Page 66 of Vicious Addictions

“Check again.” I slide a few hundred pounds onto the iPad’s screen.

“That’s what the Americans call a baller move, lads. Did I say it right, baby? Baller?” Mina twirls a strand of her blonde wig, batting her fake eyelashes while popping her gum, perfectly in character. It’s so unlike her that the performance almost gives me hives.

“You sure did, pumpkin.” I pretend to punch her in the chin playfully.

“Yay for me!” she squeals excitedly. “I can’t wait to get inside and see the show, baby. You sure know how to spoil me.”

“Anything for my girl,” I retort, adding a few more bills onto the pile when our performance starts to get too much for me to stomach.

The bouncer takes a brief look at the bills before stepping aside and pulling the red rope to let us through.

“Thank you, lads. You have a nice night,” Mina coos, waving the pair of goons goodbye as I lead her inside.

As soon as we step through the doors of Paradise Nine, we head straight to the cloakroom to leave our coats with the attendant. Playing the part of a devoted boyfriend, I assist Mina in removing her faux fur coat and regret it instantly.

Fuck.

She’s wearing a backless, cream-colored sequin dress that hugs every curve. It nearly matches her skin tone, creating the illusion that she’s wearing nothing underneath, which leaves very little to the imagination.

“Smile,” she murmurs, looping her arm through mine again. “You look like you’re about to kill someone.”

Ihavehalf a mind to do just that—starting with whoever sold her this damn dress.

The Crane twins and Felix are waiting outside in their cars, ready to step in if things go sideways. But they have no idea that my real problem isn’t the mission—it’s the woman pressed against my side, wrapped in a dress that begs to be ripped off and left in a heap on my bedroom floor.

I try to block the dress out of my mind—and sight—and head over to the hostess wearing a tight black bodysuit. I hand her a few more bills to get us a booth where we can have a clear view of the clientele.

As the hostess moves us deeper into the club, I’m absorbed by the velvet drapes that spill from the walls, the dim lighting casting seductive shadows over the vintage décor. Gold and crimson dominate the space, a deliberate choice to lure guests into its provocative embrace. At the center stands a stage framed by gilded mirrors and shimmering chandeliers, where a few half-dressed dancers frolic around a jazz singer, also dressed to the nines.

Though I’ve never been to a burlesque show in my life, the atmosphere in this place alone tells me it will straddle between decadent glamour and elegance and raw, powerful seduction.

Now I understand why Mina showed up dressed the way she did.

She fits right into the place.

No one will question our true motives for being here with that get-up.

You didn’t think she wore the dress for you, did you?

My jaw tightens as I settle onto the two-seater, velvet couch, Mina nuzzling closer despite my feeble attempt to maintain a bit of distance between us.

“Relax,” she whispers, her breath teasing my ear, sending a sharp jolt down my spine.

“I’m trying,” I grit out.

“Try harder.” She sing-songs it as if it were a dare, placing her hand on my thigh before giving it a squeeze.

Fuck.

My body betrays me as my cock hardens instantly, like the goddamn traitor whenever Mina is around.

“Bottle of vodka!” I snap at a passing waitress, causing Mina to frown. Then, that fake smile of hers that I’m starting to despise reappears the minute the waitress returns with my order.

I down a vodka shot in one go, cursing under my breath when her hand refuses to budge from my thigh.

“You’re going to blow our cover if you don’t loosen up,” she warns in a whisper, making sure not to be overheard.

“That’s what the vodka’s for.” I pour another shot and knock it back.

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