Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 122896 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 614(@200wpm)___ 492(@250wpm)___ 410(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122896 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 614(@200wpm)___ 492(@250wpm)___ 410(@300wpm)
As soon as he heard the office door open behind him, Finn beelined it toward the men’s room but froze when he heard, “That stupid fuck let you back here?”
Finn assumed the “stupid fuck” was Popeye. He turned to face the man himself. Saint. “I’m looking for MJ.”
The DIC—Demon In Charge—sucked on his teeth and narrowed his dark eyes on Finn. “Why you lookin’ for her?”
“She’s my girlfriend and I keep an eye on her.”
Saint’s head jerked back and he frowned. “Didn’t know she was fuckin’ anybody.”
“I didn’t know you two were besties and shared your personal lives with each other.”
Even with his long, bushy beard, Finn could see the man’s jaw clench. They locked gazes in a silent stare down.
Saint’s dark eyes narrowed even more until they were practically slits. “Wait. Aren’t you one of those fuckin’ Pricks?”
Actually, that would be pretty fucking funny if it was coming out of anyone else’s mouth other than the biker’s. “Peckers.”
“Like I give a fuck.”
Finn shrugged. “You should since I figure our troupe made your club a bunch of scratch.”
“And I figured you guys were all fags. Surprised you’re hittin’ that slit.”
Fuck you, you motherfucking homophobic dirtbag. I can’t wait to take your ass down.
Finn’s chest tightened and his molars ground together. Pinning his fists to his sides also prevented him from laying that motherfucker out cold.
Getting into a brawl with one of the subjects of their investigation would be stupid and could possibly fuck up his chance at future access to The Peach Pit. Instead, he let his anger rage in his head and pulled in a deep breath in an effort to keep it contained.
Play it cool, Finn, play it fucking cool. Assholes are going to asshole.
“Name’s Danny.”
“You think I give a fuck? Shouldn’t be back here.”
“Like I said, I was only looking for my woman.”
“Look elsewhere,” Saint ordered, clearly not leaving any room for negotiation. “She ain’t supposed to be back here fuckin’ off and you ain’t either.”
“Didn’t mean to impose. I’ll see myself out.”
Saint pulled on his scruffy beard. “You do that. But don’t be distractin’ her from doin’ her job.”
Finn sucked in a slow breath and nodded. “I won’t get in her way.” With that and clenched teeth, he headed back out into the stage area, pushing past Popeye.
It was time to settle in for the evening and start observing.
And not the girls on stage, either.
Two hands landed on his shoulders and a soft cheek pressed against his. “Hey, boyfriend,” was whispered into his ear.
“Hey, yourself.” He twisted his neck. “Kiss.”
Mel didn’t hesitate to plant one on his lips, but it was a lot shorter than he’d prefer.
She smelled so damn good. She wore just enough fragrance to get his blood racing but not enough to make it curdle.
As she rounded his chair, he snaked his arms around her hips and settled his hands on her ass, giving her firm cheeks a squeeze. “Goddamn, you must work out.”
She gave him a smile that sparked a fire in his gut. “I do. And I’m glad I keep in shape since Taint informed me earlier that I have to make myself available for private dances.”
“He did what?” burst from him and he sat up straighter, regretfully dropping his hands from her ass. He grabbed her arm and pulled her into his lap so they could talk without the fear of being overheard.
As if it was a common thing between them, Mel settled in and hooked her arms around his neck. Even so, she kept her head on a swivel. Most likely keeping an eye out for Saint.
“He said he looked at the books—” Mel rolled her eyes, “which I highly doubt—and determined the majority of the money made is from time spent in the VIP rooms.”
“Is that true?”
“No. If the business had to rely on what’s made in the VIP rooms, Laura would’ve had to close the club’s doors years ago.”
“Did you agree with going back to doing private lap dances?” Why did that idea annoy him so fucking bad? She was his fake girlfriend, not his real one, for fuck’s sake.
“Of course not. While it’s good money, I gave that up five years ago.”
“You don’t have a choice?”
“Not if I want to keep my job.”
He ground his molars. Jesus fucking Christ.
“But that doesn’t mean I’m going to go around advertising that opportunity. He’s requiring that from Sapphire, too. Fortunately, she isn’t as upset about it as I am since she still occasionally fills in on stage if a dancer calls out. It also doesn’t hurt that she makes a nice chunk of change every time she lands a private dance.”
“Are you totally naked when you do a private dance?” He rubbed at his chest because he suddenly had heartburn.
“Legally, I can’t get totally naked, but normally the girls get down to thongs where only our lips are covered. And you know what lips I’m talking about.”