I play it cool. Instinct tells me not to appear desperate or too eager, but my insides are churning. If the money is as good as Diesel promised, and I work on his sympathies regarding the passport, I might be back in the States before the end of the month.
With a little practice, I’ll bet I could do an inverted V. Yeah, I’ve done some reading up on it. Truth, it was a secret fantasy to work the pole. I even considered joining a stripper pole exercise class until saving my brother’s sorry ass landed me south of theborder working for the cartel, and now, in a Tijuana strip club owned and operated by bikers. My life just keeps moving backwards.
Diesel’s warm hand burns through the silk robe. “How about you and me have the drink that got interrupted before?”
He angles me toward the back of the room, but I step aside. “Only if we have it out here at the bar.”
He stares down at me, his expression unreadable. Probably very helpful when doing drug deals and smuggling guns, but freaking scary when contemplating a cocktail at the bar.
CHAPTER 4
DIESEL
I could easily throw her over my shoulder and carry her to the private rooms, and I think she knows that. She couldn’t weigh more than a buck ten, yet she stands up to me, so I stare at her, trying to figure out her game. Shit, most of the women here would’ve dragged me into the private rooms, but for whatever reason, I didn’t want the others. I want her.
I steer her to the end of the bar, then throw the evil eye at two guys who immediately give up their seats.
“Wow.” She slides onto the now vacant barstool. “That was impressive. You didn’t have to say a word.”
“Comes with the territory.”
“You mean, ‘cause you own this place?”
“That, and my brothers and I have a rep in this city.”
“Your brothers? How many brothers do you have?”
“Nah, sweetheart, they’re my club brothers. Like real brothers, only we’re bound together through the Royal Bastards.”
“And the Royal Bastards are . . .?”
“An outlaw MC. A one-percenters motorcycle club.”
“I don’t know much about bikers or their clubs.”
“I kinda figured that out.” Most women have their eyes either glued to my tats, muscles or the officer’s patch on my cut. “Like I said before, you’re different.”
I look deep into her eyes, searching for the lie, but I only see honesty. Either she really didn’t know who we were, or she is the best damn actress in the world.
I flag over Marisol, Smoke’s old lady and our bar manager, who sets a shot glass in front of me and . . .
“Shit, babe, I just realized I don’t know your name.”
“Martina.”
Martina—pretty name—had me revved up from the minute she hit the stage. Then those fuckin’ moves.
“Geez, Diesel.” Marisol shakes her head and smirks. “You’ve got a beautiful woman with you, and you don’t even know her name.”
“All right, all right, don’t be a wise ass. It’s been a little crazy tonight.”
Marisol sets me up with a shot of Jack, then turns to Martina. “What would you like, hon?” She holds up the bottle of Jack, and Martina shakes her head. “You like tequila?”
“I don’t want to do shots. I did that once, and I still can’t remember the night clearly.”
My fucked-up brain pictures all kinds of kinky scenes, but I keep my mouth shut. No sense scaring her off before we even get started. Shit, she did a fuckin’ split right on stage. So, fuck yeah, after a few drinks, we’re definitely getting something started.
“How about one of my special margaritas?”
