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Dex waved his hand in dismissal and kept on talking. Thank God he dropped the accent. “For a strip club, there are a lot of chicks and non-pervy-looking dudes waiting to get in.”

The doorman huffed a laugh while opening the velvet rope to usher us in.

“Don’t let Ryan catch you calling this place a strip club in front of customers. It’s a Latin Burlesque club around them.” He indicated toward the line with his head. “A bigger client pool, if we call it that. And gringos, let me tell you. That fancy pussy is nice,” he stated.

It pissed me off that I was impressed. Smart move to not call it a strip club to appeal to more people. A legally successful business meant not as many eyes were looking for not-so-legal activity.

“You get to fuck the strippers?” Dex’s tone was one of astonishment. “That seems messy for business.” Of course he was stuck on the subject of pussy.

“No, cabrón, the women who come in here get all worked up watching the show, and then they need a man to fuck ’em up against a wall. You know?”

Then the big man’s voice took on an almost fearful tone. “The boss would cut our balls off if we went near the dancers, but the patrons are fair game. By the way, good luck with Ryan.” He snickered.

Interestingly, the doorman was more concerned about us dealing with Ryan than Mario, but before I could put too much weight into his comment, the club’s interior distracted me.

“Holy Shit,” Dex whispered as we made our way through the exterior archway into the heart of the club.

I blinked at our surroundings.

Damn. Money wasn’t an issue, I guess.

The bar was made entirely of marble, with back glass shelves filled with top-shelf liquors. Red light bounced off the bottles, adding to the sensual feeling of the space. The walls and ceiling were painted a charcoal gray, and giant framed photographs portraying the different elements of the Lotería card game hung on the walls.

My head shook in disbelief. No wonder we hadn’t found any creepy-looking assholes outside.

Stairs led to a recessed area housing the main stage. Smaller elevated stages with poles dotted the space between tables. My eye caught on a couple in a sensual embrace performing some Latin dance up on the main platform. At the same time, women in deep red lingerie and sugar skull masks mimicked the routine on their poles.

An elbow from Dex drew my attention. “Dude, think they would hire me? I’m into their uniforms. I could be shirtless with tight mariachi pants. Fuck yeah.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, Dex?” I asked before spotting one of the male waiters.

“We would hire you. The ladies like something to look at.” A woman with short blond hair approached Dex and me. “And they would like to look at you two. On Thursday nights, we have male dancers up on the poles. It’s one of our most popular nights.” A smirk appeared on her face.

Clearing my voice, I tried to get us back on track. “It looks like the place does well…business-wise.”

I could admit when I was wrong, and it seemed like this Ryan person may know how to run an operation. Or at least a damn good strip club.

The woman gave a curt nod but stayed tight-lipped on the subject. “Gunner and Dex, I presume.” Blondie was practically eye fucking Dex, but as quickly as she started, she stopped. Turning on her heel, she walked toward a partially hidden staircase by the bar. Calling out to us over her shoulder, she said, “Please follow me. I’ll show you where you’ll have your meeting.”

Dex watched her ass all the way up the stairs. The man was a manwhore, and every woman was fair game to drool over in his book.

I whispered to him, “I think she’d put on the luchador mask for you.”

A sly grin crept up his face, and he wagged his eyebrows in response. I stifled a laugh, attempting to hide it with a cough.

“Gentlemen.” Blondie stopped in front of the first room at the top of the stairs, waiting for us to catch up before pushing the door open. For the second time that night, the place’s interior caused my eyebrows to hit my hairline. The whole left wall was one-way glass—overlooking the club below. Directly in front were two velvet chairs facing a large wooden desk. The office’s mood matched the club, but nothing particularly personal gave me insight into the owner.

Blondie’s feminine voice sounded from behind me. “Please have a seat. They’ll be in shortly.”

I waved a hand over my shoulder in acknowledgment, too busy trying to assess the room to turn around.

“What my asshole friend means is thank you for showing us to the office.” Dex’s flirtatious tone had me rolling my eyes. As his ass hit the chair, I heard the telltale click of a door shutting.

Dex broke the silence first, speaking quietly in case anyone—or anything—was listening.

“I think this Ryan guy might be useful. Seems like Sergio and Mario give him a lot of leeway. We might’ve found an in with the Los Muertos,” he whispered.

“What would be better would be to work with Mario directly,” I said bluntly, letting out a disappointed sigh. “But you’re right, we’ve gotta work with what we’ve got, and he might be our best bet.”