“Whacked? We are too old to say ‘whacked,’” I giggle, my words extra throaty from the sugary spit my lollipop is creating. I can understand Jet’s fascination. They are delicious.
“Speak for yourself. I lived under my dad’s command for twenty-five years. I’ve got years of youthful misdemeanors to make up for.”
“Ah. Now the strip club job makes sense.” I barge him with my barely covered hip.
He grins while waggling his brows, confirming my suspicion.
“You sure you want to do this?” he asks, nudging his head to the two original outfits I started with. “This is the first time I’ve seen anyone I know here. Maybe Brax’s visit was just a one-off. He was standing with Keke. I’ve heard rumors they are morethan friends.”
I take a deep breath. “I can’t risk it. Ten years of silence will already make things awkward, let alone if it happens here.”
Jet glances into my eyes for two heart-thrashing seconds before dropping them to my midsection. I don’t need to peer down to know what he is looking at. I’ve felt its significance long after the burn wore off.
“It’s not what you’re thinking—”
“I didn’t say it was,” Jet interrupts, returning his eyes to mine. “But it’s got to mean something, and I’m fairly sure it is the reason you sashayed into this club three weeks ago with your head held high even though you’d hit rock bottom.”
Sick of lying, I nod.The ink on my hip is precisely why I am here.
Pretending he can’t hear Pete shouting his name, Jet runs his hand down my goosebump-mottled skin. “Then take a step back and breathe. You’re earning a living. Nothing more. Nothing less. If you decide this isn’t what you want, hand in your notice. But if it is what youneed, there is no shame in admitting that.” His wisdom matches his wise eyes.
When I nod, he takes a step backward. "I'll tell Pete you've got woman issues." The cheeky glint in his eyes doubles when he drops them to my teeny tiny white pants.
“Even Pete won’t have any issues understanding why you can’t perform your last two shows.”
I nearly correct him that there are feminine products that stop that from being an issue, but when his glance lingers on my bare thighs longer than what could be deemed acceptable, I realize he isn’t worried I’ll represent the club in a negative light—he’s perving.
“The loss of an eye will be worth the sacrifice.” He chuckles when I grab one of the stilettos resting near my knee and peg it at his head.
His dash out of the dressing room slows to a snail’s pace when I call his name. I wait for him to spin around and face me before asking, “Why Jet?”
I know why I picked the alias I did. It is the same reason my name changed a minimum five times the past ten years—my safety. But what purpose does Jet have for a change in name?
“Do you want the honest answer? Or a watered-down version?” Jet asks.
My arched brow answers his question on my behalf.
He pulls his lollipop out of his mouth before licking his lips, adding to their glossy appearance. "Because I make women come faster than a rocket."
My eyes pop open.That was not an answer I was anticipating.
My shock doubles when he adds on, “If you ever want to test my skills, give me a holler.” A bold wink seals his cocky offer.
Stealing my chance to reply, he disappears into a sea of half-naked women who don’t bat an eyelid at his boastfulness. It is business as usual, making me suspect everything he said was true.
Even the parts including his sexual abilities.
Chapter 9
Ryan
"Are you sure this is the address Damon gave?" I question down my cell, glancing at a crumpled piece of paper my mom handled me earlier this evening. "It's not what I was expecting."
After my mom assures me for the third time I have the correct address, I lift my eyes to the flashing sign in front of me. It’s been years since I’ve been to Vipers, so the address didn’t register when I saw it. I shouldn’t be surprised Damon selected this location. He rocks up out of the blue for the first time in years and requests for me to meet him at our dad’s favorite strip joint.
Brother of the Year material right here, ladies and gentleman.
After glancing down at my dark blue trousers, white button-up shirt, and jacket, I head into the main entrance. The last time I walked through these doors was the evening of Justine's eighteenth birthday. Fuck—who would have been able to predict the obstacles I’d go on to face. If you had told me I'd be walking in these doors ten years later as a detective at Ravenshoe PD, I would have laughed. I never saw my life taking the path it has—not in a million years.
