Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
DEUCE
Jack’s eyes widen at my blunt appraisal, then he smiles and waves his hand around the room. “I can have my things out of here by tomorrow.”
Jack moves to the side when Ace comes around the desk and peers at the computer monitor. He taps a few keys, then looks at me. “Decent POS system. No need to change it.”
“It does a full inventory from the registers, and can even pick up on any theft,” Jack adds.
Ace huffs out a laugh. “The only thing that stops theft is the fear of making friends with a baseball bat.”
Jack’s eyes get wider, and I decide it’s time to leave.
“Just take your personal shit. We’ll either keep the rest or dump it.”
“Fine, fine.” Jack comes around the desk like he can’t wait for us to leave.
“My security guy will come by tomorrow for the keys and all the alarm codes.”
“One question.” Jack moves closer to us, lowering his voice. “How will you handle telling the other party you are now the new owners?”
Ace grins again. “Don’t worry, we’ve got very inventive ways of passing along bad news.”
Jack’s brow furrows for a second, then he grins too. “Enjoy your night, gentlemen. The place is yours.”
Out in the hallway, Ace and I tap fists. “Looks like we got ourselves a strip club, brother.”
“First thing we do after we get some money out of this place is fumigate. Fuckin’ place smells like shit.”
“Dog shit.”
Ace and I laugh all the way back to Fist and Scratch, who greet us with questioning looks.
“How’d it go? Fist asks.
“The Kings are now the proud owners of the Royal Flush.”
Fist holds up a bottle of Jack, then pours shots for all of us before raising his glass. “Here’s to the Kings.”
I shoot the shot, then sink into the booth and turn to Scratch. “First thing tomorrow, get over here and get the keys and all the passcodes and alarm codes from Jack.”
Scratch not only handles our money, but he’s a computer genius who can basically hack any system around.
“Right, Boss.”
The same women from before surround me, and this time, I don’t resist. Especially when one slides onto my lap like she belongs there. She smells like smoke and whiskey. Another flanks my other side, and I pick up a trace of vanilla. Why does it have to be vanilla?
Her mouth brushes my jaw. Her hand slides over my shoulder.
I don’t stop her.
I don’t move either.
My eyes focus in front of me. On nothing. Except the one woman who isn’t here.
Liquor keeps coming. Noise piles on noise. The girls try harder when they realize I’m not responding the way they want.
One of them whispers, “You don’t look like a man who wants to be alone.”
I finally glance at her but say nothing.
She blinks, waiting, then pulls back just a fraction.
The club pulses around me, alive with want and hunger and cheap promises. The Kings laugh. Money flows. The girls glow brighter, hopeful. Always hopeful.
Knowing the grapevine of gossip in a strip club, they probably already know we’re the new owners and want to cash in on it. They think this is what power looks like. I don’t blame them, especially since more than half of them will be gone by tomorrow.
Scratch runs a tight ship, and anyone with a hint of a drug issue gets kicked to the curb. It has nothing to do with his moral fiber, and everything to do with the bottom line. Users and druggies can’t be trusted around money. They’ll steal from their grandma for the next fix.
The guys order more booze, but I slow down ‘cause it ain’t helping anyway. No matter how loud the music gets, no matter how many bodies press close—all I feel is Sammie’s body cuddled into mine, her eyes hooded, her lips parted . . . fuck.
And that’s when I know this place won’t save me, but I’ve never been one to give up easily.
The women are still draped over me. A blond and a redhead. I purposely pick two women who look the least like Sammie. And, yeah, they’re strippers, just with me ‘cause I’m sticking money down their G-strings, but I don’t give a shit if it clears my mind of all the static.
“I’m thinking we could use a little privacy in one of the champagne rooms.” The redhead giggles in my ear. Hate women that fuckin’ giggle. Sammie would never giggle. Nope, when she laughs, it’s out loud, filling her whole body.
“Mmmm, yeah, I think getting private is an excellent idea,” the blonde agrees.
I pour myself another shot of tequila, and the smoky liquid burns down my throat even though I know it won’t be enough.
The blonde slides off my lap, balancing on her stilettos, and they both grab my hands. “Yeah,” the blonde gushes. “We’ve got a party fit for a King.” She smiles at her use of words, and I go along with it.
“What the hell?” I let them pull me out of the booth, then lead me to the back of the room.
The bouncer sees us coming and immediately taps his key card against the lock, causing the door to spring open. The women enter with a flourish, flipping on the driving, heated music. Some song I never heard with a pulsing beat. Music to fuck by.
The redhead makes a beeline for the bar and instinctively brings back a bottle of Jack and three glasses. She fills each glass, and the women shoot them immediately. Maybe shaking their tits and ass isn’t as wonderful as they let on.
I sip at mine, and unlike the day I got out of lock-up, I’m not sure how I want these women, or even if I do want them.
The redhead flounces down beside me, her practiced hands already opening the tab and zipper of my jeans while the blonde anchors her knees on either side of my thighs.
She reaches behind her, unhooks the skimpy lace bra, flinging it to the floor.
Then she leans in until her enormous nipples are only inches from my lips.
“Go ahead, I know you want a taste.” She cups the undersides, offering them up like the sweetest fruit.
The redhead sneaks her hand into my jeans, then squeals, “I fuckin’ love a man who goes commando.”
Did she have to say that?
“I love me some bad boy.” The blonde shakes her tits harder, but all I can see are her eyes, rimmed and caked with black mascara.
Sammie hardly wears any makeup. She doesn’t need it.
“Yeah, we just love to get with you bikers. You always have the biggest dicks.” When she realizes her tits ain’t doin’ it for me, she shimmies between my legs and licks her freakishly plump lips.
The redhead pulls out my dick, strokes it, then offers it to her friend.
“Yeah, me and Crystal love working together, right, hun?”
“Yup, that’s right,” Crystal agrees, then lowers her head to my half-hard cock. “Just last week, we had these two guys in here, and we showed them a real good time.”
“Crystal and me took turns sucking on the one guy’s dick while the other guy fucked us from behind. Shit, he gave it to us good. Blew his load all over my ass.”
I swallow hard. I guess they thought this info would get me goin’, and maybe three weeks ago it would’ve, but now—
“Yeah, and they were bikers too. Went by the names of Bullet and Viper.”
My hand tightens around the blonde’s wrist.
“Ouch!” She pulls her wrist out of my rasp. “Shit, I don’t mind it a little rough, but that hurt.”
“Crazy cool names, right?” The redhead grins up at me.
I stand so fast, the redhead falls on her ass, surprise flashing across her face. I drop the whiskey glass, and it shatters across the floor.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” the redhead yells from the floor.
The music thumps in the background as I zip up and head for the door. Just the thought of their mouths being on Viper turns my stomach.
“What are you, fuckin’ crazy?” the blonde adds.
I glare down at them. “Tomorrow, start looking for another job.” I point to the track marks lining their arms. “We don’t employ junkies.”
“Fuck you,” they both scream in unison.
I barge through the door, startling the bouncer. I jerk my thumb into the room. “Get the two of them outta here now, and don’t let them back in.”
“Right, Boss.” Obviously he heard the news of the takeover too.
I charge to the booth with the Kings, and Ace looks up from a stripper’s neck. Already on point. Already knowing my mood.
“Deuce?” His expression reads confused.
More women surround me, hands reaching for me, but I push them off. Their smiles falter, and they sense a shift in energy.
“We’re out.” My two words have Ace out of his seat while Scratch and Fist push the strippers off their laps and stand.
I scan the club one last time, mentally noting all the changes that need to be made, but this has nothing to do with renovations or the women I just fired. This has to do with a feisty brunette who’s embedded in my head like a steel plate.
A dancer steps in front of me, trying to salvage the night. “Baby, you don’t gotta leave.” She runs her pointed nails down my t-shirt. “Yeah, I could make you feel real good.”
I don’t touch her. I don’t raise my voice.
“Move,” I say.
She sidesteps, her eyes widening like she knows I mean it.
The Kings are already flanking me. They don’t ask questions. They never do when my tone goes this cold.
The doorman scrambles to open the door like he’s afraid I’ll burn the place down just by staying another second.
The night air hits my face, hard and clean. I breathe once. Deep. Controlled. Like prison taught me.
Ace jogs up beside me. “You good?”
“No,” I look out at the dark street, “but I will be.”
I swing my leg over my bike. The engine roars to life, loud enough to drown out everything I’m trying to forget.
As I pull away, the neon sign disappears in the mirror. So does the lie I’ve been trying to tell myself all night. Because no amount of liquor or other women can erase a woman like Sammie.