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"Kelly Lorre?" she asks, concern tugging on her brow.
"Yeah, we went to school together." I shrug, swigging from the bottle. The cold liquid sloshes in my stomach.
"She hasn’t been in all week."
"Oh, is she sick?" I place a hand on my chest.
"I couldn't tell you. The boss doesn't tell us anything. Enjoy the drink." She spins around and walks off taking some of the drinks with her.
A guy lurking around me throws his hands up. “My beer?”
There's a group of them for a bachelor’s party. Stepping into my personal space, he drags his lustful gaze over me. "What's the cost for a dance?"
"Your life if you don't get out of my face." I shove his shoulders, and he stumbles back, knocking into one of the girls entertaining another table. An older guy topples from his chair, and a chorus of yelling back and forth ensues.
Two bouncers appear, and I grin, hoping I'm about to watch the little pervert get thrown out—preferably with a fight. The two men stop before me, blocking my view with their mammoth frames. "Gentlemen, you make better doors than windows."
"Boss wants to see you," one of them states.
"Do my tits look like they're out?" I snap, attempting to get around them. They're pros and prevent me from leaving. "I don't work here, assholes."
"We don't care where you work. You're coming with us."
"And if I don't?"
"Don't make a scene and we won't have to," he grunts, grabbing my arm.
"Manhandling me will get you a scene. A bloody one," I growl. Taking my beer from me, the one yet to speak gestures to my arm with his head, and the brute releases me with a huff. My skin stings, but I won't show him it hurts. Folding my arms, I cock a brow.
"Well, take me to him then."
I glance over my shoulder, trying to spot Zane, as I follow them, not seeing him anywhere. He must still be with that stripper. A small whirling of jealousy pangs my stomach.
Curious eyes watch and murmur as we pass through the club. "Up the stairs."
Hairs rise on the back of my neck, and I sense Zane watching me. My gaze finds his just before I go inside the room. I manage to shake my head no, trying to tell him not to come for me.Let this play out.
The lesser asshole ushers me inside with his meaty palm on my back.
Ronaldo doesn't get up from his desk. In a suit he's squeezed his fat into, he looks like a villain from an old movie, chuffing on a cigar, a glass of amber liquid on his desk. "Hello, sweetheart," he greets me, and my skin crawls. His gaze is outright obscene, like he can see through my clothes and fantasizes about touching the flesh beneath. "You've been asking questions about Kelly?"
Fucking bartender.
"I know her and heard she's a dancer here." I shrug my shoulders.
"Is that so?"
"Is there a problem with that?" I ask, attempting to keep the challenge from my tone.
The leather of his seat creaks as he stands, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to prevent myself from laughing as Penguin comes to mind. I close my eyes to get a handle on myself. He's really fucking short.
"Kelly hasn't shown up for work this week."
Taking a breath, I focus on a spot next to him. "Maybe she's sick."
"The girl stole from me. There’s no doubt she skipped town."
The energy in the room shifts, almost with a crackle. Ronaldo's hands fist, and he leans against the lip of the desk. "I'm going to gut her when I do find her."
