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Andre pushed her head away. “I give breaks, extra tips sometimes, now you betray Andre?”
While Izzy felt no loyalty to the giant, he was, for all his gruffness, not a total pig. He didn’t touch any of the girls and he was always near if a customer got out of hand. For what he did, she trusted him to protect her. Oddly, she trusted his word, too.
That was as far as it went. They’d never be friends or hang out. Eyeing him in the mirror, Izzy snatched her wig from the counter where he had flung it and fitted it back on her head, tucking in the stray pieces of her hair.
“You have little girl body with fat tits and plump ass. Fucking bastard cops feel like hero protecting little girls. Make hero tonight, you keep job.” He laughed, showing straight white teeth with identical spaces between them. Like a jack-o’-lantern. “Boris give last girl who make video retirement money.”
From what Izzy had been able to bribe out of the girls here at the club with her hard-earned tip money, that last girl was a dancer by the name of Jasmyn.
“Tell me about her?”
Andre scowled. “She not ask questions like you.”
“Who did she make the video of?”
His eyes narrowed. “You don’t ask questions, I don’t have to shut you up later.”
Message received.
“Go so I can get dressed.”
His black eyes held hers in the mirror for a long minute before they dropped to her breasts covered in a tattered pink silk wrap. “I pinch your tits, I give you ten bucks.”
The first time Andre had asked to touch her for ten bucks, Izzy, shocked and appalled, had crossed her arms over her chest and refused him. Fifty-plus requests later, it hardly fazed her. There was a lot that didn’t faze her these days. In this life, she couldn’t let herself take anything personally. If she did, she’d get eaten alive. So she kept her head down, played off guys like Andre, and tried to stay invisible as she quietly put the pieces of the puzzle together.
Izzy pushed the chair hard against him and stood up. When he whoofed a breath, moving away rubbing his belly, she gri
“Fucking Boris don’t care.”
She moved past him to her microscopic string bikini hanging on a hook on the wall near the door. It was hot pink and every time she put it on, Izzy blushed just as pink. She reminded herself why she wore it three nights a week.
Looking up at Andre, who stood staring at her as if she was going to hand her tits over on a platter to him, she said, “Andre, I know Boris only cares about his bottom line. That’s fine. But I want something more important to me than money for the video.”
“What is more important than money?”
“Information. I want to know about Jasmyn. Why she doesn’t work here anymore. Where did she go?”
His eyebrows furrowed. “Why?”
“Personal reasons.”
For a long drawn-out minute, Andre just stared at her, debating on whether the video he wanted her to make was worth the information she asked for.
“Jasmyn run with boyfriend.”
“I happen to know that’s a lie.”
Andre shrugged. “I don’t know where girls go. Only Boris know.”
“She’s alive?”
“Boris is not murderer.”
That remained to be seen. What she had heard about Boris, the club owner, could fill a thimble, but all of it was bad. Russian mafia, bad. “I’ll make the video, but only if you give me your word you’ll arrange for me to meet with Boris, before I hand it over.”
“Show me video first, I give answer then.”
“No, I want your word!”
“I give you nothing until I see quality of video. Make good, I give you money and tell Boris to give information.”
Izzy exhaled. What other choice did she have? Boris was a cold, calculating man who scared her. He wasn’t often in, but when he was, it was like the artic doors had opened. He was always surrounded by goons as big as Andre, but ugly and armed with big guns.
She extended her hand. “Okay, Andre, you have a deal.”
He took it in his big hand and squeezed a little harder than necessary. “Disappoint and we have big problem.”
Swallowing hard, Izzy nodded. “I won’t.”
Chapter Two
“Ryker, you going to loosen up and have a drink or are you going to sit there like the stuffed shirt you are?” Fly
Fly
Fly
“Tell that to the ladies, Ryker,” Simon said, holding up a shot glass and looking around the large private room they had been shown to and the handful of “servers” looking to “serve.”
Fly
Fly
The sexual encounters facilitated by those worldly goddesses? Neat and à la carte. It was how he rolled. No extras, easily digested, and a fleeting memory.
“I’d like to propose a toast to the last man on earth I ever expected to tie the knot,” Simon said as he raised his shot glass toward their mutual friend. “Jack, you had me scared there for a minute. I thought you were going to let Stevie slip through your fingers.”
Fly
Jack elbowed him good-naturedly in the gut. “You might be the prettiest fed in California, but Stevie likes more than a pretty face.”
Fly
The dozen men threw back a shot in Jack’s honor.
When Simon poured another round of shots, Fly
Fly