Following closely behind him is Zeek, the president, ranking him the highest and most dangerous of the club. He sees my stepfather first and stops in his tracks, the bottom of his boots scuffing against the concrete. His chest rises as he inhales, his hand swiping through his dark hair that has shifted out of place.
“Lieutenant Oaks,” Zeek growls, and my heart freezes. His words are spoken with such an edge it rips through my bulletproof vest. “How’d I know the fine law enforcement of Las Vegas would show its fucking face tonight? Putting their pig noses where they clearly don’t belong.” He raises his finger. “Tsk tsk tsk,” he mutters as his finger swipes back and forth.
He’s bigger than his mugshot lets on; his arms are muscled, causing his white shirt, splattered with blood, to strain. His shoulders are broad, portraying just how easily it would be to manhandle anyone who crosses him. His knuckles are split open, clear evidence that he was in an altercation recently. He looks like an animal.
Zeek’s intense stare slowly pulls from Lieutenant Oaks to me. His eyes are dark and furious, and my toes curl in my boots with the way they suddenly light up when they land on me. Brown eyes that hold mine, ominous irises that capture the words I was about to speak. He is obviously dangerous, making anyone shrink in fear. But looking at him closely, looking past the scar on his chin and the rap sheet in his record that could scare Jack the Ripper, he’s quite attractive. I swallow, trying to regain my composure as he stares right through me.
“Lieutenant Oaks, you didn’t inform me that we had a little girl present.” Little girl? I look around the crowd, searching for a child. He chuckles, and it hits me… he’s talking about me. My moment of lust vanishes into irritation. Who does he think he’s talking to?
“She’s new, Zeek, so why don’t you make this easy on the both of us tonight?”
Zeek’s lips curl into a menacing grin, his white teeth shining with the casino lights.
“Where’s the fun in that?” He tilts his head to the side and winks at me. My stomach clenches in reaction and my lungs burn as I hold my breath, praying he will look away before I pass out.
“Got a call that you all were brawling, so why don’t you just tell me who the altercation was with?”
Zeek’s eyes tear from mine to Lieutenant Oaks, and I finally breathe. The man is intense on so many levels.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Zeek replies, his tone cavalier as he flexes his hand, his knuckles bleeding. I furrow my brows with irritation from his response; he clearly knows what we’re talking about, and to suggest otherwise is an insult.
“There’s blood on your shirt, sir,” I inform curtly. I immediately regret my words because he looks back at me, his strong gaze making my heart palpate.
“You got a witness… Rookie?” My eyes widen, and my lips part. The disrespect he has is unreal and is making me beyond furious. It’s clear I have a temper, something my instructor told me I’d have to work on if I plan on making it into any department. I’ve done good to keep it handled… till now.
My anger propels me forward before my brain can register what the hell I’m even doing. I start pulling my cuffs out. I have enough to take him into custody, even if it’s just for the night.
“Jillian, no!” Lieutenant Oaks steps forward, trying to stop me, but I side-step him, causing his reach to miss me by a few inches.
As I move closer, fear runs up my legs, my stomach trembling. Standing a few feet away from him, I clearly underestimated his size. Now that I am closer, Zeek towers over my five feet, three inches. Everything I have ever been told about him flashes in my mind, making my confidence succumb to my fears. My breathing shallows, and my hands begin to sweat.
Rolling my shoulders, trying to get a hold of myself, I close the gap between us, gripping the cold metal of the cuffs.
His crew becomes tense as I approach their president, and panic flares in my chest like a wildfire.
Zeek holds a hand up, and I stop.
Why did I stop?
He glances over his shoulder and shakes his head. His crew relaxes, stepping back. That’s when I realize he isn’t holding his hand up to me—he’s calling off his boys. Zeek’s men were going to hurt me if I so much as laid a finger on their president. I blink rapidly as I suddenly become aware that this club does not care that I am law enforcement. They’d kill me in front of everyone, and because of who they are, nobody would tell a soul of what they saw.
“You going to arrest me, Rookie?” Zeek rasps, his voice holding an Italian accent to it, the woodsy smell of him making me uncomfortable. I clear my throat, lift my chin, and square my shoulders, trying to muster that bravado deep inside me. He squints, his lashes thick and beautiful, and my resolve instantly starts to fade. The way he looks at me, it makes me lose sight of who I am, and who he is.
“You’re… um,” I stumble.