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Beneath me. Sweaty and so fucking wet.
“Papi.”
“Fuck, Mermaid.” My voice carries and she stirs, almost wakes up, but then settles. Nestling deeper into the soft blanket, she grips my empty pillow beside her, and I turn the camera off. If I watch for even another minute, I’d head back.
I would murder every person inside that strip club just so I could end it all sooner.
Instead, I place the device inside my pocket and exit the vehicle. Those with me straighten and remain silent, eyes on the establishment while I tuck my gun in the waistband of my dress pants. They have their instructions and quickly fall into step behind me, Israel to my right.
The closer we get to the entrance, the music becomes louder, and a blaring guitar riff shakes the glass on the large doors. There’s a bouncer there, and understanding dawns on his face when Israel hands him an envelope.
No questions. No pause.
We walk straight through and bypass the hostess waiting to walk us to a table. Or sell services.
VIP, dances, or an extra, if I go by the look sent my way.
Not interested.
The establishment is large with a few stages, but the main one is surrounded by men and three women. They’re watching the show, some cupping themselves while throwing a few dollars on the stage, yet my eyes aren’t on the two dancers kissing for the crowd.
It doesn’t take long at all to find Dalian and company. I make my way over, ignoring everyone but them.
“What the fuck are you looking at?” a female’s voice hisses and when I find their location, the one with Dalian isn’t Karen. Yet she’s hissing as if she’s the wife, her twang unmistakable Miami, and more so when she adds a fucking pata sucia at the end. That’s a 305 insult all day. While many outside the city culture won’t understand, you’re calling her dirty. One of those nasty women that will take off their shoes in a club or street and strut/dance without care where people have tossed garbage, drinks, and who knows what else.
For the women in Miami, that’s a large insult. Cleanliness is drilled into your head since childhood and if you’re willing to do that, how low will you go?
I find it hilarious.
Especially the lost expression on the waitress's face. “I’m sorry. What did you say? I don’t—”
Before the brunette can answer, I slide into their booth while the others take a small table a few steps away. “Ignore her. They don’t go out much.”
“Oh. We get people like that in here occasionally.” The blonde’s smile widens, arching her back a bit after getting a good look at my face. “Is there anything I can do for you, handsome?”
“No. I’m here to pick them up.”
“Limo driver?” She giggles, and the sound grates on my nerves—it’s too nasally—but I keep my smile polite.
“Party bus.” Dalian and the female shift uncomfortably to my left, while the other man remains quiet. “I’m parked outside.”
“Those are fun. You got a business card on—”
“Excuse me, miss.” A man taps her shoulder, and she looks over. “I’m here with a city employees retirement party, table of fifteen, and we need some service. We’ve been sitting for twenty minutes now, and no one has come by. Can you help me find our server or the manager?”
Talk about divine interruption.
He turns and glances at the table, looking apologetic. “Sorry for the interruption.”
“No worries.” I wave them off. “Go ahead, miss. We’re fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“I am.” The two turn and leave while my guards stand. My eyes shift to Dalian first, and then the others. “Get up.”
“Who the fuck are you?” The one I don’t know sneers before raising a beer bottle to his lips, emptying what’s left, and then burps. Disgusting. “You got balls, kid. But I’m not the one you should be fucking with.”
That makes me laugh. Loud. “Know your place, old man. This isn’t your problem, but I can make it so.”
