SALEM

We have our competition team established, but next week, we’re having captain tryouts. Today, I’m choreographing Oakley and Juniper’s routine.

Like last time, we’ll be bringing in a panel of jurors with no outside attachments or ties to any of the girls.

One of the women on the board is a professional recruiter for the Dallas Arts Private Academy. They’re always looking for the next unknown talent to enlist into their worldwide renowned, elite competitive dance squad.

They are blue ribbon winners. Which means that they are the best-of-the-best. People come from across the seas to perform on stage for the team leads, vying for a chance to join their sought-after dance company.

Girls who are accepted always land some of the more acquired professional positions on the stage. Directors from around the world fight, barter, and plead to have these top ranked dancers accept a starring role in their cast.

I have zero doubts in my mind that Oakley and Juniper could be contenders when they become teenagers for the fine arts institution. They are both naturals and enjoy all forms of dance styles.

Tap, jazz, ballet, and freestyle–all modes are required during the captain auditions. And enjoying what you do is a key part in making it in this league of vicious competitors.

Everyone is a rival.

The sharks and claws in this industry are brutal and razor-sharp.

I just hope the girls are strong and stay true to each other and never turn their backs on one another for a gold trophy or a leading part.

Sisters are forever, careers in this field are not.

I suspect, however, their parents will never allow that bond to shatter over something like dance, especially since Aspen is aware of the potential pitfalls that surround this world.

I’ve chosen a ballad from a local artist for Oakley’s jazz routine. The song is called Lift Me Up by the Unique Three. They’re a trio band and the tune I chose is upbeat, sure to have the judges nodding their heads and tapping their feet.

“Chest out, toes pointed, Oakley,” I instruct my tiny pupil, tapping my marching stick on the ground while counting out the beats. “One, two, three, one, two, three. That’s it. Good job. Let’s try that again from the beginning.”

“She’s getting better,” Dawn, Aspen's friend, comes up beside me and says.

“She’s a natural,” I return. She nods her head as a tear drops from her eye.

“What’s wrong, Dawn?”

“I’ve been watching over that girl since she was knee high to a grasshopper. She’s grown and matured so much since living with Master and Aspen that it’s a beautiful thing to witness,” Dawn reveals, swiping a stray tear that freely falls from her misty eyes. “Losing her mama and having Sicily disappear has been the best-case scenario that could’ve happened to that girl. I know that makes me sound like a bitch. Who in their right mind would say a girl’s mama dying could be the best thing for her? But in Oakley’s case, I firmly believe someone up above was watching over her.”

“I don’t know much about that situation, outside of what Aspen’s shared with me, but with that being said, I agree with your assessment wholeheartedly,” I state, wrapping my arm across her shoulder in female solidarity, giving her some added comfort.

“Okay, Oakley, let’s wind things down and cool off,” I tell her once the song concludes, and she’s run through the steps.

“Yes, ma’am,” Oakley acknowledges my edict as she begins cooling down and stretching out her limbs. It’s muscle and mind movement for her at this stage. She’s done this variant routine of stretches since the beginning of her developmental dance career.

“You taking Oakley home?” I ask Dawn. Aspen left with Juniper earlier after a few twinges in her belly. Beckett ran her back to the clubhouse once Dawn arrived to keep me company so that I wasn’t left here alone with Oakley. That doesn’t mean there’s not a man or two outside watching over us, because these guys don’t always announce their presence.

“Yeah, I’ve been tasked with that job. I had a hottie follow me here on a bike so I’m presuming I’ll have the same guy trailing me to the clubhouse. Can’t let anything happen to one of the club’s princesses after all,” Dawn teases.

“I’m glad they’re uber protective over all of the kids and women. I hear a lot of hemming and hawing, but on a serious note, I know personally that I can’t fight off a man if one were to attack. I don’t understand why all of the women get so up in arms over it,” I confess to Dawn.

“Because they’re all hardheaded and think they can take on anything,” Dawn answers. “I know they’re some badass women, but as you said, they aren’t invincible, and men are born naturally stronger than we are.”

“You hit the nail on the head with that one,” I concur, shaking my head. Those women have a fierce independent streak a mile wide. They are nasty and strong-willed to the point that they do believe with all of their heart and soul that they can take on the world while coming out on the other side one-hundred percent unscathed, and intact.

It’s preposterous in my opinion. Women these days beat their chest while men scratch their balls. Everyone needs to back up and see the bigger picture instead of fighting over who’s the Alpha and who’s the Omega.

“I’m ready, Dawn,” Oakley says. Her dance bag is hanging arbitrarily across her arm, and her sneakers are on her feet, replacing her practice shoes.

“Alright, kiddo, let’s hit the road,” Dawn tells her, ushering her out the door. “Lock up behind me, Salem. And don’t forget to double check the back door too. Beckett took the trash out earlier for Aspen.”

“You got it,” I say as I walk the duo out. “Great job today, Oakley. Don’t forget to practice. I put the cassette tape in your bag earlier while you took a water break.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Oakley hollers over her shoulder as they head toward Dawn’s car.

I wave as they back out of their parking spot then bolt the door and head to clean up and gather my things. I need to do a little housework before I relax and hit my clawfoot tub.

Soaking in a bubble bath with a glass of wine sounds like the perfect way to conclude my day.

POWERHOUSE

“Anyone heard from Tyler lately?” I ask the guys as we sit astride our bikes waiting for Pops and his crew to arrive.

“Heard from him last night,” Gunner answers. “He thinks he’s onto something and is going to follow the lead. Hope to fuck something comes of this.”

“I’m getting fucking sick of these dead-end leads,” Master grunts. “I’m fixing to pack my shit and go find my sister my goddamn self.”

“And leave Aspen behind, pregnant, and with three kids at home? How chivalrous of you,” Kruger spits. “Trust your brother, man. He’s not there for the hoots and giggles, ya’ know. Every day he’s searching the pits of some unsavory places and following every lead that comes his way.”

“Yet nothing’s panned out and he sent Powerhouse back for some petty bullshit,” Master barks.

“I get why he blames me,” I admit. I condemn myself too for Amara’s death. Guilt rides me every time I see the forlorn look on Tyler’s face. He’s all but given up on life in general. For him, she was it—his soulmate.

“The fucked-up thing over his condemnation toward Powerhouse is that he and Amara weren’t even an item. They weren’t ever a possibility. He clung to her without a promise of anything other than a conversation here and there, and only when she needed something that meant she’d have to come out of her room. She didn’t ever seek out his company to hang out. He was nothing to her but her pacifier when the monsters came out from the dark to play,” Master argues, venom attached to his criticism.

“But he felt deep for her, Master. We have no right to say if those feelings were legit or not. None of us live in his head and know what she was becoming to mean to him, brother,” I announce, my tone forceful and argumentative. Who are we to judge the feelings of another? We aren’t the Man upstairs, he’s the only entity equipped and privy to the depths of one’s psyche. There aren’t many beliefs passed down from my mother that I believe in, or trust, but that’s one of her edicts that I do follow without reprieve.

“Maybe,” Master sighs before pointing out, “But that doesn’t mean he needs to put the blame on you or kick you to the curb when you were assigned as his partner in the field.”

“Listen.” Gunner breaks in before stating, “He’s going through a helluva hard time as it is, and as his brothers, his family, it’s our duty to back him and be understanding. I get it, Master. Hemmi missing is fucked up, as a big brother myself, I am, without any doubt, sympathetic to what you’re going through, but if anyone can track her down and rescue her from whatever hell she’s trapped in, it’s Tyler. You know it, I know it, we all know it.”

“In other words, chill the fuck out and trust your brother,” Shamus reprimands, subtly berating Master, and yet at the same time, supporting Gunner.

“I trust my brothers,” Master argues. “But my instinct to protect what’s mine will always override the need to step back and think things through thoroughly. I can’t help it, it’s ingrained in me to step the fuck up and take care of business.” This I can understand. As men, it’s deeply embedded in us to be the one to take care of what’s ours.

“Enough of this! Here comes Pops and the gang now,” Gunner lambasts, his face molten red. Most likely, sick and tired of the contention between brothers. It’s his job as president to keep us all copasetic and shit.

* * *

After a few back slaps and handshakes, we make our way into the warehouse owned by Pops’ organization that’s in between the club’s town and their association's location.

I’m still unclear if Pops is the head of the mafia or the mob, it’s tight lipped for everyone’s protection that isn't an intricate part of the Familia, but I have my suspicions that lean more toward the Italian side of the mafia branch.

Either way, they’re our allies and you couldn’t ask for another group of potently strong men to have your back in a war than Pops, and his brother, Luca.

They give the meaning behind hard-nosed men a different type of definition than one that is normally spoken of.

To be honest, if I didn’t know Pops the way I do, knowing the man that he is, he’d give me nightmares. I’ve heard stories of him blowing up a room full of men with a damn bazooka. Whether or not that’s the truth isn’t an important part of the equation, it’s the fact that he’s now got himself a reputation of killing first and asking questions later that has many men shaking in their boots and shitting their pants.

“What was so urgent that we needed to drop everything and meet with you today, Pops?” Gunner asks his dad.

“Some things have been brought to my attention by some of my spies that concern the club. I thought it important to get together as soon as possible, son,” Pops answers, his fingers tapping on the table. A sign that what he has to say is aggravating to him and has him reeling and questioning the right way to approach the topic.

Luca clears his throat, knowing that his brother is struggling with what he has to tell us, starts us off by saying, “Oakley’s name has been brought up on several occasions according to our informant inside of the underground establishment.”

“The fuck you say!” Master bellows, standing up suddenly, causing his chair to sail backwards and fall to the floor with a vibrating thunk as he charges toward Luca as if he’s the enemy threatening his eldest daughter. With an incriminating finger pointed straight at Luca's chest he demands, “Explain.”

“Back the fuck off!” Luca yells as his guards threateningly move forward. “Get out of my face or we’re done. Got it?”

“Master, cool your goddamn jets, and step the hell back,” Kruger commands, intercepting Master before he overreacts and does something harmful to our association with Luca that he can’t rectify, pushing him away with a punishing, swift shove to the solar plexus.

“It's my daughter, Kruger! My family is everything and if one of them is in danger, I’ll do whatever is necessary in order to keep them safe. Even if it means burning some damn bridges, got me?”

“Luca, sit the fuck down and stop getting your panties in a bunch,” Pops orders, giving his brother a bitter look. “If this were Charlee or Gunner, I’d react the same fucking way Master just did. Stop letting your sensitivity override your compassion to my family.”

“I’m your family too, brother, remember that,” Luca hisses, still butt hurt over Master lashing out at him. Master seems to have poked the bear because Luca is usually the mellow and tame one of the bunch.

“You are,” Pops agrees, “but these men are mine. My sons. Ma and I raised most of them as if they have our blood running through their veins. How would you react if you were put in Master’s predicament, Luca? Wouldn’t you be ready to take out any threat posed to your child?”

Luca mumbles something beneath his breath before nodding to his men to step back and retakes his seat. He keeps his eyes glued to Master as he sits back in his seat.

“Someone start talking,” Master demands, seething.

“There’s an open contract out there with Oakley’s name on it, Master,” Pops gently confirms. “It’s a kidnap order, with the stipulation that she’s not to be harmed in any way. The added provision that anyone with her is an open target is what has me the most concerned.”

“You’re more concerned about someone getting potentially injured than my daughter being taken by an unknown?” Master asks. He's rattled, his jaw dropped in stunned disbelief, and his face showing disgruntled signs of betrayal from a man he holds in high regard.

“Master, what if they don’t maim the person but kill them?” Pops questions. “What if that person with her happens to be Aspen? Or better yet, Juniper and Nash? Would you be alright with any of those three being taken out because they’re with Oakley?”

“No, I wouldn’t be. That’s my old lady and kids, Pops,” Master grinds out. “None of that sits well with me.”

“Then we need to get ahead of this and end it before anyone gets antsy,” Pops suggests.

“How?” Gunner probes, stepping in and sending Master a ‘settle the fuck down’ look.

“I have an idea on how to do this, but I need your approval before I move forward,” Pops remarks.

“And that would be?” Gunner asks, leaving the question open-ended.

“We put out our own contract,” Pops offers. “We put a higher price on the head of the one who put out the contract and add a bonus to whomever if they can effectively and efficiently nullify the contractual agreement.”

“Take out the contractee and the taker?” Gunner asks for verification.

“Exactly,” Pops confirms.

“The thought behind this is that whoever the asshole is who agrees to take the job has a price on their head, so they’ll back off and go after the jackass who put the kidnap order out on Oakley instead,” Luca supplies.

“Do it,” both Gunner and Master say at the same time.

We all nod our heads, no vote needed in this instance. None of us would dare shoot it down or veto it. The end goal is to protect our own.

I’m not only all in because of Master’s family, but because my woman is always with them, and I would burn the world down to get my hands on anyone who dares harm one follicle on Salem’s head.