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The better the bartender was in a club, the more they made in alcohol sales. The more alcohol they sold, the more generous the clientele was with tipping. The Peach Pit would soon be a sinking ship since Taint kept poking holes in the hull.
“The fat fuck that only works weekends. That one. Fire him, too.”
Mel gritted her teeth. Goddamn it. Willy was a part-time bouncer willing to work weekends. And it was difficult to find good help on the weekends.
The Demons’ hostile takeover was destroying this club along with the vision Laura had for it. Mel really needed to make finding another job her priority. But, damn it, she hated to abandon the girls, even if temporarily. She was their advocate and fought for them when it came to Saint’s ridiculous ideas. To him, the girls were not human, only assets to make money.
She shook her head. “We need them, Saint.” Desperately.
“Gonna bring in more prospects to replace ‘em.”
More Demons? Shit. “When?” She figured it would happen eventually, but she was hoping it wouldn’t be so soon.
Her heart dropped when he answered, “This weekend. Gonna replace anyone who ain’t a dancer. These prospects’ll be my eyes and ears when I ain’t here. And it’s gonna save us a shitload of scratch.”
Great. More reasons to abandon ship and find a new one. Or build one of her own. Not that she needed any more reasons. Simply the man standing before her wearing a worn black leather “cut” with filthy patches was more than enough.
“You’re not paying them?” She wondered if that was legal or if the PA Department of Labor and Industry would have something to say about that.
“Fuck no. We own those prospects’ ass. They gotta do what we say or they don’t get patched in. So, do whatcha gotta do to train ‘em right. They give you any shit, you come to me and I’ll straighten ‘em the fuck out. Hear me?”
No he wouldn’t. He didn’t care enough to straighten out any of his prospects.
She pulled a long breath in through her nose and when she released it, she also released a, “Yes.”
Mel’s lungs seized and she couldn’t breathe when Taint leaned down and practically went nose to nose with her. She leaned back trying to avoid him touching her again, or inhaling his rank beer and pot breath, but he dragged his thumb over her bottom lip and whispered, “Good thing you’re fuckin’ hot and know what the fuck you’re doin’, otherwise, your ass would be replaced, too.”
Mel’s stomach churned. Taint’s touch gave her the willies, unlike the warm fuzzies like Danny’s did.
Danny with no last name.
Shit.
If she was going to accept his dinner invite, it would’ve been smart to ask that important information, then maybe she could have cyber-stalked him to see if she could dig up some info on him first.
She knew nothing about him except that he danced part-time with the Peckers.
Maybe she’d check in with Nick, the owner/manager of the all-male revue, to confirm their show on Monday night. Then she could find an excuse to ask for Danny’s last name.
Yes, that was what she’d do.
In fact, that in itself was a good excuse to get the hell away from Taint. And while in the dressing room, warn the girls that the asshole was in the house.
Chapter Eight
“I just wanted to have this quick meeting to catch everyone up to speed. Anyone who can’t be here physically because they’re either doing surveillance, undercover work or taking some much needed down time has called in and is on mute unless they have something to contribute.”
Finn was having a hard time concentrating on Crew standing at the head of the table on the third floor of The Plant, the Tri-State Drug Task Force’s headquarters and the Blue Avengers MC clubhouse. Instead of seeing the task force leader, he could only envision a certain blonde. One who looked nothing like Crew.
Thank fuck.
While he’d reluctantly admit Crew was kind of handsome, Finn didn’t swing that way. Hell no. His preference leaned toward a bluish-green-eyed blonde who looked smoking hot in that black one-piece sexy-as-fuck jumpsuit she wore at the club on Tuesday. He doubted Crew could pull that off as well as MJ.
He’d wanted to take the strip club manager to dinner last night, but she texted him only a few minutes past seven to cancel since she was stuck staying late.
While he expected it, it still pissed him off.
Not the her being unable to go to dinner part—he was determined that would still happen—but the fact that the Demons were taking advantage of her. They’d better be paying her fairly for all of the overtime she was forced to work.
If they weren’t…
Shit. There was nothing he could do about that. Except help take down that outlaw club.
