Page 22 of Ricochet

Rev hiked an elbow up on the back of the chair and slouched in his seat. “Ain’t you got a woman yet? Fuck’s wrong with you, man? You got them bright blue eyes. Bitches love blue eyes.” His laughter bounced off the walls of the mostly empty bar.

Burying my smile in the glass of liquor, I shook my head. “I’m not looking for a woman.”

“You gay?”

I kicked back the last of my whiskey and slammed the glass on the bartop. “Nope. Don’t have time for a woman.”

“Man.” He waved a dismissal. “You always got time for a woman. Who else’s gonna keep the bed warm?” Rev tipped his head. “Thought you smoked cigars. Or am I gettin’ you mixed up with someone else?”

Yeah. He frequently mistook me for Alec, who also came into the bar on occasion.

“Nah, been known to smoke a blunt on occasion. No cigars, though.”

“Ha!” He pointed and smiled. “Knew I liked you.”

Rising up from the bar stool, he patted me on the back. “Good to see you. Take care, brother.”

“Same to you, Rev.”

I signaled another drink.

“Impressive.”

The voice arrived from behind, and I twisted to the blonde Big John had saved from being suit-fucked. Her tits popped from the skimpy shirt she wore. Thankfully, she looked older than most of the girls up in the place, otherwise I’d have felt like shit for the sudden rush to my dick.

“I’ve had my eye on you since you walked up in here. Most of the assholes in this place would’ve been puking all over the bar by now.”

“I heard holding your liquor is one of the seven virtues.”

She laughed and swiveled on the stool, giving me a full view of both breasts, hardly hanging on inside her bra. “I wouldn’t know anything about bein’ virtuous.” Her gaze fell to my arm, and, curling her fingers around my bicep, she licked her lips. “You wanna meet me in the back? Tell me more about these virtues?”

“Nah.” I lifted my hand, softening the rejection with a half-cocked smile. “I’m all set.”

“Listen,” she whispered, leaning in. “You look like a nice guy.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“I could use some extra cash tonight.” Her body moved in tight to mine, fingers massaging my arm as she spoke. “My mom’s sick and can’t work. I take care of her. S’all on me, ya know?”

Don’t do it. Somewhere in my subconscious I heard Alec’s voice. A warning.

It wasn’t that I had anything against strippers—hell I married one, and the ones looking for cash, most times, weren’t looking for relationships. The few times I’d been with a woman for casual sex in the last three years didn’t end well, though.

I’ll be fine, I mentally battled back.

Of course, Alec’d been there the times I was drugged out, trying to piece together fragments of memory from the night before. Two weeks earlier, I’d brought two girls back to the mansion. What started out as a peep show, watching the two of them eat each other out, had ended with both girls huddled naked at the end of my bed, handcuffed to the post, shivering and scared shitless. I’d no idea what’d happened. Had blacked out halfway through their play.

“How much?”

Her brow lifted. “For you? Twenty bucks.”

“And if we fuck?”

Her face lit with a smile. “Momma gets another week of medicine.” She jumped up out of her seat, tugging my arm. “C’mon, babe. I can get you off quick.”

The bit about her mom was a lie. Most of them conjured manipulative stories like that—ones that shadowed the fact that they probably had a drug addiction. Sex with the woman would be emotionless, though, guiltless. Nothing more than a transaction. Getting needs met. Having a woman strapped to the bed back home could very well incite some urges that I’d rather gouge my fucking eyeballs than act on. Might’ve been a good idea to fuck them right out of my system.

She led me to the back, where shelves stood stacked with boxes, cleaning supplies sat on the floor off to the side, and the lone dim light was about one flicker from shorting out. A storage room, from the looks of it.