Chapter 3
Greg didn’t know what he expected coming to this place, but it looked like any other club with thumping music and flashing lights. He didn’t miss the small bags being passed around or the people openly doing drugs right there for anyone to see. What the hell had he walked into? It had to be the right place though because it was the same drugs Fernando had showed him.
“What will it be?” the bartender asked.
“Budweiser,” he ordered. He wasn’t a beer fan, but he didn’t want to stick out more than he felt like ordering water. Anything heavier than beer would dull his senses, and he needed all of them right now in this viper nest.
“Make that two, Damon, and put it on my tab,” a feminine voice husked coming up beside him.
Greg was disappointed in himself for not sensing someone behind him. A rookie mistake like that could get him killed. “Thanks,” he said, giving her a salute with his beer. He took a sip of it while studying the woman in front of him.
He’d seen her earlier standing in the VIP section with a couple of men. He’d recognized one as the crime boss Maxim Sokolov. The younger man next to him must be his son. He was his spitting image. What was this woman doing getting mixed up with these kind of men?
She was petite. The top of her head only coming up to his collarbone. She had dark brown hair swept to the side of her face stopping just next to her emerald green eyes. She wore a skin-tight navy blue dress that stopped just above her knees. The neckline dipped just to the swell of her breasts, giving him just a teasing glance at them. Not that he was here for that.
“You’re welcome. You lost, soldier?” She slipped onto the barstool next to him and swiveled in the chair to face him, though she was still a foot shorter.
“Do I look lost?” he countered, wondering if he stood out more than he thought.
“You don’t look like the normal riff-raff that comes in here for a good time.”
“And what do I look like?” He leaned closer, resting his arm against the bar top, curious about what she thought of him.
“Trouble.” She mirrored his actions, putting a small space between them.
“Aren’t we all?” He quirked an eyebrow at her.
“There’s trouble and then there’s trouble.”
“Which one are you?” He should be offended this nobody was judging him on no basis whatsoever, but he was finding her cute and coy like she was trying to figure him out as much as he was trying to read her.
“I guess you’ll just have to wait and find out.” She smiled over the rim of her bottle before taking a drink.
“I can handle that.” He wasn’t in a rush to go anywhere.
“What brings you in?”
“Looking for work.”
“I don’t think the club is hiring bouncers, soldier. It’s well covered in that area. But perhaps the kitchen needs help.” Her gaze raked over his form. Greg turned to face her to give her a full view of him. He wondered what she thought of him. He wasn’t egotistical. He knew he had a fine form even after his military career was over. His job still required him to stay in shape. Woman didn’t flock to him but he had seen plenty appreciate his appearance.
The woman’s eyes finally settled back to his. Her face void of giving away her thoughts. “They could always use some heavy lifting.”
“I’m not looking for a job at the club.”
“No?” She lifted a well-manicured eyebrow. “Then why come here for a job if not for the club?” She was testing him; Greg was sure of it. Testing out his mettle.
“First, tell me why you keep calling me soldier.” She had called him that more than once and it was making him uncomfortable. It was his job to blend in and being called soldier was like putting a giant bullseye on his back.
“You have the physique of one, the haircut. You look like a recruitment poster. You just seem the military type.” She shrugged a slim shoulder.
“You keep telling me what type I am and am not. I feel I should be offended that a stranger judges me, hardly knowing anything about me. Maybe I did time in the pen or I just happen to work out a lot.” Greg hadn’t meant for his irritation to show. It wasn’t solely directed at her; that she’d pegged him so quickly and easily from a ten-minute conversation was off-putting. If he managed to pull this off, he’d have to stay on his toes.
The woman chuckled as if his burst of anger was comical. “Occupational hazard. It’s my job to ferret people out.”
“Your job? What are you, a hiring manager?” His case file didn’t have anything on this woman, and he didn’t like unknown variables.
“Something like that.” There she went again with her evasive answers.
