Page 22 of Ripple Effect, Vol. 3

Two of them flock toward me, braless, and the squeeze of Dylan’s hand in mine tells me she doesn’t like it.

“Ooh, this your girl, Rip?” Ella’s a natural blond but her rainbow hair looks like she got shat on by a unicorn.

“I need her to stay back here with you. Got some business with Anthony.”

“She’s pretty.” Bianca says, toying with a strand of Dylan’s hair. “Me like. Me like. What are you, eighteen? Nineteen?”

“Eighteen,” Dylan answers quietly.

Bianca flashes a devious smile at me, and I shake my head, letting go of Dylan’s hand. Silent talk for don’t ask any questions if you know what’s good for you. “I’ll be right back. These ladies will take good care of you. Sit tight.”

Dylan nods and allows the girls to lead her toward a chair in the corner.

“Yes, Ripley.” Bianca’s playful tone tells me she’s about to piss me off. “We’ll take real good care of this one. She’ll look sexy out there on the pole.”

The two of them laugh as I frown and point a finger at her. “Don’t fuck with me.”

“C’mon honey, best seat in the house is over here,” Ella says, hooking an arm in Dylan’s.

Even in a room of half-naked women, I can’t take my eyes off her. I force myself to turn away and make my way back through the club to the elevator and up to the second floor.

The small room swallows me, has me feeling claustrophobic as Anthony and one other security guard sit in front of a wall of TV screens. He has two paused, while the others show damn near every angle in the club.

“Okay, so check this out.” Anthony points to one of the stills. “We followed from the time they walk in up until the time they shoot Lucien, here. Meat pats them down at the door, as usual. No guns. You can see he’s thorough about it. Both men walked in without a single weapon.”

“You see where they picked it up?”

“No. The next tape they’re shooting. It’s like something’s missing. I went back a week. No deliveries. Nothing. All I can think is that they grabbed the guns from inside, but there’s no sign they were planted somewhere.”

“You show this to Enzo or Dorian yet?”

“No. Enzo hasn’t been in the last week and Dorian’s been moody as all hell. I’m guessing because of Lucien. I heard you were hired to go after these guys, so I called you first.”

I nod toward the monitors. “Show me the other tapes.”

8

Dylan

I’ve never been in the dressing room of a strip club, and even though I have all of the same parts as these women, and they’re undoubtedly used to getting ogled, I can’t keep my eyes from wandering. Some women are skinny, some curvy, but all of them have a natural sensuousness to their movements, like mermaids floating in water. I’m mesmerized at the way they so easily strut in their stilettos as if they’re an extension of their legs.

How the hell is Ripley around these women all the time without the urge to have sex? And with these women practically throwing themselves at him, why would he bother to pay for it?

I catch my reflection in the mirror across from me, slouching in my chair, as always, and straighten my back. My breasts poke out with the movement and I adjust them inside the dress, tugging the front down slightly, as I saw the others do to reveal a deep line of cleavage.

A body crosses in front of me, blocking the mirror, as she struggles with the zipper on her leather getup. She has more of a lithe, slim build. Her skin is a creamy white, but not veiny or unattractive. Against her auburn hair, it’s stunning and flawless. She doesn’t look much older than me, maybe twenties, if I had to guess.

“Damn it,” she mutters to herself before glancing in my direction. “Do you mind?”

Her question leaves me shrinking at first, feeling like I’ve invaded her space, until she backs up and it’s clear she wants me to zip her up, so I do.

“Thank you,” she says, twisting around, holding out a hand. “I’m London.”

“Dylan.”

“Dylan,” she echoes. “I like that.”

“London’s pretty, too.”