Neither of my brothers hesitated. Pool sticks dropped onto the table as they rushed from the room, slowing down and approaching Sasha and Cindi. Before either woman could protest, they were led away. Only when Bodie and Lucky returned did I fill them in our visitor.
Grim strode forward a few minutes later, and the three of us followed him outside into the blaring afternoon sunshine. The desert was as hot as June today, sizzling on the sand below our boots. Even the cactus seemed more prickly than usual.
A trickle of sweat slid below my cut down the center of my back as I stood, bracing myself for anything suspicious.
The recent altercations we had with the Scorpions, the Russian trafficking ring, and the goddamn Denali brothers were fresh in my mind. My finger twitched with the urge to grab my gun.
No one was fucking with my club.
The door to the Civic opened, and a pretty blonde with all the right curves stood slowly, unwrapping every limb with a cautious nibble on her bottom lip. I caught the inward dip of her waist and the rounded slope of her hips from the jean shorts she wore, but they had nothing on those long, lean legs that tapered down to shapely calves into a pair of Sketchers. She was just my type. All sun-kissed skin, plenty of heavy, thick hair that tumbled down her back, and lips that were created just for kissing. Or sucking. I didn’t mind either.
She lifted her hands as a nervous smile accentuated the bow shape of her mouth. Dark shades partially obstructed my view, but from what I could tell, she was a stunner, especially the tempting view of her tits visible by the tight V-neck t-shirt she wore.
“Hello. I realize this is a bit unorthodox. I’m a social worker from Vegas.”
Something about the softness in her tone that mixed with a hint of stubbornness and a honey-smooth drawl was disconcertingly familiar. Had I met her before? Did she moonlight as a stripper? Plenty of women had careers by day and made extra cash in the city of sin by gyrating their tits and ass at night. I sure as fuck wasn’t one to judge, especially if I got to enjoy those luscious curves she boasted.
Grim folded his arms across his chest, digesting the information. “Not sure what you want here, honey.”
“I’m looking for Naomi Peters. If she’s not available, I’ve got permission to speak to her sister Nylah.”
“Didn’t get no permission from me,” he growled out.
The social worker swallowed hard. “I’m here to amend that. I want to speak with Naomi or Nylah, please. I need to get this baby inside and feed him. He’s hungry.”
There was a whimper from the backseat and then a wail, sharp and high-pitched, that reminded me of a kitten who needed cream and wasn’t going to stop until he got it.
The social worker shut her door and opened the back, reaching in to grab a diaper bag and then the baby, who detached in some kind of plastic seat.
Taking a step back, I wondered why Grim was letting her move freely without pressing for more answers.
“Come inside. It’s hot. Before I give you any information, I need answers. My club isn’t the babysitting sort.”
She nodded, giving him a once over as if she thought we might be the threat and not the other way around. “You got it.”