Shooting Dirty Page 12

  She was still hot. He’d give her that.

  If he didn’t know her, he’d probably want to fuck her. She was only in her mid-forties. She looked like Skye’s mother, rather than her grandmother. Shawnee did her best to cultivate that impression, which pissed him off. It was almost as if she was trying to erase Courtney from existence by taking her place.

  Dragging his gaze away from her, he headed the opposite direction. Jokers Wild was a bar and card room inside the casino. High-stakes only. Ace had passed by a few times, but he’d never gone in. He wasn’t much of a gambler these days.

  One of Wild Bill’s goons greeted him at the velvet rope. He unhooked the cordon to allow him entrance. It was Saturday, so the place would be packed later this evening. Right now business was light. Ace spotted Bill at a table in the back of the room. As he strode toward it, he was stopped by another staff member.

  “Excuse me,” he said. “I need to do a security check.”

  Ace glanced at Bill, realizing he’d arranged for this.

  “It will only take a moment,” the employee said. He was a tall black man in a dark suit. With an elegant hand, he gestured toward a door that said Security.

  Ace felt like he was being led into doom by the grim reaper. Maybe this was the end. How easy and efficient it would be for Bill to remove him from the equation. With Ace gone, Bill would never have to worry about him talking to the police, fighting him for custody of Skye or killing him.

  Ace had dreamed of killing him often.

  He didn’t have to go through the door. He could turn around and leave, but death would catch up with him, sooner or later. If Bill wanted to take him out, he would. Beyond seeking protection from law enforcement, there was very little Ace could do to stop him. So he squared his shoulders and walked forward, facing the possibility head-on.

  The security staff member opened the door for Ace. Inside the cramped room there was a desk and two chairs. No plastic sheeting covered the floor to prevent blood spills. No other goons awaited him.

  “Stand there,” the man said, closing the door. He picked up a device from the surface of the desk that looked like a black wand. Turning it on, he moved the wand over Ace’s arms and torso in a thorough sweep.

  “I’m not carrying,” Ace said stiffly. He was uncomfortable with the man’s proximity in the close confines.

  “I know,” he said, continuing the process.

  It dawned on Ace that he was checking for bugs, not weapons. Wild Bill’s nephew had been a police informant. Cole “Shank” Shepherd had always been a ballsy motherfucker. Bill might have found out about the betrayal and doubled up on security measures.

  The staff member declared him clean and waved him along. Ace left the tiny office, more relieved than disgruntled. It was an insult, perhaps, but he respected Bill’s caution. And it wasn’t like he’d never been searched before, under far less pleasant circumstances. He much preferred an electronic wand over his clothes to a gloved finger in his ass.

  Shrugging off the bad vibes, he approached Bill’s table and sat down across from him. Bill took a sip from a crystal tumbler while Ace glanced around. Jokers Wild had been renovated since the casino changed ownership. The bar area was classier than the main floor, with studded leather furniture and gleaming wood. Ace imagined that the liquor was more expensive in here.

  The waitresses were prettier, too.

  One of the girls, a leggy blonde in a short skirt, approached their table. She had on a sequined top and red lipstick.

  “Care for a drink?” she asked him.

  His nostrils flared, and suddenly he could smell it. That bar smell. An intoxicating mixture of hops, barley and good whisky.

  “It’s on me,” Bill said.

  The blonde smiled invitingly. He could see himself throwing back a shot, or drinking one of those smooth microbrews. Flirting with this sweet young thing, who maybe wasn’t so sweet. Forgetting all his troubles.

  Unfortunately, they were always there in the morning. Along with a pounding headache and an empty wallet.

  “I’m good,” he said.

  “I’ll bet you are.” She winked at him and sashayed off, hips swaying. Even Bill, who wasn’t much of a pussy hound, watched her go.

  “Still dry?” Bill asked Ace.

  He nodded. In more ways than one. “Don’t let me stop you.”

  “I never do.”

  Ace leaned back in his chair, waiting for Bill to speak. This meeting was important, or Bill wouldn’t have had Ace checked out first. They generally used vague terms when referring to criminal activity. Today they were going to get specific.

  “Do you know why I ran you through security?”

  “Because you’re paranoid?”

  Bill drummed his fingertips against the table. “How long have you been friends with my nephew?”

  “Twenty years.”

  “Perhaps you were aware of his...divided loyalties.”

  Ace didn’t admit anything. He wasn’t stupid.

  “What I’m going to say next can’t be repeated, under any circumstances.”

  “Understood.”

  “Around the time Shank was released from prison, I found out that Shawnee had screwed around on me, years ago. You might already know this story.”

  Fuck. Ace did know the story. Shawnee had slept with Shank when he was a teenager. Although the two of them weren’t related by blood, she’d been his legal guardian at the time. It was screwed up on so many levels.

  “I’m guessing he confided in you, and you’ve been smart enough to stay quiet. You’ll continue to stay quiet. I don’t want to hear his name in my presence ever again. We buried his cut behind the clubhouse. He’s dead to me. As dead as Roach.”

  Ace was stunned by the news. He hadn’t heard that they’d buried Shank’s cut. Rylan “Roach” Shepherd was Shank’s brother, another casualty from that kidnapping job. He’d been stabbed by his own knife. Ace felt a dull ache in his ribs at the thought. He’d met both brothers when they were kids in Slab City.

  “Where is Shank?” Ace asked.

  “Doesn’t matter. He’s gone.”

  Ace wondered if Shank was literally dead, as well as symbolically.

  “My nephews are both gone, and so is Courtney. I don’t have any family, other than my no-account brother. There’s only Skye, and you.”

  “Me?”

  “I need someone to run security for the casino. I offered Shank the job, despite our differences. Obviously he didn’t take it. I want to keep this business in the family, but I can’t have a strong club presence here. If you learn how to manage the place, I’ll give you a percentage of the profits, and you can help protect Skye’s legacy.”

  Ace crossed his arms over his chest, trying to process the information. Skye’s legacy. He’d never seen this coming. Bill was making Skye his heir, and King’s Castle was worth a small fortune.

  “You can live here and see her as often as you like.”

  “Why would you want me here?”

  “I don’t,” he said bluntly. “I hate what you did to my daughter. But who else is there? You’re loyal, tight-lipped and you’ve been a decent father to Skye. You won’t jeopardize her inheritance.”

  “What about Shawnee?”

  “If she becomes a problem, we’ll deal with it.”

  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 Jes
ter 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.