“Yes, I know. Someone felt the need to boot it in last night.”
“Always the smart ass.”
Second time in less than five minutes a man said that to me.
Deuce examines the wooden frame and the hinges. “I’ll get some tools and fix it later.”
“Fine.” I try to close it again, and he opens his mouth but doesn’t say anything. “Are we done here?”
“Yeah, we’re done.”
I close the door, jiggle it into place, then lean against it, listening as his heavy boots fade away.
DEUCE
I clomp down the stairs, pissed off and irritated. Pissed off at her comment about being done. ‘Cause I know what the fuck she really meant. Then irritated that it bothers me so much.
I push at my cock ‘cause, of course, the damn thing reacted to her smelling so sweet like citrus with a hint of vanilla. She’d obviously just come out of the shower ‘cause her wet hair fell in soft curls over that fuckin’ fuzzy robe. If she just came out of the shower, she was probably buck-ass naked underneath too.
Shit!
I have to get this woman out of my head, and the only way to get over someone is to get under someone. Tonight, we're heading to the Royal Flush to have another sit-down with Jack, the manager. He’d contacted me during the week saying the reality company was ready to make a deal. The guy sounded desperate to get out, so we didn’t waste any time in making our move.
After we settled up with him, I'd find myself a nice willing woman to drain my cock dry. Leaving nothing for my dark-haired beauty with the wild curly hair.
Yup, that’s the plan.
Later that night, we pull into the lot of the Royal Flush. I almost forgot the looks we got when we’re all together. Tatted guys straddling rumbling Harleys, all over six feet, draped in leather and denim, giving off a fuck you, bad-ass attitude.
Red neon flickers over the door with cards flashing a royal flush. Not too original. The bass from inside rattles the sidewalk every time the door opens.
The doorman straightens the second he sees us. Apparently Jack must’ve told him we’re gonna be the new owners.
Kings colors still carry weight. Especially in places like this.
“Deuce,” he says, stepping aside fast. “Good to see you again.”
I don’t answer. I don’t slow down. The door opens wide, and we all troop in except Speed and Shady, who’re keeping watch over The End.
Inside, it’s dark and sticky and loud enough to drown out thought. Gold poles. Cracked leather booths. Women moving from customer to customer, acting like it’s the best job in the world.
We get looks in here too. Guys nod to us, women stare as whispers ripple through the crowd.
“Kings,” someone breathes.
We head to the front of the stage, and a group of guys fall over themselves to give up their booth. Yeah, the Kings are fuckin’ back.
Ace grins like he’s home. A couple of the guys fan out, already pulling cash, already on the hunt. Kick back and forget the back-breaking work we’ve all put in the last few weeks.
A stripper struts down the stairs of the stage and walks straight toward me. Long legs. Glittered skin. Eyes that know exactly how this works.
“Welcome back,” she purrs, fingers brushing my arm like she’s testing the temperature.
Another flanks my other side, pressing a drink into my hand before I ask for it. Whiskey. No ice. Like they remember.
I tip it back. Burn. Good. Not enough to forget Sammie’s untamed hair twisting around my fingers. Not yet.
They circle closer. Laughter. Touches that don’t mean anything. A hand on my chest. A mouth near my ear. “You looking to forget something, baby?”
