Shooting Dirty (12 page)

Jesus
Christ
.

Ace knew what that meant, and he wanted no part of it. Even at his worst, lowest, most fucked-up moment, he’d never been the type of man who would kill a woman. He wasn’t comfortable with this arrangement. He didn’t care about money. He only cared about Skye. “This isn’t what I asked for.”

“It’s the best you’ll get,” Bill said. “I’ll put together a financial agreement, to be signed on completion of that other job we discussed. You can tell Jester to meet me for a sit-down next week. We’ll proceed from there.”

Although Ace didn’t agree to his terms, Bill rose to his feet, indicating that the conversation was over. They weren’t negotiating. Bill was just giving him a simple breakdown. Ace could take it...or he could take it.

Leaving it wasn’t really an option.

Bill tossed a twenty on the table and strode out of Jokers Wild, hands in the pockets of his casual slacks. The blonde waitress noticed Bill’s departure. She leaned across the bar on her elbows, one foot lifted in a pretty pose. She reminded him of Janelle. Or rather, Janelle’s working-girl persona. It was sexy artifice. All flash, no substance.

What he had with Janelle was real, and that made it dangerous. He knew better than to pursue a relationship with her. She’d been through enough trouble. If he wanted to get laid—and he did—he could try his luck with this blonde. He could approach a stranger for a quick, meaningless hookup. It wasn’t hard to score, even with women who were out of his league. They might not want to date him, but he was good enough to fuck.

He stared at the waitress’s long, bare legs. Although she had a nice figure, she looked sort of pale and pampered. Soft, the way a woman should be. Janelle wasn’t soft. She was sleek and strong and compact. Those legs of hers had walked a thousand miles. And when he’d slid his hand between them last night, he’d found home.

She’d been soft there. Soft and warm and damp against his fingertips, like a desert flower after a summer rain. His cock had hardened to a painful degree and his chest had felt tight. He’d wanted to shove her dress up and take her, right there in the driveway. She’d been slick, swollen. Ready for his cock to slide inside.

And then she’d slapped him.

He smiled wryly, massaging his jaw. Maybe they could skip the restraints and free-fuck. He’d never experimented with ropes or any other kinky shit, although he did enjoy pinning women down and holding their wrists. But he also enjoyed lying back and letting them ride. Janelle might prefer being in control and on display.

Fucking her would be special, no matter how they did it. He could pick another woman to tie up and dominate. Someone without a kid, and a tragic past, and so much baggage.

Someone he didn’t care about.

The problem was, he didn’t want anyone else. He hadn’t since he met her. And now that he’d gotten a taste of her, he wouldn’t be satisfied until he ate his fill. Last night, he’d jerked off to the smell of her on his hand. He’d closed his eyes, remembering the hot clasp of her cunt around his finger and the sweetness of her mouth. He’d replayed every kiss they’d shared, every touch, every word from her trembling lips.

I’ve been fantasizing...about you.

Christ. He’d imagined her with her legs spread, rubbing her wet pussy and crying out his name.

He didn’t know why he was so intent on having her. It was a perverse obsession, considering their history. Getting her off really good wouldn’t right the wrongs between them. She needed careful handling, and tenderness, and a man who could stand by her. He was a criminal on the path to self-destruction. Bill had made it clear that he would never relinquish custody of Skye. If Ace went to the police, he’d be digging his own grave.

Janelle couldn’t be his. He had to walk away.

The blonde appeared to collect the tip Bill had tossed on the table. “You sure about that drink, handsome?”

He smiled wryly at the misplaced compliment. He was a lot of things, but handsome wasn’t one of them. “I’m sure.”

She tucked the twenty into her bra, giving him an eyeful of cleavage. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

He was tempted—not by her, although she was prime stuff. It was the prospect of ordering a drink that made his mouth water. At times like this, being sober felt like the cruelest punishment in the world. He had to abstain from alcohol, and deny himself the pleasure of Janelle’s company. What a shitty fucking turn of events.

He left Jokers Wild in a black mood, his palms damp and his stomach roiling.

Chapter Thirteen

Janelle danced with an extra spring in her step that night.

Tiffany cheered after Janelle’s third performance, giving her mostly bare ass a congratulatory slap as she came backstage. Janelle sat down at her station and grabbed her bottled water, smiling at her friend.

The club was full, tips were plentiful and she hadn’t heard one derogatory comment. She’d worked the pole like a pro, to enthusiastic applause and loud wolf whistles. It was one of those rare, exhilarating evenings that made the others bearable. Even her customers in the VIP room had been respectful.

Tiffany was up next, and the men always loved her. The dancers fed off each other and responded to the mood of the audience. When the crowd got ugly, they felt it. When one of the girls bombed on stage, they all had to share a bit of the fallout. And they all shared the reward when the club was hopping.

After Tiffany finished her performance, she rejoined Janelle backstage. They changed costumes and checked their makeup. Janelle reached for her nicotine gum instead of going out for a cigarette. She got better tips if her hair didn’t smell like smoke.

“How was he?” Tiffany asked, making a moue for the mirror.

“How was who?”

“Your new boyfriend.”

Tiffany knew that Ace had brought home Jamie last night. “He’s not my boyfriend,” Janelle said.

“Your fuck-buddy, then.”

“We didn’t...fuck.”

“What did you do?”

Janelle glanced around the dressing room. None of the other girls were paying attention to their conversation, and there were no taboo topics in this space. “Why did you leave me those toys the other night?”

“What toys?”

She lowered her voice. “The bondage stuff.”

“Oh,” Tiffany said, giggling. “I forgot about that.”

“You really shouldn’t drive drunk.”

Tiffany rolled her eyes. “Okay,
Mom
.”

“Next time I’ll cuff you to a chair until you sober up.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

Janelle watched Tiffany sweep powder over her cheeks, even though her face was perfect. Tiffany was only three years younger than Janelle, and her life hadn’t exactly been easy, but the hard knocks didn’t show. She had lovely skin, a figure to die for and golden-blond hair. She could have been a centerfold.

Right now she looked a little sad, as if Janelle’s mild rebuke had upset her.

“If you’re not going to cuff me to a chair,” Tiffany said, “the least you can do is let that sexy outlaw cuff
you
to a chair, and tell me all about it. Or you can cuff
him
to a chair. That would be hot, too.”

Janelle flushed, considering the possibilities. “He kissed me last night.”

“Yeah? Was it good?”

“It was beyond good.”

“Rate it on a scale from one to ten.”

“Eleven.”

Tiffany bounced up and down in her chair. “What else?”

She moistened her lips. “He said he wanted to tie me up. Then he held my wrists and pinned me against his truck.”

“Did you like it?”

“I think so.”

“You little tramp,” she said approvingly.

“Have you tried that stuff before?”

“Bondage? Hell no.”

“Why not?”

“Because of Craig, I guess.”

Janelle understood what she meant. Tiffany had married young, and her husband had been a real piece of work. He’d showed up at Vixen one afternoon and held her at gunpoint for several hours. The police had found duct tape and a shovel in his truck. They’d arrested him, but now he was out of jail and on the loose again.

Bastard.

“I’m meeting him again tonight,” Janelle said. “Is that crazy?”

“Totally crazy. Call me tomorrow and give me all the details. I want hard numbers. Length, girth, volume.”

“Volume?”

“For science,” she said, matter-of-fact.

Janelle laughed with Tiffany until her eyes watered and her mascara smudged. Fanning her hands in front of her face, she tried to cool her hot cheeks. Tiffany passed her a tissue to fix her makeup.

“I’m jealous, you know,” Tiffany said. “He’s getting my best girl.”

Janelle’s throat tightened with emotion. “You’re going to make me cry for real.”

Kevin poked his head backstage. “Someone wants to meet you,” he said to Janelle. “Table ten.”

Tiffany and Janelle exchanged a wary glance. Men who requested a meeting before agreeing to a lap dance were the worst. They wanted to waste time haggling and see the goods up close. Some were looking for a straight-up prostitute, not a dance. Others tried to cop a feel in front of their friends.

“Tell him to pay for a VIP or get lost,” Tiffany said.

Kevin ignored this request. “Get your ass out there and hustle for some lap dances,” he said, pointing a thick finger at Tiffany.

After he left, Janelle and Tiffany went back to work. The mood in the crowd had shifted, transforming from high-energy to something dark and tense. When Janelle spotted the group at table ten, she knew why.

Motorcycle club members.

The bouncers weren’t supposed to allow MC vests or any other gang regalia. Chuck, the owner, was an independent rider who hated MCs. He refused to pander to them. But Chuck wasn’t around much these days, and Kevin didn’t enforce his rules.

Janelle recognized the leader of the group as the man who’d come to her front door, asking for Ace. The colorful tattoo on his neck was unmistakable. Although she had a right to refuse service to any customer, she rarely exercised it. As long as the guy wasn’t falling down drunk or being abusive, she’d dance for him. She’d danced for terrible men who’d said and done disgusting things.

She didn’t want to dance for this one.

Janelle thought about grabbing Tiffany for help, but she was on the other side of the bar, hustling a businessman in a dark suit. Kevin would get mad if Janelle interrupted her. He’d been in a foul mood lately and she needed to stay on his good side. Maybe this Jester person just wanted to leave another message for Ace.

Stomach churning with dread, she approached the table. Her usual routine was to paste on a smile and invite the prospective customer to accompany her to the VIP room. Touching his arm or hand worked well. Getting him away from his table was key. Some men wanted to show off for their friends. Others expected her to sit down and entertain the group for free, like a party favor or a sexy decoration.

She couldn’t force a smile for Jester. Her practiced spiel stuck in her throat as she surveyed his crew. The stocky young man who’d been with him at her trailer was there, along with two more she didn’t recognize.

Jester studied her with interest, his dark gaze skimming her short skirt and bare midriff. Although he appeared relaxed, even amused, she wasn’t fooled. He hadn’t come here to see topless women. He waved two fingers at her, urging her closer. She had to lean in to be heard above the loud music.

“It’s my boy’s birthday,” he said, slipping her a twenty-dollar bill. “Show him a good time.”

Janelle accepted the money and straightened. The man Jester indicated was young and well built, with dark hair shaved to the skin on both sides of his head. A patch on his leather vest said Rex.

The birthday boy rose to his feet, saying something to his friends that made them laugh. Janelle hooked her arm through his and led him across the floor, glad to get away from Jester. Rex was tall and good-looking. Young, but not college-aged. That wouldn’t make her job any easier. It was more difficult to dance for someone she might have considered an eligible bachelor outside of the club. Handsome men were a reminder of her loneliness.

Janelle nodded to the VIP room attendant and they continued inside. Tiffany and her businessman were in the first booth. She was straddling his lap. Rex stopped and stared, distracted by the sight. Tiffany lifted her hands to her breasts and toyed with her silver bikini top, almost revealing her nipples.

When Janelle nudged him, Rex snapped out of it and moved forward. He took a seat in an empty booth, glancing at the sign on the wall.

No cell phones. No cameras. No nudity. No touching.

“Hands on the armrests,” she said, beginning her performance. She went through the motions and found her rhythm, drifting into dancer-space. It was the same combination of moves she always used. Bend over, wiggle, remove top, unzip skirt. He didn’t try to grope her. He just watched her body, seeming vaguely uncomfortable.

He wasn’t a strip club regular.

Most men liked breasts, so Janelle tugged the cups of her bra down as far as the nudity rules allowed and jiggled for him. She finished her routine by kneeling between his legs and smoothing her palms up his thighs, making a sexy mouth. His hands flexed on the armrest and an erection strained his fly.

Mission accomplished.

She stood and fixed her clothes. Rex didn’t get up, for obvious reasons. He might not know he was supposed to tip.

“How about another dance?” she asked. “A double?”

“What’s that?”

“Two girls at once.”

His gaze darkened with interest. After a short deliberation, he fished a few dollars from his pocket. “Maybe next time.”

Janelle walked him to the doorway. Although she’d planned to return backstage, Jester made a swirling motion above his head, indicating that he wanted another round of her services. Rex gave her an assessing look. Would she play along or run away?

Shit.

Feeling uneasy, she allowed Rex to escort her to their table. As soon as they arrived, Jester rose from his seat and grabbed her arm. “You’re going to do me now,” he said in her ear. “I want to see some cunt.”

Janelle had heard this crude request before, in these exact words. It was never pleasant. She usually explained that Vixen was topless-only, and there was no nudity in the VIP room. That was the county ordinance for clubs that served alcohol.

She knew Jester didn’t give a damn about the law, so she didn’t bother to inform him. A little voice inside her head whispered for her to just do him and get it over with. Giving him what he wanted was safer and easier than fighting. She could drift.

Hang in there
.

“No,” she said, jerking her arm from his grasp.

His brows shot up. “No?”

She wasn’t going to hang in there, or drift away, or get it over with. Not tonight. “I won’t dance for you.”

He frowned at her response. “What the fuck? This is a titty bar, not a beauty pageant. You don’t get to say no.”

“I just did.”

Stepping forward, he wrapped his hand around her arm again. “We came for your ass. You can either show it to me in that back room, or I’ll drag you out to the parking lot and we’ll take turns fucking it.”

When Janelle tried to break free, Jester yanked up her skirt and groped her bottom. Camera lights flashed and hell broke loose. Rex jumped to his feet and started a shoving match with another club member. Jester got jostled sideways and abruptly let go of Janelle. She lost her balance and stumbled backward over a faux-leather ottoman. Rex punched a guy, and the guy returned the favor. They fell onto the table together, breaking it.

Glass shattered and drinks spilled everywhere.

Bouncers descended on the scene quickly. Janelle ended up soaked in alcohol and sprawled on the floor. One of the other girls helped her to her feet. The bouncer separated Rex and his opponent, who both had bloody noses.

Kevin showed up after the smoke cleared. “What’s the problem here?”

“This bitch refused to give me a lap dance,” Jester said.

Janelle was too stunned to defend herself. She’d never been involved in a bar fight before. None of the customers had ever threatened her like that. The music had stopped and the crowd was silent.

“She can refuse whoever she wants,” Kevin said. “That’s no excuse to bust up the place. Now get the fuck out of here before I call the cops.”

Jester spat on the glass-strewn floor, his eyes glittering with anger. Some of it might have been directed at his own crew. Janelle didn’t think he’d planned to make this much of a scene. Giving her a dark look, he gathered his friends and they left the club without argument. The bouncer followed them to the door.

As soon as they were gone, Tiffany accompanied Janelle backstage. Janelle sat down at her station, trembling from anxiety.

“What happened?” Tiffany asked.

“He said they were going to drag me out to the parking lot and rape me.”

“Assholes,” she muttered, rubbing Janelle’s shoulders. “Does this have something to do with Ace?”

“How did you know?”

“They’re White Lightning. He’s Dirty Eleven. Or he used to be.”

Dirty Eleven and White Lightning were rival clubs. Even Janelle knew that much. She’d never been to any rallies, but Tiffany had. She liked living on the edge and courting trouble. “He’s a member?”

“I think he got kicked out. His girlfriend was the president’s daughter.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No. And get this. Jester went to prison for raping her, over ten years ago.”

“Jesus,” she said, chilled to the bone. The man was capable of doing exactly what he’d said he would. No wonder Ace had been haunting the parking lot, keeping watch. “What if he shows up here again?”

“Kevin won’t let him in.”

Janelle hoped that was true, and she was glad she’d moved out of the trailer park. The thought of him darkening her doorstep one night was terrifying. “I need a cigarette,” she said, digging through her purse. “I can’t stop shaking.”

“I’ll text the clubhouse and tell them what happened,” Tiffany said. She grabbed her phone and accompanied Janelle to the break room. “Maybe some Dirty Eleven guys can patrol the parking lot until things cool down.”

Janelle wasn’t sure about adding more criminals into the mix, but she didn’t have a better solution. Calling the police wasn’t an option. She doubted they’d care about Jester’s threat, and she was afraid to report it.

While Janelle smoked her cigarette, Tiffany sent a message to someone named Wizard, claiming he’d get the word out.

“Who was that guy you danced for?” Tiffany asked.

“Rex?”

“It looked like he started the fight to create a diversion.”