“Can I help you?” says a bright voice from behind me. I turn quickly to face a pretty woman who looks to be in her mid- to late forties. She’s fit and toned, with dark hair and kind eyes, and she wears a lot of makeup but is dressed simply. Jeans and a vintage Guns N’ Roses tee, which hangs slightly off her tanned shoulder. I force my best smile at her, pushing down the disgust that rises in my throat with what I’m about to ask as I point to the sign in the window.
“I hope so. I’m here about the job.”
“Cool, welcome.” The woman shrugs with a friendly smile. “Are you from around here?”
“I go to school in Atlanta, but I’m on summer break,” I answer in my most bubbly tone, attempting to push my “poor innocent college student in need of a job” backstory. It isn’t a lie. I could definitely use the money.
“You got a name, Atlanta?”
“Mia,” I offer her coolly, then jump right into some small talk, figuring it might win me some points. “That’s a really nice bike out front…” I point toward the door. “The red and black one—”
“Mm-hmm… Boss’s bike.” She walks back behind the long black bar top and grabs a bottle of cleaning spray as I register her words.
That Viking is the boss of the strip club? Shit. I didn’t see that one coming.
“Well, the boss has a nice bike…” I answer cautiously, praying she might give me some information about him. But instead, she narrows her eyes at me and sighs.
“Let’s just get this outta the way. Boss doesn’t hire women he’s seenallof already, if you catch my drift. So, if that’s why you’re here—” She stops to set the bottle down, giving me a pitying look. “One night is one night, honey.”
My mouth falls open.
“Fuck no,” I blurt out. Her eyebrow slings up, and I rush to correct myself. “I just love motorcycles. My dad used to ride before he died,” I add truthfully, and her eyes soften.
“Sorry, doll, I thought maybe you’d fucked him.” She shrugs, holding her hands up in truce.
I scoff because I can’t help myself.Over my dead body would I fuck a Disciple.
“All right, well, that makes you a better candidate,” she says coyly.
I eye up the prospect on the stage and play dumb. “Those vests, are the guys here in some sort of club…?” I trail off, hoping she’ll offer her name.
“Roslyn,” she responds. “You can call me Roz, and I’ll shoot straight with you, Mia, and then you can decide if you want to leave or stick around to chat. The man who owns this placeisa patched Disciple, and we get a lot of club activity around here. Some Hounds, some Wretched Souls. I like to be up front because I know their reputation, and it scares some girls off. But I can promise you that Aiden makes sure this is the safest club to work in the county.”
Aiden?Aiden Foxx?My heart starts beating faster in my chest as I register exactly what she’s saying. The Viking is Aiden. And he’s not only the boss of the club, he’s the Disciples’ president my brother told me about.
My palms begin to sweat as I momentarily question my sanity. This is way deeper than I thought, but it’s all adding up. How it could’ve been Aiden Foxx with Gator and Marco the night my sister was raped. Of course he would have his brother’s back when Marco approved the assault. And if he’s the boss now, that means he’s probably cut from the same cloth as his piece of shit brother.I can’t believe I pictured myself taking his slutty cock.
“Usually Aiden is the only one here,” she adds, cutting into my racing thoughts and looking me dead in the eye. “And he won’t bother withyou.”
Right, I’m probably not young enough for him…
“Dicky hangs around a lot though. He cleans mostly.” She gives a little nod to the prospect on the stage. “For what it’s worth, you look like you could fit in really well here.”
A thought occurs to me as I once again consider my sanity. “The sign doesn’t say what you’re hiring for exactly. I assume a dancer?”
“No, you wouldn’t be dancing. We aren’t looking for that, at least not right now.”
“Whatareyou looking for then?” I ask, hoping it’s not a paid whore. That would really throw a wrench into my plan.
“We just need a shooter girl. Clothes stay on and the job payscash.”
Growing up with my father and brother’s club life tells me right away that means they’re washing money here and I’ll be working off the books.
I nod, secretly breathing a small sigh of relief, because that only helps my anonymity. Shooter girl I can do.
“Got any bar experience?” she asks when I don’t say anything.
“I worked at a diner during high school, but I was a server, no bar experience.”
