Page 23 of Four Seconds to Lose

I look back in time to see Ginger’s face twist with displeasure. She slams back a shot of something and then slaps a rag down onto the counter as she comes out from behind the bar. Marching past Ben, who’s doubled over with laughter, she points her fingers at the two amused bouncers and says, “You just remember this sacrifice when you’re sucking back a cold Heineken later tonight.” With a pause and a wink, she adds, “Maybe next time you guys can take one for the team.”

That cuts Ben’s laughter off cold. “Oh, no,” he says, shaking his head fervently. “I only play for one team, and King Kong and that fucking third leg of his are not allowed to join in my game.”

“Feeling inadequate?” Nate responds with a grin and a slap over Ben’s shoulder before his tone once again turns serious. “You better follow her back there for this.”

Casting a lazy salute in my direction, Ben trails Ginger as she grabs her brown-haired dancer friend by the elbow and heads toward the V.I.P. rooms.

There’s no need for me to get comfortable here, not knowing if I’ll be allowed back, so I decide to go home. I prefer being alone, anyway. I take a long, scalding-hot shower so that perhaps I can rid myself of this vile feeling before I get up on that stage and strip again tomorrow.

And the next night.

And the next night.

I hope.

chapter seven

¦¦¦

CAIN

I grip my steering wheel with white-knuckled force. If I don’t slow down, I’m going to get pulled over or wrap my truck around the guardrail. Acknowledging this, my foot still doesn’t ease off the gas pedal.

She dances just like Penny did.

The style, the grace, the class.

With a mournful smile and her eyes closed. Like she has a secret. Like her mind has disappeared off somewhere, like she’s imagining herself anywhere but on that stage.

It’s a thing of rare beauty, the way her body smoothly swung and dipped and contorted, teasing the men without the need to lie spread-eagled or with her ass in the air like an everyday stripper.

I was hard the second she stepped onto the stage. I was thinking of ways to get her in a private room when her top finally came off.

I’m no better than Rick Cassidy or any of those other vultures.

Finally releasing the breath I’m holding, I lift my foot off the gas pedal, slowing my Navigator to the legal limit. Deep down, I know that’s not true. I don’t condone the girls getting high to loosen themselves up for lap dances and private shows. I don’t take the girls for a test drive when I hire them, and I sure as hell don’t demand late-afternoon blow jobs. The dancers don’t even turn me on anymore. All I see are girls who need a second chance. Girls who need someone to protect them because no one ever has.

The way I should have protected my sister.

And Penny.

But here’s a woman who I want. The second Ben started joking about how her breasts were too flawless to be natural and how he’d be finding out for himself later tonight, I told him he was fired, and I wasn’t kidding. He and Nate exchanged a what-the-fuck-is-wrong-with-him look and then I guess Ben clued in, because he asked what was going on between Charlie and me. I decided that I needed to leave before I made more of an ass of myself.

So I bolted.

I don’t know if I can handle knowing she’s doing that in my club daily. A temptation that I might not be able to ignore indefinitely because, dammit, this feeling is as addictive as a heroin high.

Hiring her would be a bad idea.

I acknowledge this even as I glance at the stack of papers sitting on my passenger seat. Charlie’s application, her identification, everything I need to forward to my investigator. Just looking at it, at the photocopy of her face, reminds me of my present discomfort. I adjust myself. It’s a little after eleven o’clock. Even with my normal four hours of sleep and a two-hour workout, tonight will be a fucking long night.

I hit the dial button located on my steering wheel.

¦¦¦

“It’s been a while,” Rebecka purrs, sauntering through my front door. The woman’s voice has a crispness to it that borders on snotty. Until she’s screaming, anyway.

“I’ve been busy,” I manage to get out around a mouthful of cognac.

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