He’s silent for a moment, no doubt thinking about my words, though not very hard, because I can tell he’s already made up his mind on what he wants to do. There’s also no guarantee that any of this will come to fruition. But he wants a plan if it does. It’s a smart thing for him as the president to think about, but not something I want to do.
“Just a thought, something to keep in the back pocket,” he murmurs as the rest of the police officers move toward their cars and slowly drive away, their operation complete, their bad guy caught.
“Want to talk to that owner before we leave?” Bullet asks.
“You got something you want with him, don’t you?”
“Might want to talk about security.”
Fuck.
Of course, he does.
“A strip club isn’t an event.”
“Yeah,” Bullet snorts. “But it’s fast, easy cash, and it will line our pockets.”
That’s not a lie. Pushing off the front of the car, I follow him into the strip club, ignoring the shitty bouncer on my way, and walk straight back to the owner’s office. He’s there, sitting behind his desk, lifting a glass of amber booze to his lips.
“You got more shit for me to deal with today?” he growls as soon as we walk into the room.
I close the office door behind Bullet, then stand back slightly. Giving my president the room he deserves, in front of me, to talk to this man. Bullet doesn’t say anything immediately.
It’s clear that the owner is pissed.
I’m guessing that maybe he was a bit overly anxious about everything, too, and is on an adrenaline crash. I know that the minute I get to my room, I’m going to pass the fuck out. I feel likeI’ve fought a whole battle for my life, and I stayed in the car the whole time.
“No more shit. Just wanted to chat with you before we head back up the mountain,” Bullet murmurs.
“Well, have a fuckin’ seat, then,” he barks.
I almost laugh, because he sounds so goddamn nonchalant about it. I press my lips together as Bullet sits down in the chair across from his desk. He clears his throat, crossing his ankle over his knee, and I try not to laugh at this whole damn scenario.
I don’t even know this fucker’s name. The meeting begins, and it’s the most chaotic moment I’ve encountered in a while, but funny as fuck, too, when Bullet begins to tell him his grand plans.
“How much would this cost me?” he asks.
“Depends on how often and how much you’d want my men here.”
The owner’s gaze flicks to meet mine, then shifts back to Bullet’s. “You got men who have the right sizes for this kind of work, but this is a high-end club. Not to be rude, but you all look like dirty bikers.”
Again, hilarious and chaotic.
“You’d rather we look like mobsters?” Bullet asks, raising a brow.
The owner shrugs a shoulder. “My bouncers wear suits. I got men renting rooms for a thousand bucks an hour to have some girl rub their ass against their crotches. Champagne flows on my floor.”
Bullet stands, but I can tell by the way he’s holding his body tightly that he’s not happy about the way this guy has reacted to his proposal. I watch as he leans over slightly, placing his palms on the wooden desktop before he leans over.
“You want a bunch of dumb shits running your place, that’s fine. Come to me when you’ve got a bigger problem than Goffredo Hagerty, and we’ll talk.”
He straightens, then turns and walks out the door. I follow behind him, the two of us moving through the strip club without a single glance at anyone else around us. We step out of nobody’s way, walking straight out the front door and toward the car.
When we’re inside the vehicle, Bullet turns to me, his lips twitching into a smirk. “He’ll be calling us.”
“Yeah? After all that shit about the way we look?”
“He knows anything goes down, his men would piss their pants. We take care of shit, and I can tell he’s nervous, and it’s not just because the cops were swarming around his place. He’s nervous about something else, and you and Maverick are going to do a little digging to figure out what.”
