“Deuce?” His expression reads confused.
More women surround me, hands reaching for me, but I push them off. Their smiles falter, and they sense a shift in energy.
“We’re out.” My two words have Ace out of his seat while Scratch and Fist push the strippers off their laps and stand.
I scan the club one last time, mentally noting all the changes that need to be made, but this has nothing to do with renovations or the women I just fired. This has to do with a feisty brunette who’s embedded in my head like a steel plate.
A dancer steps in front of me, trying to salvage the night. “Baby, you don’t gotta leave.” She runs her pointed nails down my t-shirt. “Yeah, I could make you feel real good.”
I don’t touch her. I don’t raise my voice.
“Move,” I say.
She sidesteps, her eyes widening like she knows I mean it.
The Kings are already flanking me. They don’t ask questions. They never do when my tone goes this cold.
The doorman scrambles to open the door like he’s afraid I’ll burn the place down just by staying another second.
The night air hits my face, hard and clean. I breathe once. Deep. Controlled. Like prison taught me.
Ace jogs up beside me. “You good?”
“No,” I look out at the dark street, “but I will be.”
I swing my leg over my bike. The engine roars to life, loud enough to drown out everything I’m trying to forget.
As I pull away, the neon sign disappears in the mirror. So does the lie I’ve been trying to tell myself all night. Because no amount of liquor or other women can erase a woman like Sammie.
Chapter Twenty-Three
SAMMIE
I’ve sat in my bedroom with the black plastic bag shoved under my bed for most of the night. I can’t think of anything else since I lugged it up here this afternoon, and I’m irrationally afraid to leave my bedroom for fear it will disappear.
Fist installing the garbage disposal proved to be way more eventful than just getting a new kitchen appliance. When I entered the kitchen earlier, he was wrestling with a board hammered into the space under the sink.
He finally pulled the board free, then pulled out a black garbage bag. “Who the hell would shove garbage behind a board under the sink?”
His question baffled me for exactly half a minute, then it hit me. My father.
“This place has all kinds of weird glitches.” I took the bag from him. “Let me get rid of it.”
Fist stared at the bag. “The disposal should fit fine now.”
“Great.”
I heaved up the bag, and when Fist ducked back under the sink, I headed upstairs. When I reached the landing, my heart was beating double-time from anticipation and a touch of fear.
I unlocked my door with a shaky hand, then slammed it and locked it. Heading for the couch, I sat placing the bag between my feet. I drew in a deep breath, then pulled at the plastic ties and slowly opened the top.
“Holy shit,” I mumbled to myself.
Cash.
Stacks of it.
Enough to buy my freedom and then some.
