The Bratva and their biker friends have gone quiet since the casino attack. Three days of nothing. But in this business, silence doesn’t mean peace, it means they’re planning something worse.
I text back for the guard to keep both eyes on my son tonight, then pocket the phone. Nina’s shift starts soon, and I’m eager to see her.
The club’s already humming when I leave my office. A blonde dancer spins around the pole in pasties and a thong, working a decent crowd. The other girls prowl the floor, steering drunk marks toward the back rooms where the real money lives.
I’m heading for the entrance to check in with security when Candy stumbles past, knees hitting the floor. The rednecks at her target table start hooting as I pull her up, and that’s when I see it. The glassy sheen in her eyes, the way she sways even standing still.
“Are you okay?”
“I’ve never been more okay, handsome.” She giggles, pupils blown wide enough to see myself in them.
High as a fucking kite.
Goddamn it. I don’t have many rules in this club, but no drugs or alcohol on the clock is one of them. And I enforce it.
The rednecks start bitching when I steer her backstage. I catch another girl’s eye, jerk my head toward their table. She gets it, sauntering over while I march Candy through the dressing room door.
Two dancers look up from their phones. “Out,” I bark. They scramble.
Candy drops into her chair. Even high, she knows she’s fucked.
“What are you on?” I lean in close, using my size to intimidate.
Her lip wobbles. “Why are you being so mean?”
“Answer the question.”
“Just... riding the lightning.”
Lightning.
Fuck.
“What the fuck are you thinking—” I catch myself, barely. “People are dying from that garbage.”
“I’m careful.” She lifts her chin, defiant even now. “I don’t take too much.”
“You’re too high to spell ‘careful.’ Where’d you get it?”
Silence. I cage her in the chair with my hands on the armrests. “Tell. Me.”
Tears spill over. “One of those biker guys. Calls himself Toxic.”
Of course. One of the Devil’s Brood assholes who tore up my club. I grab her purse, dump it in her lap. “Phone. Now.”
Her texts with Toxic are basic dealer-junkie shit, but the last exchange shows they met behind my club the night of the fight. This bitch brought trouble straight to my door.
One of those animals put his hands on Nina because of her.
I fire off a text from Candy’s phone, pretending I need a fix. Toxic sends back an address.
“Pack your shit,” I tell her, pocketing the phone. “You’re done here.”
“Please, boss?—”
“You broke the rules. Get out.”
I leave her blubbering and grab the first bouncer I see. “Make sure she’s gone in five minutes.”
