Текст книги "In a Bad Way"
Автор книги: Karin Tabke
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In a Bad Way
Bad Boys of the Bay book four
by Karin Tabke
Copyright Information
In a Bad Way by Karin Tabke
Copyright © 2015 Karin Tabke LLC.
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-9881879-8-6
Editor: Christina Trevaskis
Copy Editor: Martha Trachtenberg
Cover Design: VMC Art & Design
Ebook Production: Austin Brown
V102115AMZ
This book is an original publication of Karin Tabke LLC
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without prior written permission from the copyright owner.
Dedication
First and foremost I must thank Tina not only for her friendship but for her belief in me as a writer. IN A BAD WAY would not be the amazing story it is had she not pushed me to work harder, go deeper, and not get lazy. Xo
Virna, as always, thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule to be the first set of eyes on my ugly pages. Martha, the Mistress of Shred, thank you for always taking my pages and for making them better. Victoria, another beautiful cover! Austin, thank you for taking me on and hanging in there with me. (good job Josie and Martin!)
To my husband, thank you for helping me out with those tough action scenes but more so, thank you for always being ever so tolerant of your krazy wife the romance novelist.
To my readers, thank you for your support and patience while I gave Izzy and Flynn the story they deserved. These two are so very much worth the wait. I love them and know you will too.
~Karin
xo
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Information
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-seven
Chapter Thirty-eight
Chapter Thirty-nine
Chapter Forty
Epilogue
NOVELS BY KARIN TABKE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CONNECT WITH KARIN ONLINE
DISCOVER OTHER TITLES BY KARIN TABKE
Chapter One
“Vilde Style, you get promotion tonight.”
Isadora Marisol Fuentes Chastain (the Chastain was silent), aka “Wild Style” on the nights she cocktailed at the Surf’s Up strip club, looked up at Andre the Giant (Russians were so not original), so named because he was nearly seven feet tall and not loaded with a full deck.
Sitting at her dressing table where she’d been applying a liberal coat of pink sparkly lip gloss over bubble gum-flavored lips, Izzy showed no outward emotion. Inwardly, she cringed, knowing what a promotion meant.
“What kind of promotion?”
Andre held her gaze in the mirror. If he wasn’t such a hard-assed dick and he cleaned up his act a little bit, he might actually be a catch, not that the girls didn’t throw themselves at him already. He was tall, but his features weren’t distorted like some people as large as he was. And for all intents and purposes, he looked out for them. “You have good tits, round ass. You entertain cops in private room tonight. Do good job, I make you Tits of Month.”
Lucky her. Tits of the Month got her twenty percent more of her tips and her name on the Tits of the Month board by the front bar. For that extra twenty percent, she was required to take off her top, and provide lap dances with a smile for private parties. She shivered again and reminded herself why she was there. Big picture, Izzy, big picture.
“Thanks.” The urge to bolt grabbed hold of her. Instead, acting nonchalant, she popped a piece of bubble gum into her mouth and started to chew loudly. “It’s about damn time, Andre. I have bills to pay, you know, and humping for a measly forty percent of my tips doesn’t go far.”
“You make more in tips on floor than all girls do taking top off.”
Okay, that was true. But that didn’t mean it was good money. Robbery was what it was. Most of the girls were worn-out addicts angling for their next fix money or so anti-male it oozed from every pore. Isadora wasn’t a big fan of the opposite sex, but she didn’t play for the same team like so many of the dancers did. Because she wasn’t spoiled or soiled goods, and despite her disdain for men, especially the type that frequented strip joints, Isadora was fresh meat in a rotten container. That was going to change as soon as she got what she came for.
Andre’s dark eyes narrowed and he crossed his big arms over his wide chest. Continuing to hold her gaze in the mirror he said, “You want big money?”
She blew a bubble that popped on her nose, and as she pulled it off, she said, “You know, Andre, for a guy with such a big head, one would think you had a big brain in there. Of course I want big money!”
“You make video, Boris pay big money.”
Oh, no, no, no, no. She hadn’t signed up for porn. That was a line she wasn’t going to cross. “What kind of video?”
“With cop. I give you pill. You put in drink, he gets whoo-whoo. Take him to hotel and make video. He remembers nothing.”
Izzy shrugged and puckered her lips, looking at herself in the mirror as if she was asked to drug a cop and make a sex video every day. That was asking for all kinds of trouble. Not that anyone would recognize her. She went a long way to camouflage the real Isadora Fuentes. By day she was a struggling college student, by night a bikini-clad cocktail server who had just been promoted to stripper at the Surf’s Up club in San Francisco’s notorious Tenderloin district.
“I appreciate the offer, and the Tits of the Month moniker, but I’m going to pass on them both.”
Andre yanked off her blue spike wig and grabbed a fistful of her hair, wrenching her neck so far back she cried out in pain.
“You want job?” he growled.
“Just the cocktailing part,” she gasped, standing as he pulled harder.
Grasping her shoulder with his free hand, Andre shook her head as if he was listening for marbles or something. Izzy swallowed hard, refraining from grabbing his balls and twisting them off. She stood her ground. If there was one thing Andre respected, it was the dollar. She made lots of them at Surf’s Up.
“I can get a job next door at the Red Door and make twice as much as what Boris pays me.” She twisted out of his grip, but he kept a big hand on her head. “And Stan doesn’t manhandle his girls.”
Andre pushed her head away. “I give breaks, extra tips sometimes, now you betray Andre?”
While Izzy felt no loyalty to the giant, he was, for all his gruffness, not a total pig. He didn’t touch any of the girls and he was always near if a customer got out of hand. For what he did, she trusted him to protect her. Oddly, she trusted his word, too.
That was as far as it went. They’d never be friends or hang out. Eyeing him in the mirror, Izzy snatched her wig from the counter where he had flung it and fitted it back on her head, tucking in the stray pieces of her hair.
“You have little girl body with fat tits and plump ass. Fucking bastard cops feel like hero protecting little girls. Make hero tonight, you keep job.” He laughed, showing straight white teeth with identical spaces between them. Like a jack-o’-lantern. “Boris give last girl who make video retirement money.”
From what Izzy had been able to bribe out of the girls here at the club with her hard-earned tip money, that last girl was a dancer by the name of Jasmyn.
“Tell me about her?”
Andre scowled. “She not ask questions like you.”
“Who did she make the video of?”
His eyes narrowed. “You don’t ask questions, I don’t have to shut you up later.”
Message received.
“Go so I can get dressed.”
His black eyes held hers in the mirror for a long minute before they dropped to her breasts covered in a tattered pink silk wrap. “I pinch your tits, I give you ten bucks.”
The first time Andre had asked to touch her for ten bucks, Izzy, shocked and appalled, had crossed her arms over her chest and refused him. Fifty-plus requests later, it hardly fazed her. There was a lot that didn’t faze her these days. In this life, she couldn’t let herself take anything personally. If she did, she’d get eaten alive. So she kept her head down, played off guys like Andre, and tried to stay invisible as she quietly put the pieces of the puzzle together.
Izzy pushed the chair hard against him and stood up. When he whoofed a breath, moving away rubbing his belly, she grinned. “No pinching for any price, now get out before I tell Boris.”
“Fucking Boris don’t care.”
She moved past him to her microscopic string bikini hanging on a hook on the wall near the door. It was hot pink and every time she put it on, Izzy blushed just as pink. She reminded herself why she wore it three nights a week.
Looking up at Andre, who stood staring at her as if she was going to hand her tits over on a platter to him, she said, “Andre, I know Boris only cares about his bottom line. That’s fine. But I want something more important to me than money for the video.”
“What is more important than money?”
“Information. I want to know about Jasmyn. Why she doesn’t work here anymore. Where did she go?”
His eyebrows furrowed. “Why?”
“Personal reasons.”
For a long drawn-out minute, Andre just stared at her, debating on whether the video he wanted her to make was worth the information she asked for.
“Jasmyn run with boyfriend.”
“I happen to know that’s a lie.”
Andre shrugged. “I don’t know where girls go. Only Boris know.”
“She’s alive?”
“Boris is not murderer.”
That remained to be seen. What she had heard about Boris, the club owner, could fill a thimble, but all of it was bad. Russian mafia, bad. “I’ll make the video, but only if you give me your word you’ll arrange for me to meet with Boris, before I hand it over.”
“Show me video first, I give answer then.”
“No, I want your word!”
“I give you nothing until I see quality of video. Make good, I give you money and tell Boris to give information.”
Izzy exhaled. What other choice did she have? Boris was a cold, calculating man who scared her. He wasn’t often in, but when he was, it was like the artic doors had opened. He was always surrounded by goons as big as Andre, but ugly and armed with big guns.
She extended her hand. “Okay, Andre, you have a deal.”
He took it in his big hand and squeezed a little harder than necessary. “Disappoint and we have big problem.”
Swallowing hard, Izzy nodded. “I won’t.”
Chapter Two
“Ryker, you going to loosen up and have a drink or are you going to sit there like the stuffed shirt you are?” Flynn’s friend, Simon, asked.
Flynn looked at Simon, fellow cop and ringleader of this bachelor party, as he was pouring shots all the way around. Then he glanced over at Jack, who, in a little more than a month, was going to trade his single status card in for one with a ball and chain.
Flynn nodded and called to the entire room of cops, “I’m on babysitter duty tonight, boys, but I’m good for one.”
“Tell that to the ladies, Ryker,” Simon said, holding up a shot glass and looking around the large private room they had been shown to and the handful of “servers” looking to “serve.”
Flynn wasn’t happy with the private room for several reasons and even less thrilled with the multitude of bikini-clad women waiting to sink their claws into them. Drunk cops in a strip club could get dicey. He’d much rather be out in the main club area where whatever happened would happen in a more public spot. There were a bunch of younger guys along for the festivities tonight and he supposed privacy was the order of the evening. What happened in the room would stay in the room. Not that Jack would go sniffing after one of the scantily clad strippers. He was completely committed to his fiancée, Stevie. Simon had a baby on the way and was still in the honeymoon phase. The other guys, maybe. Probably. They were at a strip club for a reason.
Flynn would most definitely keep his hands to himself. Strippers were not his sport of choice. He mentally shook his head. In his experience, strippers as a breed lacked self-esteem, culture, and a clean bill of health. He liked his women, tall, sleek, sophisticated, and disease-free.
The sexual encounters facilitated by those worldly goddesses? Neat and à la carte. It was how he rolled. No extras, easily digested, and a fleeting memory.
“I’d like to propose a toast to the last man on earth I ever expected to tie the knot,” Simon said as he raised his shot glass toward their mutual friend. “Jack, you had me scared there for a minute. I thought you were going to let Stevie slip through your fingers.”
Flynn grinned and said, “He fought the law, but the law won.” He slapped Jack on the back. “Stevie is exceptional, and you’re damn lucky I didn’t give you a run for your money.”
Jack elbowed him good-naturedly in the gut. “You might be the prettiest fed in California, but Stevie likes more than a pretty face.”
Flynn laughed and raised his shot glass. “To discerning women and the lucky bastards they prey upon!”
The dozen men threw back a shot in Jack’s honor.
When Simon poured another round of shots, Flynn covered his glass. Simon nodded and continued to pour past him. Flynn didn’t mind the babysitter role. He’d die for every man in the room. He’d worked with all of them in one capacity or another since he graduated Quantico eight years ago. Jack and Flynn came out of Quantico together and had managed to stay together through several reassignments. Once Jack had reconnected with his ladylove, who was an Oakland PD detective, he’d hung up his federal shield for an Oakland PD detective’s star.
Flynn smiled as the boys threw back shots like water. It was good to be him. He loved his job. Had money in the bank, no one interfering with what he wanted to do, and not even a plant to answer to. He was footloose and fancy-free. As much as he admired the women Simon and Jack had chosen to spend the rest of their lives with, Flynn just couldn’t see tying himself down like that. He liked his freedom. No, scratch that, he required it. Needed it to survive. He pulled at his shirt collar as if he was loosening a noose.
“Hey, handsome, care to buy me a drink?”
Flynn looked down at the skinny redhead sporting a badly fitting green bikini. He smiled politely and figured why the hell not? It was a night to celebrate and everyone had to make a living. “Sure,” he said.
She pressed her bosom against his arm and ran her fingers along his thigh. “That’s real sweet of you.” As she smiled up at him, he felt a wave of nausea rush through him. Not for her, but for how she was forced to pander herself for a living. Just as he was about to move away, two more “servers” moved in on him and before he knew it, he was surrounded by women.
He looked over to the boys for some help and all he got for his trouble was barn door sized grins and shaking heads.
“Ryker, what do expect? You’re prettier than the girls!” Jack said, laughing.
“Ladies, ladies!” Flynn said, throwing his hands up and backing out of the throng. “Drinks on me. Whatever you want.”
The bikini squad squealed, squeezed most of his body parts in gratitude, and hurried off to place their orders. His tab was going to be astronomical, but it was worth it. He needed some breathing room if he was going to enjoy himself tonight. He looked around the room feeling like some sport, but he knew he wasn’t going to find his type here. Hookers and strippers had been his father’s choice of companionship, not Flynn’s. Besides, even if he rolled in this direction, these girls had seen better days. They were drug-haggard or man-eaters.
So when he looked up from his club soda to say something to Jack about a case he was collaborating on, his eyes caught sight of a bodacious little number in a spiky blue wig with full pouty lips, a body that was custom made for his dick, and a look that could kill. His jaw dropped as a violent wave of desire swept through him. “Fuck me,” he mouthed.
When her glossy pink lips turned up into an “I’m-so-going-to-work-you-over” smile, he knew life as he’d always known it would cease to exist if he went there. On that note, he mentally drew the line in the sand and dug his heels in. He would resist.
Look at him, Izzy thought. He has to bat them off with a stick. Guys like him were cut from the same cheating cloth as her father, Lord Humps-A-Lot. Too damn good looking, too damn superior, and too damn arrogant. He was just the kind of guy Izzy wanted to sink her claws into and shred.
She had just found her mark.
Putting her best strut on, Izzy moved into the room, her eyes on the prize. The closer she got to him, the more her body warmed. He stood there, blatantly giving her a long leisurely up-and-down. He was a magnificent specimen. At least six four. Thick black hair, cropped short on the sides, a little longer on top. Blue eyes that snapped, crackled, and popped with all kinds of hidden wickedness.
Her breath grew heavier, as if the room was suddenly losing oxygen. Her nipples tightened and she knew, as his eyes dropped to her chest, they were clearly defined against the thin pink material of her bikini. The inexplicable urge to fling it off and shove her breasts in his face overcame her.
If she listened to the warning bells ringing in her ears, she’d turn left or right and pick another mark. She ignored them, too intrigued by the man with the taunting smile to give the warnings bells serious credence. When his blue eyes meandered back to hers, holding her gaze, his full lips slowly rose at the corners and she knew she was going to regret every minute spent in his presence. He was something she had never allowed herself to experience before: a mature, confident, red-blooded male who oozed sex appeal and who, she instinctively realized, knew his way around a woman’s body.
Yeah, she was positive that if she let him, he would make her feel things she’d only dreamed about. And she’d want more.
Danger,danger, her brain screamed. Her heart, the one that yearned for the information she needed, trumped it.
She might get hurt by this man, but it could never hurt as much as finding out you had a sister one minute and losing her the next.
He was a means to an end. Seduce him. Drug him. Video his badness, then hand it over for information.
Chapter Three
“I’m not like the rest of them,” the hot little number in the pink bikini said as she virtually floated toward Flynn. Her voice was soft and breathy, a paradoxical mix of innocence and sexy that went straight to his dick. She didn’t have to tell him what his eyes and instincts plainly knew.
Flynn grinned, resisting the urge to slam her against the wall and drill into her. “No, you’re not,” he answered. “You’re in a league of your own.”
Her vivid sea green eyes flashed. “I don’t fuck my customers.”
The minute she said the word fuck, his dick leapt aggressively against his jeans. Without blinking he asked, “What constitutes a customer?”
“Someone who buys me a drink or pays for a lap dance.”
“Then I won’t buy you a drink or pay for a lap dance.”
Her smile widened, the gesture tugging at his swelling groin. She had straight white teeth and luscious lips. She smelled like bubble gum. Suddenly he was craving bubble gum.
“I’m still not going to fuck you.”
“Why not?”
“Because guys like you think you can fuck any girl.”
Flynn grinned and moved into her, backing her into the corner. He put his arms on either side of her head, liking just about everything about her, including her potty mouth. “I don’t think I can fuck any girl, I know I can.” He dipped his head down and inhaled the sweet warmth of her. “But I only pick girls who want to fuck me.” He laughed softly. “And, tiny dancer, your ‘fuck-me’ pheromones are screaming loud and clear to my ‘I-want-to-fuck-you-back’ receptors.”
He had the pleasure of watching a rosy blush erupt across her plump cleavage.
“Is that any way to talk to a lady?”
“You are not a lady. You’re a wildcat I want to tame.” He lowered his lips to hers. “I want to feel those nails in my back.”
She gasped, making her lips brush against his. The contact was electric. They started as if they’d been shocked. Unmoving, they stared at the other. “You need to back off,” she said breathlessly, trying to duck under his arms. He body-blocked her.
“You came on to me first, tiny dancer. Can’t handle the heat?”
Throwing her head back, she narrowed her eyes. “I’ve handled men like you before.”
Abruptly, Flynn was pulled away by Justin, one of Jack’s old Army buddies who was also an LT at SFPD. Flynn had worked with Justin a few times over the years. Mostly case info sharing. “Dude, you’re obstructing the view,” Justin said.
Justin slapped Flynn on the back and waved a hundred-dollar bill under the saucy little dancer’s nose. The gesture and what it implied pissed Flynn off. He didn’t want her dancing for anyone but him.
“What’s your name, sweet thing?” Justin asked.
“Wild Style,” she said in the breathy voice that shot straight to Flynn’s dick. It jerked. He bet she was.
“Wild Style,” Justin said, making a deep sweeping bow. “How about you get your wild style over there by our bachelor and give him a dance that’ll make him wish he’d never met his fiancée?”
The blue-haired, bubble gum-lipped little dancer smiled and said, “It would be my pleasure.”
Justin grinned and slid his hand around her tiny waist and led her off to the opposite side of the room. Flynn stood scowling after them, trying to understand the anger swirling in his gut.
Izzy swallowed hard. This was it. Showtime. She was twenty-four years old and had never shown skin on purpose. Well, not intimate skin. There had been a few hot make-out sessions in her dorm room, but she had purposely stayed away from men, concentrating on surviving and not going down the same miserable road as her mother. Izzy worked part-time as a research assistant to a law professor and went to school full-time. That had been her life. Now she was wearing six-inch heels and a micro bikini in a room full of testosterone-laden cops and she was expected to give them a tits and ass show.
Deep breaths, Izzy, deep breaths.
“Earned It” by The Weekend pounded in a slow seductive beat from the speakers. Perfect to bump and grind to.
It was just skin, Izzy told herself. Everyone had it. No big deal, right? Just her top had to come off. No bottoms. Surf’s Up wasn’t a full on nude club. Not that Boris wasn’t working hard for that license. She’d be long gone by the time he got it.
Keep it cool, she repeated in her head. Just own it. Loosening up some, she shifted gears and to her surprise and relief, Izzy got her strut on.
“Which one of you is the guest of honor tonight?” she asked her escort.
He smiled mischievously at her but before he could answer, a tall Adonis, standing in the background, called to her. “Let’s see how good your ‘That’s-the-sucker-who’s-getting-married’ meter is!”
Izzy stopped, as she considered the request. Putting her finger to her pursed lips, she said, “Hmmm, maybe I’ll have to check each one of you out for myself to make the ultimate determination.”
She was answered with wide grins and eager encouragement.
Slowly, she approached the tall blond in the back who had suggested it. He was smiling good naturedly, his blue eyes bright. Placing her finger beneath his chin, she asked, “Is it you?”
He grabbed her finger as she dragged it down his hard chest. “I wish.”
Izzy winked at him and gave him a pretty pout. “Me, too.”
The guys laughed as she made her way to the next one. He was tall, too, dark-haired, smokin’ hot, and his green eyes danced with lively fun. He held his left hand up and wiggled his fingers, showing off the gold wedding band. “Oh, now that’s a travesty.” She pouted again and moved on to the next man.
One by one she made her way around the room. Each man she passed grinned, but shook their heads. When she came to the one who had turned her world inside out, she didn’t touch his chin the way she had with the others. Instead, she placed her fingertip at the base of his throat. His pulse beat thick and hard. “Is it…” She traced her finger slowly down his hard chest to the waistband of his trousers. Then ever so slowly, with barely any pressure, she slid her palm down the growing rise in his pants. “You?”
The men in the room whop whopped, urging her on. Her mark’s warm breath puffed across her face. His lake blue eyes snapped with an emotion she couldn’t put her finger on. Desire but also irritation. Did their crazy chemical reaction bother him as much as it bothered her? He grabbed her hand and held it still for several seconds before he moved it away from the rising swell. But he didn’t let her go. “Unfortunately, no.”
He turned her to face a tall, handsome man who stood safely behind several chairs and who looked like he was ready to run.
The man put his hands up and shook his head. “Stevie will geld me. Go for it, Flynn. She’s all yours.”
Flynn’s fingers tightened around her wrist. Pulling her toward him, he sat down on a nearby chair. Grinning wide, he spread his knees and pulled her between them. “I guess tonight’s my lucky night.”
Izzy laughed as she swayed erotically to the slow, thumping beat of the music. “You have no idea how lucky.”
Call him a dog, but Flynn found himself riveted to his seat with a raging hard-on for this sexy little stripper. He couldn’t turn off his reaction any more than he could not draw a breath. She did something to him no other woman had ever done: captivated him. The cheers of the guys became white noise as he watched her slow, sexy moves, teasing him as she ran her fingertips along her thighs, up her slender waist, tugging at the thin golden waist chain attached to the tiny crystal belly button ring he wanted to tug with his teeth, to her voluptuous breasts. She had great tits. They moved with her body, the sway telling him they weren’t store-bought. Her nipples were hard beneath the thin fabric of her suit. It wasn’t cold in the room. Hell it was blazing hot.
She turned and thrust that sweet ass of hers at him, doing a slow air grind, her fingers sliding the edges of her bikini bottom down, giving him a glimpse of her lush cheeks. She turned slowly and as she did, she slipped her thumbs along the edges of the fabric and shimmied the bikini bottom down, teasing him with a peek at the smooth rise of her mound. He wanted to drop to his knees and bury his face there. Her soft bubble gum scent teased him. She turned with the panties drawn taut, her butt crack peeping at him. She glanced over her shoulder and gave him a look that speared him right in the dick. Her big sultry eyes closed, her full pink lips parted in invitation. Her hands trailed from her bottom to her top. Cupping her breasts, she slid her fingers beneath the sliver of a strap and slowly lowered it. Just when he thought he was going to view what he knew was a set of knockout tits, she raised the strap.
His muscles clenched tight, his breathing shallow, and damn it, he wanted to take this tiny dancer somewhere private and lay her down. Mentally, Flynn shook himself. Then he actually shook his head. He didn’t do women like this. She was the complete opposite of his “type” and he sure as hell didn’t do strippers!
He didn’t move. Hungrily, like every other guy in the room, Flynn imagined what she looked like beneath that skimpy piece of fabric.
Turning her back to him, but facing the majority of guys, Wild Style swayed to the seductive beat of the song and untied her top. He knew the moment her tits were revealed because there was a collective groan born of lust from every man in the room.
Flynn pushed out of the chair and swung it around for one of the other guys to take. Angrily, he strode from the suffocating heat of the room into the main club. The music slammed into his ears like a baseball bat. The scent of sweaty bodies and cloying perfume choked him. He hurried to the front door and finally made it out into the cool night air.
Swiping his hand across his clean-shaven chin, he shook his head. “What the hell?” What was wrong with him? He felt like an antsy, horny teenager.
He’d come reluctantly tonight and only because Jack was one of his closest friends. Frankly, he was surprised Jack went for this kind of gig. Jack wasn’t the guy who got off on this stuff, and his fiancée, Stevie, was not the calm, “sure, honey, go sow your wild oats,” type. She knew what was up tonight, no way would Jack have not told her, but the guys had insisted on a traditional send-off. They were big boys. Might as well, right?
None of that was bugging Flynn. What riled him was that bubble gum-lipped little stripper who called herself Wild Style. He wanted her like he’d never wanted a woman before and that bothered the shit out of him. He wasn’t like his father and his brother. The women Flynn associated with were class acts. Polished and educated. He bet Wild Style hadn’t made it past tenth grade. And that potty mouth of hers… “Jesus.”
“Can’t stand the heat, Slick?”
His blood warmed at the sound of her husky voice. Her bubble gum scent wafted across his nose, testing his resolve. Dragging his eyes from the busy street, he turned to look at her. She was wrapped in pink silk, but held out a glass of water to him.
“Here, looks like you need to cool off.”
He took the glass, but didn’t drink. Instead his eyes raked from her spiky blue wig across her full featured face, where he noticed the tiny diamond nose ring for the first time, down the pink wrap to her shapely legs and six-inch open-toed pink heels. His dick thickened. She was a beautiful exotic promise of nail-scratching, sheet-tearing, sex.
