Rex shrugs and sits back down. “Serves you right, asshole.”
I lift an eyebrow at Talon, daring him to say something, but he remains silent, his face scrunched up in sympathy pain.
I swipe my hands together. “My work here is done.”
Lane stumbles over to the couch and drops down next to Rex, who shoves him so hard he tumbles to the floor. “Touch her again; you deal with me.”
Angel giggles and follows me out of the room and back into the bar. I’d don’t blame the boys for being confused. Up until now, we’ve had a take-what-you-want-when-you-want-it kind of relationship. I’ve used them just as many times as they’ve used me. Funny thing is now I don’t want to. Maybe it’s me giving up on my purpose, gearing up to move on with my life, knowing that I’ll never get to settle the score. The thought is as depressing as it is terrifying. All I’ve ever known is revenge. What will I do next?
I’m losing touch with my job, my self-appointed assignment to find Lana’s killer and put him through the kind of hell he subjected her to. I can’t help but wonder if this sudden ache in my chest is my heart giving up, throwing in the towel and leaving me with nothing to do but live.
We navigate our way through the crowd and to the bar, ordering drinks while we wait for Ataxia to play its second set. After a few sips and a couple dodges of drunken men and their grabby hands, Angel leans in to whisper.
“Seems like there’re more people now. Let’s circulate, try to hand the rest of these out. That way we can take off as soon as the show ends.”
I nod and hold up the few cards I still have. The sooner we can get out of here, the better. My feet ache and long for a soak in a warm bath. “Sounds good.”
We patrol the room, avoiding those we’ve already spoken to and chat with some new faces. A table clears and a couple sits to take their place. Might be tourists, but they do love to hit Vegas strip clubs while in the City of Sin, soaking up the full experience.
I motion for Angel to follow me over, but as I get closer, my footsteps slow then freeze and I’m stuck. My stomach lurches into my throat.
Mason.
He’s with a girl. Not just any girl, a really, really pretty girl. They’re sitting across from one another but leaning over the small table toward each other. She’s talking animatedly about something that he seems to like a lot because he’s flashing a smile and laughing harder than I’ve ever seen him.
I prepare to turn, to run and hide, but Angel doesn’t notice my semi-freak out and bellies up to their table. Mason’s eyes fix on her, registers who she is, and then he immediately swings his gaze to me.
Fuck!
“Trix, come here.” Angel’s eyes are as big as bottle bottoms as she implores me to get my shit together and play it cool.
We have rules about crap like this: running into customers outside of the club when they’re with their significant other. The rule is we act like they’re total strangers.
I take a deep breath, throw on a mask of indifference, and advance toward them. Mason’s eyes eat me up from hair to heels until I squeeze in between his date and Angel to ensure there’s a buffer between us.
Sell the club and walk away. Simple.
“Hey, guys. Hope we’re not barging in on you.” My scowl is tight and aimed at Mason, whose baby blues are wide. “My name is Trix and this is Angel. We’re here passing out VIP cards to our club, Zeus’s Playground.” I chuck a card at Mason that hits him in the chest and falls to his lap. His date takes Angel’s proffered card and studies it. “Have you ever heard of it?” My question is directed to the cheating bastard to my left. He answers my question with a drop of his brows, and his full lips pull into a tight line.
“Oh, yeah!” His date holds up the card. “I’ve heard a lot about this place. You girls dance there?” God, why does she not only have to be pretty but also nice?
“We do.” Angel butts in and pushes out her double-Ds. “You guys should come by sometime; we do private dances for couples all the time.”
“Whoa . . . really?” The girl’s eyes dance with excitement and dart to Mason.
He stares at his beer, his eyebrows pinched, and his jaw hard. The image of them together, on a small couch in a private room at Zeus’s flashes through my head: a dancer straddling their laps, running her body along theirs as they suck on each other’s lips.
A low growl gargles in my chest. “What’s wrong, big guy? You don’t like strippers?” The word tastes sour on my tongue.
His glare slides up to mine, and as fierce as it seems, I don’t back down from it. “Trix . . .” My name is said on an angry rumble that I feel deep in my belly.
I prop an elbow on the table and lean toward him. “Are we offending you? Breaking up your date?”
“Cut it out.” His jaw is clenched, teeth bared.
“Cut what out? I’m just here doing my job. What exactly are you doing?”