“It works fine, just not with you.” I turn toward the door.
“Don’t you turn your back on me. Do you have any idea what you’re giving up? I got guys lined up for what I’ve got. That’s who I am.”
I spin around so quick, she backs away, her eyes wide.
“I know exactly who you are. A slut who fucks anything for money.”
“You think you’re so high and mighty, panting after that skinny bitch, Martina, but she doesn’t have half what I do.”
I get real close and glare down at her. “First of all, take her name outta your filthy mouth. Second, you’re right—she’s not a whore. And in case you haven’t figured this out yet—you’re fired.”
“What, youcan’t fire me?”
I gotta give the bitch credit. I outsize her by about six inches and a hundred pounds, but she won’t back down.
“I can, and I did.” I motion to the door. “So collect your shit and get your skanky ass outta this club.”
Her chest heaves as she throws on her clothes. She heads for the door and turns. “You’ll be sorry you did this.”
“Get the fuck out.”
She slams the door open and storms out.
The bouncer follows her with his eyes, then looks at me. “Everything all right, Boss?”
“From now on, you follow the rules and stay inside this room with the dancers unless you wanna be the next one with their ass at the curb.”
He lowers his eyes. “Right, Boss.”
“Now, close the door and give me a fuckin’ minute.”
He closes the door, and I settle on the couch. Might as well stop fooling myself. Chantel isn’t the problem. I am.
Now I have to explain to Smoke why I fired one of our headliners. Although, after I told him about her extracurricular activities, he’d probably agree. The last thing we needed was getting slapped with a prostitution charge ‘cause that bitch couldn’t keep her snatch on lock down.
I collect myself and leave the private room. I spy Smoke and Blood at their usual table in the back, so I head in that direction. Safe until my eyes rest on Martina at the end of the bar flirting with the same fuckin’ prospect again.
Shit and goddamn, this night is going from bad to worse.
MARTINA
I hold up my margarita glass to Marisol. “I hate to tell you, but these might be better than yours.”
“No, you just like the guy who’s delivering them better.”
I shrug and grip the edge of the bar.
Maxie wiggles her finger in my direction. “Can she possibly be drunk after two margaritas?”
I’m at the end of the bar with Maxie and Marisol in barstools next to me. It was their idea to move to the bar, after we all witnessed Diesel and Chantel heading for the private rooms behind the stage. It was also their idea to make sure the amazing Jared with the defined biceps and the killer smile is our exclusive bartender.
“Please tell me Chantel isn’t a Royal Harlot too.”
Maxi and Marisol break up laughing. “That bitch,” Maxie spits out. “No way would we ever let her be part of our sisterhood. She’s never even been in the gym. The only exercise that slut gets is on her back.”
Relief sweeps over me. “So, it’s just people from the fight club?”
“Mostly.” Maxie rests her hand on mine. “But, more importantly, women who are about empowering other women. It’s not about her being a stripper or even how many guys she does; it’s that women like Chantel are only interested in what’s in it for them.”
