“The assignment for today is the only thing canceled. Booth opening and the second round of the Miss Gulf Coast pageant are still a go. As soon as Brodi is done wrapping my hand and our new temp manager gets here, we can ride out.”
It never ceases to amaze me how smoothly Kal always keeps loose ends from fraying. Even so, in my eyes, Kal is the one fucking up the most. He is giving his club family very little motivation to continue blindly following, especially now that our funds are being withheld, too. If not for Lace, I might seriously consider bailing this fucking madhouse. Consequences be damned.
“He came highly recommended by our employer, since we don’t exactly have the time to go through an application process.”
As if the mention of this supposed temp manager somehow cued whomever it is, a rhythmic knock raps through the front door. Silence settles between us, and nobody jumps to do anything about his arrival.
Taking control, since no goddamn one else is, my gaze locks on Zane. When he feels the invisible pressure and looks up to find me staring at him, I jerk my chin toward the front. “Go welcome our guest.”
Zane leaps to his feet and rushes toward the front. Despite the lackluster energy stifling the room, every single one of us goes on alert. Those who are sitting stand, no matter their state. Kal pushes out of his seat and Brodi ascends with him, putting on the finishing touches of the bandage.
Vee pushes his tattooed fingers through his hair, rolls his shoulders, and puts on his game face.
Baylor eases off the barstool, slides the assignment folder inside his jacket, and pulls up the zipper.
A couple seconds later, Zane and a guy whom I have never seen before step around the entry privacy divider.
Once inducted into the welcome circle, he reaches out to shake hands with Kal first.
“Hey, thanks for coming. We appreciate the last-minute assist,” Kal says.
“For sure, man. Anytime.” They release their grips. He extends a hand to Brodi next, focus flicking down to the patch on his jacket. “Bro. Nice to meet you. Jude, Midnight Runners.”
Brodi exchanges a raised-brow look with the rest of us before asking, “A new club? Where are your colors?”
The general, silent, consensus is definitely along the lines of, “Who the fuck is this guy?”
“On my driver window,” Jude reveals. “Car club. Just relocated here from the SoCal area.” Mid response, he moves on to Bay but hesitates to dart his hand out this time. After a couple extra dramatic blinks, he slowly offers Bay his open palm. “Sorry, you look like a past business partner of mine.” He nearly spits out the revelation, his lips pulling into a snarl.
A flash of recognition strikes across Baylor’s features, but he keeps collected. “Ah, probably the red hair. I get that a lot.” Bay pulls a business card out of his breast pocket and hands it to him — the secretary making sure this guy knows who our go-between typically is.
Jude finishes the welcome circle with Vincent. Vee is having none of it. Eyes looking down his nose at the man, he keeps his arms crossed, jacket sleeves pushed up to the elbow so his intimidating tattoos and bulging veins show, as though his gleaming-blue and blood-red eyes are not terrifying enough.
Kal clears his throat and pulls the focus back to himself. “You can go ahead and start letting the dancers in early. I already sent out a group text. They should start trickling in any minute now. I will be back to show you the ropes shortly after we finish opening the booth.”
A creak comes from the hallway, and every bit of the macho-ness we were emitting poofs as all attention snaps that direction in search of our bunny. The whoosh of the double doors leading into the dressing room comes next, though, and Kal continues addressing Jude. “Just hang tight and make sure the girls get on the floor when they are scheduled to. Including the one who is already here. A roster is posted behind the DJ booth.”