#3 shook his head. “Facial recognition pulled up an NYPD profile. A 97% match.”
Just a cop.
“Escort him out.” I didn’t tolerate them in my place of business.
“With pleasure.” #3 had an equal hatred for the breed. Especially since they’d nearly ended his life with a minor infraction that landed him as my cellmate.
I leaned over the control panel, scanning the crowd for anyone else. Cops usually worked in pairs. #1 vacated his seat, and I took over the mouse. It was a globe, round and solid under my fingers. Technology was the first line of defense against the law that would take away our freedom over the slightest misstep. My palm rolled over the ball, fingers clicking for closer views. No one came into my house, bought my booze, and enjoyed my show, without my blessing.
I stopped short on a wide frame.
No….
But sure enough, the close-up showed the truth on the screen.
“Influencers, boss,” #2 supplied. “I have their social handles, metadata, and pertinent information. They’re just hyping up the club scene.”
All but one of them.
I stared at the blonde, who was lifting her glass in a toast. “How many drinks has that one had?”
#1 typed a code in the computer. The program ran frames of the security footage in a wicked fast search. “That’s her third cocktail, and she’s had two of the four rounds of shots ordered to the table.”
Che cazzo fai!The image from the security camera wasn’t good enough to see the glassy set to her eyes. But that was far too much alcohol for such a tiny little thing. Especially since I knew her, and she hadn’t slept well and no doubt hadn’t eaten enough today—if at all.
I clenched my fists.
The wild child was my kryptonite.
Makeup concealed the dark circles under her eyes. That waterfall of gold draped down her back. And that dress.
That fucking dress.
You shouldn’t be here, dressed like that. My jaw tightened. I panned the camera wider, confirming what I already knew in my gut.Not where men look at you like prey.
The low cut showed off tits that were begging to be fucked, while her ass was barely covered. My fingers itched to grab it, knead the flesh as I thrust into her and made her scream.
Hot, pulsing blood made my dick twitch greedily.
The group of girls abandoned their table and moved to the dance floor before the stage. I stared at the screen, eating up the sight. Her body was the thing dreams were made of.
Dancing? A dangerous game, cara mia.
I rubbed my jaw, debating my next move.
I’ll make sure they know who you belong to.
As if on cue, the vultures moved to pluck the girls off, one by one. I pushed to my feet.
“Make it rain,” I barked.
#1 pressed some buttons on the special effects board. “On it, boss!”
Chapter 11 –Amanda
Protein shakes and cosmopolitans did not mix well. In fact, my burps tasted like chalky, chocolate cranberries. It took no time at all to regret my decision. And yet, when my friends ordered a round of lemon drops, I was the little idiot who didn’t say no.
The acrobats tumbled across the stage as another boom of thunder spread through the air. The temperature turned muggy, and as the bass dropped to a new low, rain began to fall.
