Page 17 of Lucky's Trouble

“Not my thing,” I say, but what I mean is that I don’t have the luxury of letting my guard down. Not ever. One slip and my life could be over.

Long minutes of eating in silence pass until Lucky pushes away his empty plate and says, “Tell me about you.”

“What about me?”

“Anything. I know what Myla has told me, but that wasn’t much.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“Seriously doubt that.” His penetrating gaze bores into me, making me uncomfortable. The only time anyone asks about me is when I’m at the club and giving a lap dance. Most people feel the urge to make small talk as I work them over. It’s dumb, really. They don’t care, and besides, none of my answers are real.

I give him my practiced smile, letting Stormy take over. “Just a girl who loves to dance and found a way to make money doing it.”

His lip curls. “Don’t do that.”

“What?”

“Give me that fake shit. I’m here with Tinleigh, not Stormy.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” I’m still smiling, but I feel the crack in my armor.

“Yeah, you do. You forget I work at a brothel. I see the change in the girls when they go to work, and I know why they do it. Don’t blame them a bit. But I’m the realest motherfucker you’ll ever meet, and I expect the same from you.” Gone is the light-hearted man-child, and in his place is the biker. I’m not the only one who switches personas, it seems.

“Maybe I don’t like talking about myself,” I say.

“Why?”

Growing frustrated, I push my plate away and set my elbows on the table. “Because there’s nothing to say. I left Utah at eighteen, moved to Reno, and have been working for Neal ever since. That’s it. The end.”

“That’s not it.” He reaches over the table and grabs my hand, pulling it up to his mouth. His mustache and beard tickle my sensitive skin, and I can’t do anything but watch with rapt attention as he drops a chaste kiss there. “But I can wait until you’re ready to tell me more.”

CHAPTER FIVE

LUCKY

It feels good to have her back on my bike, her arms around me. Some might think our first meal together didn’t go well, but I disagree. My hellcat might flash her claws, but I know that’s just to protect herself. I have a unique perspective after spending almost every day with sex workers, and I’ve learned a lot from it.

My hellcat. I huff because I don’t even know what I’m thinking. She’s not mine. She can’t be. But both times I’ve been in her company, I seem to forget that fact.

Pulling up to the Honey Pot, I park in the back near the residential suites. The brothel is an old motel that’s been renovated into what it is now. The east end of the property is where the girls stay during their tour, while the west end has all kinds of themed rooms our guests can choose from. In between the two are a parlor, kitchen, restaurant, spa, workout room, and clinic.

Nevada is the only state with legalized prostitution, but a lot of the other brothels are run-down and make you feel slimy the second you step inside. Not the Honey Pot. Everything is luxurious and modern. If anything is dirtying up the place, it’s the bikers who protect it.

“This is it, huh?” Tinleigh pulls off the helmet and secures it back in place.

“Come on, Myla’s room is this way.” I place a hand on her lower back, noticing it spans the entire width. Her personality is so big, I tend to forget she’s pint-sized.

Once inside, we walk slowly so she can take everything in. The artwork on the walls is a trip. The images are smutty as hell, depicting couples of all kinds fucking. Men and men, women and women, men and women, groups, it’s all represented in each painting. But they’re abstract, so they’re not quite pornographic.

“It’s beautiful in here,” she says absentmindedly as we stop in front of Myla’s room where I knock three times, so she knows it’s me before entering.

“Gimme just a second,” Myla calls out.

“I brought you a surprise,” I say.

That piques her interest, and seconds later, the door swings open. “Please say it’s donuts.”

Dressed in a silk robe with a towel around her hair, Myla freezes when she spots Tinleigh. The two sisters stare at each other for a long minute, almost as if they can’t believe the other is there. It’s a trip seeing them together, like double vision or some shit. The trance breaks, and in perfect unison, they move quickly to embrace.

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