Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 107557 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107557 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Was she…
Was he…
The tips of his fingers grazed something made of lace. He traced along the edge. What the hell was that? A garter?
“I wear two of those lace garter purses that Mel bought for us. One on each thigh. I use one for my cell, the other for a weapon.”
Once again her husky voice in his ear did not help reduce the size of that roll of quarters.
“Damn. A gun?”
She shook her head slightly. “Too bulky for a slinky dress like this.”
“You mind?” he asked.
“Be my guest.”
After finding the cell phone, he did his best to check her other thigh without making it look like he was groping her when he was basically groping her.
He moved over the other garter purse to find… “A comb?”
“The handle is a knife. It slides out easily.”
“You could’ve just told me that from the get-go, Phire. Instead of making me feel guilty for feeling you up. Unless,” he cocked an eyebrow, “you enjoyed that?”
She shrugged one shoulder and smiled. “It’s been a while since I’ve had anyone touch me who doesn’t make me want to vomit.”
He chuckled. “I’ll take that as a compliment, then. I should put that on my list of ‘pros’ when it comes to accepting a date with me on my Tinder profile. Doesn’t make women vomit when he touches them.”
“I can only speak for this woman,” she pointed to herself, “but what’s on your ‘con’ list?”
“Plenty.”
“Want to share?”
“One is: only has an imaginary roll of quarters to impress beautiful women.”
She shook his whole lap when she laughed. “That’s definitely a con, cheapo.”
“Hey, I’m a simple blue-collar worker with a blue-collar job.” He always avoided saying exactly what he did while in the club, he never knew who was lurking. “I’m certainly not flush. Even with this thin crowd, you probably make more in tips than I do in salary.”
She squeezed his cheeks. “Poor baby. I guess you’re looking for a sugar momma, then.”
“I’ll take the sugar without the momma part, please and thank you.”
“Are you done exploring?”
“Fuck,” he muttered, releasing the grip on her thigh. He pulled his hand out from under her dress. “I got distracted.” No lie detected. The woman was certainly distracting.
“Mmm hmm.”
“Anyway, while I’m glad you’re taking steps to protect yourself, you can’t wear that shit on stage.”
She sighed softly, pulling his attention to her full lips. “I know. Again, it’s sweet that you’re looking out for me, but you don’t have to do that. And I know that’s not why you’ve been coming in so often.”
“You’re always a bonus, Phire. Speaking of Bonehead, have you’ve seen him?”
“No.”
“Heard anything?”
“Unfortunately, no. But I’ve been keeping my eyes and ears open like you and Finn asked.”
He couldn’t tell her about the cameras the task force had installed in and around the club. Even though Mel knew about them, she’d been told not to share that info with anyone. Including her best friend. All they could do was ask Sapphire to keep an eye out for T-Bone, the Deadly Demons prospect who had a dangerous and deadly hold on Sloane’s younger sister.
The prospect had been keeping Sadie high on meth so he could pimp her out to put scratch in his own pocket. Why anyone would pay to have sex with a woman so messed up and strung out, he had no fucking idea.
The obvious reason was some people had no moral bottom.
Once Decker found the woman passed out at the Demons’ church in Uniontown, he rushed her to the hospital in hopes that once she was conscious, they could get her into another rehab facility. Unfortunately, T-Bone came and stole her away before that could happen.
Now they had no fucking clue where either T-Bone or Sadie were. They had both disappeared, most likely waiting for the heat to dissipate. But with what T-Bone did, he would always need to watch his back with both the Tri-State Federal Drug Task Force and the Blue Avengers.
Worse, if Sadie kept going on the way she was, she wouldn’t be alive much longer. They were all trying to prevent that tragic end. For Sloane and Decker’s sake.
The nights Rez had been coming to The Peach Pit wasn’t because of task force business. He’d been doing it on his own time to help out his BAMC brother.
Plus, as long as Sapphire was working, it never was a damn hardship.
“He making you dance tonight?”
Sometimes the Demon in charge of the strip club forced Sapphire back on stage whenever he was short a dancer for the night. But mostly—even though he stripped her of her hostess duties and replaced that position with a prospect—Saint still wanted her to work the men in the audience to sell private dances for the rest of the girls, as well as for herself.
The asshole thought the VIP rooms were where the money was to be made. But then, the stupid fuck also had the business sense of a flea. Mel told him that it wasn’t private dances that brought in the most money, it was the bar. And because they didn’t have trained bartenders, the only decent thing to drink in the club now was bottled beer.