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Dropping my phone onto the couch next to me, I settle in, not wanting to get up to go get in bed.
Things are about to change, I can feel it. I have to wade through the waves while I do my job and hope like hell no one figures out who I am. They do, and as Reap said, I’m fucked.
CHAPTER3
BRASS
“Fuckin’ bullshit,” I mutter to myself, leaning back in the chair. In the past weeks since taking over and renaming the strip club Devil’s Nirvana, it’s been nothing but one headache after another.
Starting with the books.
The fucker who we bought the place from was teetering on bankruptcy. No wonder he was willing to sell without much hassle. I’ve spent nearly every waking moment in this office working on the books and getting everything to a manageable capacity.
Devil’s Riot MC might own Devil’s Nirvana, but Striker and I are the ones in charge here. And I’m not taking that shit lightly. I handle the office shit, and Striker handles the staff.
According to Striker, the owner was taking tips from some of the strippers. He found this out when one of the girls asked him if she would still have to give him a portion of the money she made. We also found out that one of the bartenders was dipping into the inventory like it was his own shit to use. There were a few other small things, but we handled them all within the first week.
Throughout the second week, I’ve been all but stuck in this office and not worried about the outside world. Shit, I haven’t even seen any of the girls dancing on stage since before we bought the place because I’ve been consumed with getting everything in order. During the first week, while helping Striker with some problems, it was mostly taking inventory and seeing what we needed to order. We also had to do some work around the club, cleaning it up. In that time, we closed the doors for three days to make that happen so no staff was on sight.
Regardless, I still find myself visualizing the one dancer who drew my attention. Something about her was familiar, and I just couldn’t put my finger on it.
Deciding to take a break, I shove away from the desk and make my way out of the office. The pulsing music beats throughout the strip club and vibrates in my head. In the office I can barely hear it since the room is all but soundproof.
At the mouth of the hallway, I stop and scan the crowd, spotting Striker sitting with a few of our brothers, taking in the show. Some of the ol’ ladies are even with their men, laughing and joking with each other.
With a sigh, I head for their table, catching one of the waitresses and telling her to bring me a beer. I catch Striker’s gaze as I grab a chair and join the group.
“You’ve finally decided to leave the office and join the rest of us.” He smirks.
“Yeah, I needed a break.” I grunt and take the beer that appears in front of me. I glance over my shoulder at the waitress and give her my thanks.
“I don’t blame you. Fuck, you’ve been stuck in there all damn week.” Striker cocks a brow. “I’d say my job was easier, but then again, I haven’t had to do much yet. These girls know their jobs and are damn good at it.”
“You’ve met all of them?” I don’t know why I ask.
“Yeah.” Striker nods, looks around the table, then nods to the main stage. “They already had a schedule set, so I stuck with it, but it’s gonna change next week. I wasn’t about to screw with what was already in place for them. Some have kids and have to make arrangements.”
“That’s nice of you,” Izzy, our Prez’s ol’ lady, remarks, butting into the conversation. “Maybe once Brass finishes getting the books in order, you all can talk about insurance of some kind for the dancers.”
“Izzy,” Twister says, shaking his head.
“What? It was just a suggestion.” She shrugs.
“It’s not a bad idea,” Striker admits, nodding. “Take care of the girls and they won’t quit on us.”
I nod, rolling the idea around in my head. It would be profitable as long as we knew the girls were going to stick around for longer than a month or two. No reason to insure a dancer if she isn’t staying any longer than that. “Maybe we can offer it to them after working the first three months. Least then we should know if they’re stickin’ or splittin’.”
“That’s a good thought.” Twister grunts just as the music switches, catching everyone’s attention as the lights dim even further. “What’s going on?”
“Best dancer we’ve got. She’s doing something new tonight. I approved it after seeing her do the routine during their rehearsal earlier today,” Striker answers, nodding to the stage as a woman’s voice fills the speakers.
I watch as the red-haired dancer steps out to the guitar strumming and grips the pole. She does this move, keeping her face from the audience, and tilts, arching her back while hooking her leg around the pole. She keeps it slow until the words ‘I see fire’ are sung, then she jumps onto the pole, spins, and slides to the floor, landing in a split. The way she brings herself back up has every guy in the room wanting to adjust himself.
The woman is something, that’s for sure. Watching her move on the stage, she climbs the pole, and when she gets to the top, she jumps, shocking everyone, and grabs hold of two drapes that fall from the beams behind the pole.
“The fuck she doing?” I growl, not taking my eyes off her movements.
“Told you, she’s the best we’ve got. She said it’s aerial dancing,” Striker explains.
