Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 33246 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 166(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33246 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 166(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
“Sorry about that,” I tell Chase, taking another gulp of coffee.
“Ehh, no need to apologize. How many times have I had to step outside to take a call or answer a message? We’ve all got shit on our plates,” he says as the back door opens.
“Fuckin’ finally,” I state, watching as DeMarco and his second-in-command, Lynch, come into view.
“Thinkin’ we’re about to split up. Which one you want?” Chase asks.
“I’ll take DeMarco.”
“I knew you’d say that. Keep your head on a swivel. I’ll call you once I have something. If not, I’ll text later on to check in.” I watch as the two separate, each going to their separate vehicles. Chase will have to scramble to get in his car and on Lynch’s tail.
“Same to you. Coast is clear,” I tell him when I see the pair break apart and head in opposite directions. He quietly exits the vehicle and heads to his car behind me, and I wait until he’s ready and our suspects are traveling in two different directions.
Lynch goes one way and DeMarco goes the other. I wait another moment before starting my car to follow him. “Damn, doesn’t look like he’s heading home tonight. Looks like it’ll be a long one. Maybe I should have given Chase this guy,” I grunt into the too quiet car. My finger taps the audio button on the touch screen, and Seven Mary Three’s Water’s Edge is playing at a decibel so damn loud I’m rushing to turn the volume down. Any other time, I’d keep it blaring, but when you’re trying to keep a low profile, Jason Ross isn’t helping the cause.
I follow DeMarco at a safe distance, staying a few cars back, and with the way this city is laid out, it doesn’t take much to blend in. Fuck, if this were Whispering Oaks or Oak View, I’d be screwed. It seems anytime the sun sets, everyone goes home. The same can’t be said for Springdale. The population here is three times that of Oak View and six times that of Whispering Oaks. This city also doesn’t sleep, which means I’ll be getting little to no sleep, stop at my parents’ place in the morning, and then get back to fucking work.
DeMarco turns into a seedy joint fifteen minutes after our drive began. I hang back, foot on the brake and idling on the corner. Just as I’m about to settle in, my phone rings.
“This is Hawthorne,” I answer the call on the second ring when I see it’s my captain.
“Need you to come in. We’ve got everything we need. Tomorrow night is go-time. Already called Chase. He’s en route.” Captain Barrett is succinct and to the point.
“Alright.” I no sooner say the word than he’s hanging up the phone. I guess I’m heading back to the station instead of following DeMarco. Jesus, tonight really is going to be a long one.
3
KENNEDY
Ishuffle my feet toward the front door, coffee cup in hand, hair up in a claw clip, cooling eye patches beneath my eyes. Thank you, Mom, for the amazing stocking stuffer. And I’m in some comfy lounge wear that is also courtesy of my mom and her spectacular gift giving. I worked later last night than I was technically supposed to, but the head honcho showed up and everyone had to be on their toes. Perfection is absolutely the name of the game when it comes to working at a strip club. You have to look the part and act the part. The hardest deal with this job is I’m not perfect. Nobody is, yet trying to so much as breathe a word will land you out on your ass.
Believe me, it almost happened last night. A private party came in, requesting me to dance for them in the backroom. I refused. I told them at the time of hire that I’m only on the stage in the main room, nothing else. Well, the manager decided to push me for more last night since the boss man was there. I did not budge, more than ready to walk out and not look back. Sure, my savings account wouldn’t be what I want, but I’d make it work. I always do, even if that meant getting a second job on the weekends to cover a car payment. Which would defeat the purpose of stripping. The goal is to not have an extra bill every month.
One stare-off later, me standing my ground in my stage outfit, no less, which consists of the tiniest G-string and tassel pasties over my nipples. I wasn’t backing down, and Mitch must have gotten the memo. We were already down two dancers the night before. He couldn’t afford to lose me, too. Starr came to the rescue, realizing that I’d walk, which would mean more work for everyone else. She offered to take the bachelor party, and I went to the dressing room, got ready for my next set, and changed into another outfit. Once the club started dying down, things did not go like they usually do. The lights didn’t light up the otherwise dark and smokey lounge, and shit only got worse. Mitch announced there’d be an after party for which every last one of us was required to stay, stripping, serving, and cleaning once the boss and his friends finally left.