He nods. “Oh, well then, come with us. I was just taking the boys here to check out all Vegas has to offer.” He grabs the back of my neck and motions for me to join him.
“No, thanks.” I motion to my truck and act casual. “I was just headed out.”
He’s back to glaring at me with suspicion. “You were already inside?”
Shit!
“Yeah, but uh—”
“Come on, Baywatch.” Pauly, one of the new guys, smacks me on the shoulder. “One drink!”
It’s easier to just have a damn drink than to figure out a way out of this that won’t get my ass teased for weeks. “Sure. Okay.” I shove Pauly—“It’s Mason or Mayhem to you, asshole”—and reluctantly follow, thankful that Wade hadn’t shown up two minutes earlier and seen me hand off at least ten pounds of drugs. I’ll pop in with them and then disappear as soon as I can.
Santos, working security at the back door, recognizes me and holds the door open for us, and we shuffle into a dark hallway. I feel the huge bouncer’s eyes on me as I pass, his glare burning into my head. Clearly this guy is protective of Trix. Threat received.
Techno music gets louder as we move down the corridor and get spit out into the main club. It takes a second for my eyes to adjust to the contrast of dark and day-glow as we shuffle through the room to a vacant table in the back. Thankfully, it’s busy enough that we’ve avoided being right up against the main stage. This might keep Trix from seeing me, and I could still get away with slipping out of here unnoticed.
We order drinks from a slutty-looking cheerleader and watch as a few dancers I’ve never seen before swivel their hips in nothing but a thin string tied between their legs. Judging by their lack of clothing, I’d say we’re catching the end of their dance.
“Tomorrow Cam’s going to talk to you guys about training partners . . .”
Wade’s involved in UFL Training 101, so I tune him out and scan the room, looking for the flash of platinum and purple, and coming up short. That means she’s backstage or in a private room. My skin prickles with irritation, and I’m tempted to throw open the doors and bust open skulls.
I shift on my barstool and try to shake off my severe mental discomfort. Fresh off a drug deal, I’m hopped up on adrenaline and what-the-fuck. I breathe through a mix of relief and jumpiness. Don’t go kicking the ass of someone who doesn’t deserve it. After all, this is a legitimate job. Trix’s job. It’s her fucking job! I fist my hair and ready to make my hasty exit when our drinks arrive.
“Here’s to a successful fighting year, boys.” Wade holds up his beer and clanks bottles with the newbies, but I avoid the cheery “hear, hear” and slug back a good half the bottle.
“Gentleman, have we got a treat for you tonight!” The announcer’s voice grates on my nerves, ratcheting my agitation. “You got wood? Because we’ve got a girl who’s ready to grind on that. Put your hands together for the sugary-sweet and sultry—”
Oh, fuck no . . .
“Trix!”
Motherfucker! I slam down my beer bottle as the room goes dark. Rippling blue lights flash on the stage, and the sound of crashing waves trickle from the speakers. The crowd roars and yells at a blank stage. The music builds, waves mixing with some Indian snake charmer music, sexy and seductive. My heart pounds in my chest, and I’m transfixed on what I know is going to be a scene that will destroy me as much as turn me the fuck on.
A soft sultry voice singing about drinking drips through the speakers. Bright lights flash.
And she appears. Bare feet, bikini, and board shorts. No fucking way.
I suck in a quick breath and hold it, spellbound by the way she looks combined with the slow roll of her hips. Hypnotizing. The bass drops, but the tempo stays slow, lazy. Like love-making.
“Holy shit, it’s her!” Wade shoves my shoulder, but I’m locked on the beautiful woman on stage, unable to rip my eyes from the vision before me.
Her hands move over her body, sensual swipes of her palms over her belly that move between her legs, reminding me of last night. I shift in my seat, harder than steel, and watch as she dances just for me. All that hair, longer than it was the last time I saw her is draped and thrown around her face, which is fixed in an expression of ecstasy.
She turns, sliding her shorts down with a tug of her thumb, teasing to within an inch of my sanity. My fists clench against my thighs; the urge to rip those tiny scraps of material from her body and sink deep inside her is so strong it’s all I can do to remain in my seat.
The shorts drop to her ankles to reveal a bright yellow G-string, and she kicks them into the crowd to get swallowed up by a group of hungry men.
I blink, mesmerized by how she can move her body. Like liquid, she glides. Crawling on all fours, she dips her chin to the floor. Her chest, belly, hips, thighs . . . like a serpent. Fuck, she’s outstanding.