She stares at me like I slid on a muumuu.
“What?” I hold out my hands and twirl, grabbing at the super long strands of extensions I put into the back of my hair to make it twice as long and board straight. “Don’t I look like a little surfer girl?” I pop up on my dressing table, cross my legs, and wiggle my painted toes.
“You’re batting your eyelashes.” She laughs and shakes her head. “Holy shit, they’re gonna love the whole innocent thing you got going on. And barefoot . . . fucking genius.”
“Thanks!” I don’t tell her where my sexy surf-inspired idea came from.
“Trix, you’re on in five!” Santos’ call comes thundering through the room.
“On it!” I hop off the table and check my look one more time.
“What’re you dancing to, The Beach Boys?”
I turn toward her with what is probably a wicked grin. “‘Drunk in Love,’ baby.” I snap my fingers and move past her. “Beyoncé up in this bi—”
“Trix!”
Angel and I dissolve into a fit of giggles. “Coming, Santos!”
“Kick ass, babe.”
And with a smack on the ass from my girl, I’m off to work a crowd.
Mason
As I sit in my truck, not far from the alley that I dragged my brother’s broken body from only a week ago, I can’t help but wonder how this is going to play out. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before, but now, as I stare down the dirty backstreet, a wave of dread comes over me. These guys could easily take my offering—this offending burden wrapped in brown paper and twine—and then leave me with a bullet between my eyes.
I need to stay semi-public to avoid that. Close enough to the back lot of Zeus’s that any gunshot would be heard and reported, but far enough away that I won’t be seen.
“Pass it on and get the hell out of here.” My gaze swings to the red beat-up Honda Civic at the opposite side of the lot and my chest aches.
Trix is here.
I’m tempted to duck inside and watch her dance from a back corner where she won’t notice. After the way I stormed off last night, I can’t imagine she’s interested in seeing me. But as much as my draw to be close to her pulls me in, the reluctance of being witness to her stripping holds me back. The memory of her dancing in that hotel suite is enough to make my blood boil and my fists clench. She seemed to enjoy what she was doing, and I have to wonder how she can possibly draw the line between where her job ends and real physical arousal begins.
The low growl of motorcycle engines pulls me from my thoughts, and I watch as a small fleet of bikers pulls up to the alley. I recognize all four of them from the other night, the bigger one standing out like a bad omen.
Kicking out their stands, they lean the bikes and dismount then linger, lighting cigarettes and settling in.
Fuck. Here we go.
Eager to get this shit over with and go the hell home, I grab the stupid package and shove it under my arm. With long strides, I head toward them and the bikers notice me right away, stilling conversation and all turning to face me.
I don’t hesitate in my approach, and the big fucker I dealt with last week steps forward.
“I didn’t think you’d pull through.” His voice is gravelly and low, jagged in a way that speaks of hard living.
“You didn’t give me much of a choice.” I hold out the package and he takes it.
He doesn’t even glance at it, but passes it back to one of his brothers, keeping his eye on me. “Was kinda looking forward to bloodying that pretty-boy face of yours.”
My fingers itch to ball into fists, but leaving this parting peacefully is in the best interest of all involved. “You’re a man of your word; you back off me and Drake.” It’s a statement of fact, a promise that I need to hear him confirm.
The biker grins wide, whiskered lips curling back over the yellowed teeth of a chain smoker. “You tell your boy if he crosses us again he won’t live to talk about it.”
The guy’s eyes dart over my shoulder an instant before I hear the low rumble of male voices behind me. I turn to see a group of guys I instantly recognize just as the roar of motorcycle engines fire to life.
“Mase?” Wade says, his gaze moving between me and the retreating bikers as they mount their bikes to take off down the street.
Dammit, fuck! I dip my chin, hoping to sidestep into the shadows.
He shoves my shoulder. “What the hell are you doing here, man?” There’s humor in his voice, but when I turn to face him, his expression grows hard as he takes in the motorcycle taillights. “Those your friends?”
I notice Wade is with a few of the newer fighters, some guys who’ve just joined our camp and are clearly being given the hot-spots-in-Vegas tour.
“No.” The urge to get out of here is so strong my legs cramp with the desire to move. “They were asking for directions.”