the clientele was sketchy, and the girls all had secrets-most of which included drugs, money, and sex. The owner was a known ringleader for a local gang, and the place looked like bangers ran it. I hated to even step foot inside. As soon as I opened the door, I'd be accosted by smoke, lousy music, and women who'd hang on me in an effort to make a few measly bucks. It wasn't my scene.

I pulled on the heavy wooden handle, and as soon as I did, a cloud billowed out like Puff the Magic Dragon welcomed me, and pink-neon lights illuminated the abundance of black tables and chairs. Once I stepped inside, the same bouncer who'd been there for years greeted me.

"Ryker. My man. I wondered if you were going to show." Hank was a solid guy. Great as security. He looked the part-muscle-bound, thick neck, and a crew cut. His deep voice created the auditory intimidation needed to keep drunk customers in line. And he kept the place in check...as much as one could when dealing with hags left over by the Union 21 members they'd crossed and the losers who'd landed the girls here to begin with.

I grabbed his hand and pulled him in. We'd known each other since we were kids. Grew up in the same crummy neighborhood the club owned real estate in. "Had to work late. Where's Chase?"

He pointed toward the middle of the room. There, under a disco ball, stood my best friend. Feet shoulder width apart, arms at his side, head tossed back, and a girl dressed in what I believed was supposed to be a white, bridal bikini kneeled in front of him, giving him head. I didn't have a clue why Tessa wanted to marry his ass. That wasn't true. I knew exactly why-she wanted to be legally tied to the future boss of Union 21, even if his reign was years away.

It wasn't my style, but girls got off on that bad-boy shit. Somehow, they missed the memo that gang members went to jail, they got shot, and they broke the law. Hardly a life any woman should want to be a part of, but on the west side of Dacon, Illinois, marrying a Silvano was the equivalent of tying the knot with royalty. And Chase Silvano was second in line to that throne. Once he married, his grandfather, Jesse, would step aside to allow his father, Joey, to takeover. It would only be a matter of time before Chase had his turn.

I didn't bother Chase or the girl-who wasn't his fiancŽe-at his feet. Instead, I found a seat off to the side and ordered Macallan on the rocks. The evening was still young, and this bachelor party had just gotten started. Swank wasn't a whore house, but on nights like tonight, when the club was closed to the public and only occupied by Union 21 members-and me-the rules and the laws went out the window. Guys snorted blow off chicks' abs, the bartender poured liquor on dancers for Chase's friends to lick and suck off, and the music blared another tacky-ass song while some entertainer took her three minutes on the stage.

Neither the girls nor the dances here were terribly original, but they were still women who took their clothes off regardless of whether or not I put money in their garters. And I was a man with a dick and two working eyes. While I wasn't interested in touching any of them, Jesse made sure they stayed in dancing condition, or they got moved to alternate employment to work off their debt. Cinnamon currently worked the pole, and if I didn't know her situation, that red bikini she'd come out in would have caught my attention.

"Ryker." Chase averted my attention from the topless woman doing the splits in a G-string. "Why are you sitting over here?" His words were slightly slurred, and the glazed gleam in his eyes told me he was more than just drunk, although I had no idea what else he was on.

It wasn't like I was in a corner. There were people all around. I just wasn't in the thick of women who'd been instructed to ensure Chase and his friends had a good time. "You were a little preoccupied when I got here." I jerked my head toward the girl in the veil. Her white bikini was nowhere to be found. "You having fun?"

He sank into the chair beside me and slowly spun it with his foot as though he needed to check the place out before committing to an answer. "Yes."

A chuckle rolled past my lips. "Glad to hear it, man. You want a drink?" He didn't need one based on the glassy sheen in his eyes, but I wasn't his mama. "Scotch?"

Chase stopped the chair, leaned forward, and then stared me straight in the eye. I waited for something profound. All I got was a stiff nod, and then he flounced back against the leather. The crowd followed the man of the hour, and before long, the group that had occupied the space center stage, now lingered off to the right, and I was in the heart of it. I hadn't hung out with these guys much after high school. When I went in, they stayed out, and once I got a smell of freedom, I did my best to distance myself from the crowd. All except Chase. We'd been friends since we were kids, and I couldn't shake him if I tried. We'd gone into the federal penitentiary together, and we had come out the same way.

"Shots." Cherry lifted a tray over our heads and made her way to the table we circled. "JŠgerbombs."

I'd just picked up a glass and raised my hand to toast the groom when the lights went out. Music played in the pitch-black room, and the second the bass drum pounded a beat, pinpricks of light circled the walls and ceiling. The Pretty Reckless song "Make Me Wanna Die" came through the speakers, and the moment a spotlight hit the girl on stage, everything else in the room ceased to exist. She was every bit as fierce as Taylor Momsen, only younger with edgy brown hair and a thin frame. Whoever the chick was, she drew every eye her way.