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“I swear I didn’t.” He holds up his hands. “Hey, it’s just a misunderstanding.”
They all say that.
Right before they—yep, he pulls his gun on me.
“Fuck,” I growl. Why do they always think they’re the one who is going to take down the giant? Now I’m going to have to hurt him too.
Before he can get a shot off, I have his gun in my hand and him on his knees in front of me, shaking like a leaf. I shoot a knee into a mouth full of capped teeth, breaking thousands of dollars’ worth of porcelain veneers.
“That’s for putting your hands on Lacey.” I send another knee into his face, flattening his nose. “And that’s for trying to extort money from the MC.”
I hoist him to his feet, but I have to slap him across the cheek to stop his blubbering.
“Stop crying like a baby,” I growl.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Don’t hurt me.”
Blood drips from both nostrils and his lips. His nose is flat against his cheek, and his front teeth are nothing but jagged little lumps of enamel.
“You brought this on yourself the moment you stepped into our territory. Now get the fuck out of Flintlock and don’t look back. Consider this your first warning.” I loosen my hold on him, and he relaxes. But then I lunge at him, and he falls back into a pile of archive boxes. “If you’re smart, you won’t make me give you a second warning. Now… get the fuck out.”
Luka and his goons limp out of the club and escape to their car parked in the alley. Lacey joins me from the back room, and we watch them on the surveillance screen as they skid off into the night.
“Do you think that’s the last we’ll see of them?” she asks.
“Probably not. But we’ll increase security around the club, and if they come back, Jack will pay him a visit.”
“I appreciate it.” She pats my shoulder. “Come on, let me buy you a drink.”
We leave her office, and I follow her into the club.
As strip clubs go, the Spicy Crawdad is clean and tidy with a bit of style. Blue neon lights run the length of the ceiling casting the club in an ethereal light.
Lacey pours me a bourbon, but just as she slides it across the bar, the sound of Def Leppard suddenly bursts into the club, and the energy in the room intensifies as a new dancer appears on stage.
My drink pauses at my lips when I see who it is.
The gorgeous blonde from the night before.
And she looks incredible.
Leaning against the bar, I ask, “Who’s the new girl?”
“That’s Rory. Nice kid. Great body. The regulars love her.”
“She been here long?”
“She started a few weeks ago. Can’t pour a drink to save herself, but I can’t fault her dancing.”
Neither can I.
She’s goddamn mesmerizing on stage.
Legs for days. A body that doesn’t quit. A deep golden tan that’s a stark contrast to the white bikini she’s barely wearing. She moves in perfect synchronicity to the music, the sway of her hips and flick of her long, blonde hair intoxicating to watch.
“Where did she come from?” I ask, spellbound.
Lacey lights a cigarette. “Not sure. She just turned up one day wanting a job. Said she was new in town. It’s a shame she’s thinking of leaving.”
