The deck goes silent. I swallow hard, focus slowly descending to the Rolling Stones, Foster included — my original contract owner and former friend.
The redness that creeped across Stoney’s face earlier turns an intense shade of purple, and a meaty vein pops at the center of his forehead. His deadly focus moves to Foster. Foster leans in and whispers something to him.
Stoney had no idea my involvement with Hell for Leather turned into anything more than just a dancer performing for her favorite customers.
“Thank you, Lace. Now, if all of the contestants would please return to the stage together to give everyone one last good look before we reveal the beautiful ladies who will move on to the second round,” Kris announces to the quiet crowd, her voice shaking slightly.
My panicked focus flashes to Kal. Sure enough, his attention is locked on Stoney and Foster.
One by one, in the opposite order in which they presented, the contestants join me on the stage, smiling, waving, and turning a few times with poses to show their assets. They all do an incredibly good job pretending like the tension of the event didn’t just rocket and land in the fucking stars.
Kris handles it beautifully, too. “Thank you, ladies. Please see yourself off the stage and return if your name is announced.”
We all hustle away in record timing. Right after the last step, I situate myself at the speaker and peek around it, heart beating a mile a minute. Apparently the judges submitted their votes right away because in just a few short minutes Kris is announcing the girls who made it to the next round, and the group of awaiting contestants at the side of the stage begins to thin.
But I only have eyes for the rival motorcycle clubs.
Stoney launches out of his chair.
Kal does the same, and as though every Hell for Leather member is connected to a rubber band, they all bound upward at his lead.
My heart stalls.
Despite how jovial and loud the place was, that earlier tension resulting in a chest-puffing showdown draws a lot of attention.
The mechanical sound of my name being announced over the speakers jump-starts my heart. “Lace!” Kris announces with too much excitement, considering the situation.
Shit. I steal one more thorough glance of the scene, trying to take note of as many people involved as quickly as possible. By the time I am center stage with the other girls who will be advancing, no one in the crowd is paying attention any longer.
Several other party attendees have stood, and chairs now lie disheveled on the wooden deck. All the contestants are herded away by the stage crew. I rush back to my hiding spot near the side of the speaker and watch in horror as Gabe winds his fist back and makes the first hit toward a rival club member, his fist flying hard and fast into Coty’s jaw. My hand launches upward to cover the screech that peals from my lungs.
I seek out Jess and Remi in the crowd and find them in time to see Crow and Hayes tugging Remi away from the deck to protect her. Gabe, on the other hand, turns, high on the adrenaline of unrest, and lands a hook against some random party goer. From there it turns into an all-out biker brawl with poor Jess in the middle of it all.
“Shit, shit, shit, shit.” I repeat the mantra over and over again, unbuckling my strappy heels and kicking them off. As soon as I have more mobility, I dart out and grab Jess to pull her back toward the speaker area, my eyes hitched over my shoulder the whole time, desperately trying to keep an eye on my HFL guys.
Coty somehow senses my worried gaze, and his floats to mine. His face blanches, seeing that I’m in the crowd. So he can focus, I tug her harder, and we hide ourselves, heads popping out to watch our men. However brief the distraction was, it was too much. Coty takes the brunt of a sloppy, drunken jab. The entire scene is like a damn lunchroom food fight but with fists and blood.
I begin a head count, like a parent of several children might. By the time Coty, Chaz, and Vee are accounted for, Jess gasps and squeaks, pointing a shaky finger in the direction where Gabe was fighting. She’s concerned about him for no damn good reason, in my humble opinion, since he is drunk and just pretending anyone who gets close enough is a punching bag to play with.
But Jess was right to worry; after enough erratic strikes, he hits another HFL member. Zane cups his jaw, and fire flashes in his taupe eyes — a fire unlike anything I have seen from him so far. However, just as he is winding back, Kio steps in, fists raised in defense close to his face, one holding a knuckle knife I assume he pulled from the cuff of his jacket.
Living up to his nickname, K.O. strikes a stunning blow with his bare fist. Gabe goes completely rigid then falls backward with a thump. Kio shakes out his hand, curling the opposite one to slightly conceal his unused knuckle knife before pivoting, chest heaving, to find his next target.
I steal one quick glance at Jess. Both of her hands are covering her mouth, but a trace of an adrenaline-induced excitement sparks in her watery eyes.
My head count continues. I spot Baylor next, participating but hanging back a bit, nursing his side as much as possible considering the circumstances.
That deadly, romantic, merry-go-round so similar to the movie I thought of earlier spins and spins until two of the main rival players come head-to-head. An unexpected, heart-breaking pairing; two men I would lay my life down for. Or at least I thought I would before both of them betrayed me.
Foster cracks his knuckles and bows up, challenging Kal.
The original owner of my contract versus the current owner.
Kal and Foster both get into proper defensive positions. Foster might be older, but that doesn’t make him any less capable. In fact, he takes the first swing. And the last. Foster hits his target fast and fiercely, knocking Kal backward against a wooden beam, slamming all the air from his lungs. Kal bends over, gasping and clutching at his chest.
I dart forward. Jess yanks me the opposite direction. “Kal will be fine.” She grips my wrist firmer. I wrench my arm free, rubbing the sensitive skin.
Jess is right, though; Kal is a grown man.