Chapter One
Rez slouched in a curved, vinyl bucket chair facing the stage. With a half-full glass of beer in one hand and some dollar bills in the other, his eyes followed the woman dancing on stage.
Ever since Mel received her pink slip as the strip club’s manager by getting pulled by her hair out of the building and across the parking lot, The Peach Pit had become just that… A fucking pit.
Once Mel was forcibly removed, most of her best strippers left and found employment elsewhere. Because of that, the Deadly Demons, the MC who currently owned the club, were backfilling their stable with women having no business stripping.
And that was the reason he was one of very few men sitting in the club on what should be a busy Friday night. Instead, it was dead.
Most of the dancers tonight were so damn unenthusiastic, they looked bored. Or tired. Or maybe even high. None bothered to make much of an effort at all.
The club looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in who the fuck knew when. The whole reason he wiped the chair off with a napkin before sitting his ass down.
Whoever was in the DJ booth tonight was definitely not a professional, either. For the most part, they might as well be playing sad trombones through the speakers to go with the wilting women “dancing” on stage.
He really doubted the business was making any decent dough at this point. But he also doubted the Demons gave too much of a shit about that. They wanted to use the club as a point of sale operation for their meth business, instead.
Along with meth, they slung pot, too. However, weed was child’s play. It wasn’t their main moneymaker, but more than likely a way to make The Peach Pit a “one-stop shop” for anyone wanting to get high.
Every employee, other than some of the strippers, now consisted of Demon members, either patched or prospect. And he swore some of the “new” strippers did double-duty as Demons’ sweet butts. Saint had to scramble to get bodies to fill in the gaps after the mass exodus.
Nails trailed along his back from one shoulder to the other, before a sultry voice said, “Hey, handsome,” in his ear.
That was enough to send a shock of lightning down into his dick.
He pursed his lips for a second before letting them curl into a grin.
Sapphire, the club’s former hostess, nimbly moved around to the front of his chair and settled herself at an angle in his lap. After slipping an arm around her back, he planted a hand on her curvy hip to secure her there.
“You need another beer?” she asked.
“Not yet.”
She put her lips to his ear again to share, “I need to act like I’m trying to sell you a private dance. Otherwise, Taint will be on my ass for talking to you.”
“That roll of quarters in my front pocket… Is it enough for a half hour in the VIP room?”
With a laugh, she straightened and traced the shell of his ear with a long fingernail. It was painted black with some sort of fancy design to match that sexy-as-fuck, slinky, curve-hugging dress she wore tonight. The one with a plunging neckline, proving she was a pro with double-sided tape to keep her large rack in place.
“That’s a roll of quarters? I figured you were simply happy to see me.”
If she kept wiggling her ass against him, she was going to find out how quickly that “roll of quarters” would crack open.
He chuckled. “Always happy to see you, Phire. The quarters should be proof enough.” He kept the smile plastered on his face when he asked in a whisper, “Saint here?”
“In the back. Most likely harassing the girls.”
“I’m not sure you can call most of the new dancers girls. He had to go to the freaking stripper retirement home to fill the ranks. Some of them dance like they’re afraid of breaking a damn hip.”
“Some of them don’t even try. They hold onto the pole and shuffle around it. Then they pause and work on taking off a piece of clothing. Walk around again, take off the next item. Rinse and repeat until they’re down to their thong.”
“No shit. I’ve been sitting in these fucking seats for too many nights. If I wasn’t here for a reason, I wouldn’t keep subjecting myself to this torture,” he admitted.
“Well, damn, I thought you came to see me,” she teased, “hence the roll of quarters.”
“You just said you won’t accept them as payment for a private dance.”
She winked at him. “Maybe because those quarters don’t exist? And even if they did, it wouldn’t be enough.”
“Then it sucks that I’m so damn cheap.”
She played with the ends of his hair that fell against the back of his neck. “I agree.”
“If you don’t stop toying with me, that roll of quarters will explode.”
When she licked her dark red lips, that did not help with his conundrum.
“I can’t believe you stayed on board the sinking ship,” he murmured, ignoring the dancer on stage and giving the beautiful woman in his lap his full attention.
“I don’t have a choice right now. Believe me, there’s nothing I want more than to get out from under Taint’s thumb. The problem is, until I can find a decent club or Mel opens her own, then I need to stay.”
“The other girls found a place to land.”
“Not all of them. And the rest haven’t found a good club. Right now, they’re dancing in dumps like this. Again, all hoping Mel can swing opening her own club soon. There’s no point in me going to another dump since, at least here, I have an established clientele. Anywhere else I’d have to start from scratch.”
It would not take long for this woman to rebuild her fanbase. She was a New York strip steak versus ground beef.
“Sweetheart, look around, most of your loyal clientele left. This place is deserted.”
Sapphire sighed and leaned into him.
He squeezed her hip. “Sorry, don’t mean to make you feel like shit. I just worry about you being here, that’s all.”
She cupped his face. “That’s really sweet, Rez. But you don’t need to worry about me. I can take care of myself.”
“As could your best girl but look what that fucknut did to her.”
“I’m taking some precautions.”
He tilted his head. “Like?”
She plucked the glass from his fingers and placed it in the built-in cupholder on the chair, then took his hand in hers.
“What are you doing?”
She pressed a manicured finger against his lips and whispered, “Shh. Just go with it.”
The woman certainly knew how to get his blood flowing, that was for damn sure.
Despite that, the fuck if he was stopping her from jamming his hand up her dress. Something he had fantasies about. But she didn’t only slide it under the hem, she guided it up to her knee, before shoving it higher up her warm, soft and very smooth thigh.
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.
Those idiot prospects couldn’t fuck that up.
His brain got whiplash the second it hit him that he hadn’t actually seen Sapphire strip yet. Every night he sat in these seats when she was working, she only made her rounds and headed into one of the two VIP rooms in the back, once she found someone with enough scratch to pay her fee and tip.
Those particular customers were getting to be few and far between.
Mel had been the catalyst keeping the club a success, despite the Demons ripping the club away from its original owner. Now Saint the Taint didn’t even have a good manager. He had slipped into that position and kept his ol’ lady, Cookie, as his assistant manager. Another joke.
Since all the girls were so damn loyal to Mel and hated the direction the club was taking, most had left. One exception was the hot-as-fuck woman warming his roll of quarters.
He still didn’t understand why she stayed, despite her excuses. Of course, that had him thinking like the cop he was. “Is Saint pushing you to do more than dance back there?”
“Always.”
Jesus Christ. “And do you?”
“Again, while I appreciate your concern, what I do in the VIP rooms isn’t your business.”
“Phire,” escaped him in a growl, surprising him. Why the hell did it annoy the fuck out of him what she did with her customers?
When she started to rise, he grabbed her arm and pulled her back down into his lap.
“Rez…”
“Don’t let him force you to do shit you don’t want to do. Especially shit that’s illegal.”
Engaging in sexual activity for money was still a crime in the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, whether behind closed doors or not. Whether both were consenting adults are not. Sexual acts could not be done in exchange for money or anything of value.
Just like it was illegal for T-Bone to pay Sadie in meth so he could sell her body to someone else.
He ground his teeth at the thought of him taking advantage of Sloane’s sister.
Some might argue she did it willingly. But in reality, she only did it to feed her habit, making her a slave to her addiction.
If she wasn’t looking for her next high without having to pay for it, she most likely never would be doing what she was doing and with whom she was doing it with.
Sapphire’s next words pulled him out of his head and back to the discussion at hand. “Look, I don’t do anything I don’t want to do. I also don’t do anything illegal. But more importantly, I don’t owe you any explanations or excuses.”
For fuck’s sake, she was right, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. “You’re right in that you don’t owe me shit, but let me make something clear… You’re Mel’s best friend and one thing you should know—if you haven’t figured it out already—is that we’re one big fucking family. We look out for each other.”
“So, now I’m family by association?”
Why did she sound so damn cynical? “You have Mel’s back. She has yours. So, yeah, whether you like it or not, we all come along with Mel.”
Sapphire’s bright blue eyes softened a touch. “Lucky her.”
“Again, you benefit from that, too.”
She shrugged. “Depends on how I see it. I certainly don’t need men in my life, whether I’m sleeping with them or not, to make decisions for me.”
A muscle popped in his jaw from clenching his teeth. “Why are you being difficult?”
“And why are you stepping where you shouldn’t?” she shot back. “I’ll say this one last time… I appreciate your concern, Rez, it’s sweet and all, but I can take care of myself. I’ve been doing it for a long damn time and I’m sure I’ll continue doing it a lot longer.”
His concern was hardly sweet. “You don’t need to do it alone.”
“And what are you going to do, step in and get me fired?” she hissed.
Before he could respond, Sapphire was yanked right out of his lap and onto her feet. For fuck’s sake, she had distracted him so much, he missed that asshole biker approaching.
“If he ain’t gonna pay, then stop wastin’ your fuckin’ time. Start workin’ the crowd.”
“What crowd?” Rez glanced around to make a point.
Standing just slightly behind Saint, Sapphire bugged her eyes out at him, pretty much telling Rez without words, “Now you’ve gone and done it.”
Saint jabbed a finger at him. “Unless you’re gonna buy a fuckin’ lap dance, don’t hog the goddamn girls.”
“Ain’t buying one tonight. My ass is broke. Thanks for the company, Sapphire,” he called out as she put distance between Saint and her.
She shook her head, and even though she gave him a wink over her bare shoulder, she most likely was happy to get away from Rez, too. He’d been acting like a controlling dick with someone he had no right to be.
He watched her hips swing seductively as she headed over to a booth where two older men sat. They eye-fucked her the whole trip over to their table.
Of course, that was to be expected. The Peach Pit was a strip club. While it wasn’t supposed to be selling physical sex, it was selling fantasy. And Sapphire certainly invoked plenty of fantasies. He could say that from experience.
While the dancers wanted their customers to believe they actually had a shot with them, the truth was, the majority didn’t and never would. The more skilled they were at acting interested, the more money they made in tips.
Sapphire was one of the best at it. But then, she’d been working in clubs just like the one he was sitting in for the majority of her adult life. The same as Mel.
Rez never knew stripping could actually be a career path until meeting those two women. He never once saw a gentlemen’s club set up a table at Career Day back in high school.
Once the dark-haired beauty slipped into the booth with the two men, he reluctantly swung his attention back to the biker standing in front of him, blocking the view of the stage.
“Make a better door than window, Saint.”
The man said nothing.
“How about I buy a lap dance from her after payday, yeah? I’ll make up for the time she wasted with me, a customer,” he emphasized.
Saint snorted. “You’ve been spendin’ a fuckton of time here lately without spendin’ a lotta scratch. You buy a beer, you toss a few ones on stage, and that’s fuckin’ it.”
Damn, he had landed on the biker’s radar. That wasn’t good.
“Then you also know I fork out the scratch for the cover charge, too. Your leather-vested goon at the door ain’t letting anyone in without greasing his palm first.”
“Price to pay to watch the best entertainment in the area.”
Rez bit back his laugh. Mostly because Saint was being serious and Rez didn’t want his ass kicked out. Saint could easily ban him from the club.
And Rez had two good reasons he didn’t want to be banned.
But truthfully, The Peach Pit’s current stable of “entertainers” wasn’t even worth the five bucks he had to pay to get in the door. They used to charge ten when Mel was manager, however, they were forced to drop the price when the quality and quantity of the girls dropped.
If the club and the entertainment kept swirling the drain, they might soon have to get rid of the cover charge all together to get anyone to fill the seats.
“If you ain’t drinkin’, ain’t buyin’ time with one of my ladies or ain’t generously tippin’, then get out. Come back when you got more scratch.”
The Demon spun on his boot heel and was about to leave when Rez announced, “That’s not why I stopped in tonight.”
Saint stopped dead in his tracks and turned back to face Rez. “Yeah? What’s the fuckin’ reason you’re takin’ up space here, then?”
“Heard you ain’t selling only beer and lap dances.”
He should’ve cleared this move with Crew first, but fuck it… He had to jump on a good opportunity when it presented itself.
The man went completely still and, if Rez had to admit it, his expression turned a bit scary.
Saint sucked on his teeth so hard Rez thought he might swallow the few that still graced his mouth. “Yeah? Who’s sayin’ that? That cunt?” His narrowed eyes sliced over to Sapphire, hung there for a few seconds, before slicing back to him. “That bitch runnin’ her fuckin’ mouth?”
For fuck’s sake. “Cool your fucking jets. She didn’t say shit. She’s only trying to keep the few customers you have left by being nice to them.”
“She ain’t paid to be nice. She’s paid to get you fuckin’ horny so you spend some green. That’s it.”
“Well, she’s an expert at making me horny, so there’s that.” None of that was a lie. He’d thought about Sapphire plenty of nights—and mornings—when he was taking care of important business.
“Think you need to fuckin’ leave,” Saint grumbled.
“Like I said, didn’t come here for Sapphire. Came here hoping to get a taste of what you’re selling.”
“Don’t know what the fuck you’re talkin’ about.”
“Yeah? Damn shame, then. A buddy of mine said this is the best place to find party supplies.”
Saint stared at him and said nothing for the longest fucking time, thinking he could make Rez squirm.
That wasn’t happening. Saint was a puffed-up piece of shit who was much more of a badass in his mind than in reality. He had no problem beating up someone smaller—like Mel—but if he went toe to toe with someone his size or larger, he’d end up folding like a lawn chair.
Finn had proved that. Not that Rez knew anything about that…
Saint tipped his head back and looked down his nose at Rez. “You a pig?”
Rez’s eyebrows rose. “I look like a pig?”
“You look like somethin’.”
“That an insult?”
“It ain’t if you love pigs.”
“Hate pigs. Of both the pink and blue varieties.”
Saint considered him for a few more uncomfortable moments. But during that time, Rez kept his expression blank and he stayed as relaxed as possible in his chair.
“You smell like a pig.”
Rez showed him both hands. “Do you know any pigs who have tats all over the backs of their hands? I sure fucking don’t. Pig departments like those clean-cut white boys. I’m far from their preference.”
Again, Saint stared at him for far too long. He must have a mistaken idea that he was intimidating.
“You lookin’ for smoke?”
Rez shook his head. “Nope. Already got a solid source for quality bud. And I said party, not sleep. Weed makes me want to eat a whole bag of fucking Doritos and then curl up in front of the TV to watch Golden Girls reruns all fucking night.”
Man, Saint was sure fighting back his amusement. He was doing his best to keep a stony face.
“You got a sled?”
This was a test. Not many people knew that MCs used that slang for their bikes.
“Yeah, got one. Parked for the winter, though.”
“So, you’re sayin’ you’re a pussy,” Saint concluded.
“Tend to like my body parts not to turn black and fall off. If that makes me a pussy, then I guess I’ll wear that badge without honor. Plus, I love pussy. I guess you don’t? I didn’t know an MC like yours accepted members of the rainbow mafia. Congrats on breaking that glass ceiling.”
One side of the biker’s mouth pulled up. Not quite a sneer, but also not quite a grin. “My club’s lookin’ for more recruits.”
Holy fuck. He wasn’t expecting their conversation to go in this direction. Especially since he had unmistakable Venezuelan blood running through his veins. He was not white-passing in any sense. The Deadly Demons members were all so damn white, that when they got together, you’d think you got lost in a blinding snowstorm.
Rez would stick out like a fucking beacon among them. And that made him not want to explore that opportunity any further. Hell, Crew would be just as fucking shocked as he was.
“Not sure I’m interested in joining any club, but will think on it. In the meantime, I’m still looking for what you’re selling.”
“Thought you said you don’t got any scratch.”
“I don’t. But would like a taste and if the sample’s up to snuff, will buy more on payday.”
That would also give him time to get Crew to approve him doing buys at The Peach Pit. Documenting buys would also be a good excuse for Rez to stop in at the strip club so he could keep an eye out for that low-life T-Bone. As well as get some of the meth off the street.
He wasn’t sure if he’d even mention the offer about prospecting to Crew. He didn’t know if he wanted to get stuck going undercover. That would severely limit what he could do with his personal life.
Decker had hated every damn second of being undercover as a Demon prospect.
As it was, Saint didn’t have any fucking authority to make that offer. Wolf was the Demon in charge of the Uniontown chapter. He might not be so welcoming to a prospect with very tan skin. Plus, Viper, the Demons prez, would also need to sign off.
“Don’t got nothin’ to sample,” Saint finally said, scratching at his beard. “Come in next time you got scratch and see Mutt at the bar. He’ll have some extra ice for your drink. But ’til you got scratch to spend in my club, you gotta go. You want free fuckin’ entertainment, go watch TV.”
“Getting paid for a job on Monday.”
Saint’s brow pulled low. “What kind of job?”
“I do construction.”
Saint rubbed a hand over his mouth as he considered Rez’s latest lie. “Club’s closed on Mondays.”
“Yeah, I know. Let Mutt know I’ll stop in on Tuesday. How about letting me in for free then, since you’re kicking my ass out tonight and I didn’t get my five bucks worth.”
“Ain’t happenin’. Gotta pay to play.”
Saint might be wrong about a lot of things, but that wasn’t one of them.
