Free Where She Belongs (The Forever Collection Book 1) by Dani Wyatt

would she go? Then, I remember, she said she took the bus.
    Seconds later, my feet are pounding the pavement in a gallop. The wind cuts the temperature down until the chill burns my face, but I’m not stopping until I get to the bus stop a few blocks down.
    The streets are empty. I turn the corner of the building and increase my strides. I’m half way down the first block when a glint of pink shimmer catches my eye in the middle of the street.
    My lungs are burning as I spring forward, knowing even before I get there what it is.

    A half an hour later I’ve called the number she’d written on the bottom of the Polaroid, but of course it’s a fake.
    It’s funny though, she’d put down the number of one of those ambulance chasing attorney’s that splash their mug and phone number on the sides of buses.
    Allister taps me on the shoulder.
    “What?” I bark.
    “Hey, cool it, old man. I can’t keep them here all night. You want to take point? Or you want me to deal with it, or call the cops, or what?” He’s right, I need to deal with business right now. This is going to have to wait. With a heavy heart, I put my phone away.
    “Let’s go.” Allister falls in step behind me as I approach the group of over-entitled fucks. Their Armani suits and Gucci shoes make them look real tough.
    I step into the VIP space and I’ve got my boys all behind me, backing me up. I can hear Allister cracking his knuckles, while I observe one of these scumbags watching him with concern. Damn right you should be concerned, mother fucker. But I don’t care about the concerned ones; they’ll go home and think about what they’ve done.
    Scanning across the four douche bags, my eyes hit on one that comes in a few times a week. He’s got that look in his eye like he thinks he’s fucking Teflon covered, like none of his own shit’s ever going to stick to him.
    He’s frequented my clubs for years, off and on. I don’t know his name or who he is, but he’s usually got a harem he brings with him—short skirts and too much make up crawling all over his dick. To me he’s just another regular with too much time and money on his hands.
    “I don’t give a shit who you fucks think you are. Or who your families are. Don’t come back here.”
    “Oh yeah? You may want to rethink your tone, old man, and call off your dogs. You can’t keep us here . . .” The one I’m eyeing gives it right back to me, but the way I’m glaring at him makes his words fall flat.
    The stink of the melted velvet curtains they’d set on fire still hangs in the air. From what Allister said, one of the waitresses gave them some back talk when they’d ordered her onto her knees.
    As she should.
    They wanted something we don’t serve here, so she’d told them what they could do with their request. Next thing you know, one of the fucks lit the fabric on fire and told her she’d better watch her mouth or no one would have a job here.
    Money can’t buy class.
    The group looks toward the fucker I’m staring the balls off of, and it’s clear that he’s some sort of boss with the micro-penis brotherhood. He smiles at me, and I can see he’d like to take this up a notch, but I’m not throwing the first punch. No one is worth that. This is just business, and I’m not even all that mad. I just want them to understand they are never allowed back into any of my clubs. “You and your little crew here are out. You understand? Permanently . . .”
    One of the others is grinning like this is all some big joke, so I stare him down. “You could have killed someone tonight.”
    “That’s not anything new for us, gramps,” he says, thinking he’s funny.
    There’s no point trying to reason with these mother fuckers. I turn to Allister, and nod to my crew behind him. “Get them out. And make sure they’re gone, not just out.” I’m pissed, but not about this. There are fucks everywhere and running these clubs you meet plenty of them. Like this guy who’s their