Page 5 of The Opposite Effect

She slams the front glass door so harshly, the gust of its closure knocks the two signs I’d referenced earlier off the wall.

Upon hearing the commotion her abrupt exit caused, Ryder the owner of Inked, exits his office. “Everything all right?” His eyes bounce between the blonde standing at the curb shrieking into a cell phone and me.

I lift my chin. “It’s all good.”

Although I’m telling him everything is fine, I really need to start considering the consequences of my actions. If I knew I was going against a woman who has more money than sense, I may have considered taking a different route.

Oh, who am I kidding? Nothing would have changed.

Ryder nudges his head to the door. “So what’s the deal? She didn’t like the terms of your agreement?”

I laugh at the insinuation in his voice. “You know as well as I do, Elvis, nothing but money is exchanged for my services.”

Ryder’s heavy brow slants at my use of his infamous nickname. His son, Slater, let it slip a few months ago when he was here adding more ink to his already vast collection. I’ve been keeping it up my sleeve, waiting for a prime opportunity to use it. Tonight seems like the ideal time.

When the blonde curls into a black town car pulled to the curb in front of her, I shift my eyes to Ryder. “I may or may not have changed her boyfriend’s name to Princess.”

A lewd grin curves onto his lips before he shakes his head in disbelief. “Did you get her to sign the contract?”

“Do you think I got this handsome by lining up for brains? I cut that queue and went straight back to the looks department. Who needs smarts when you look like this?” I run my hand down the front of me while smiling a shit-eating grin.

Any humor in Ryder’s face vanishes, replaced with nothing but pure anger.

“I’m joking, Ryder. Of course, I got her to sign the contract. I even stenciled her tattoo with the name adjustment included,” I inform him while rocking on my heels. “She signed that too.”

A chuckle escapes Ryder’s no-longer stern lips. “Then we’re all good.”

“Yes, we are,” I reply, grinning.

Although I have an inkling this won’t be the last I’ll hear from Ms. Clara McGregor.

CHAPTER ONE

The doorman at Vipers greets me with a fist pump before opening the large wrought iron door. Pricy leather, warm bodies, and the scent of alcohol filter into my nose when I enter the main section of the strip club.

My eyes divert from a pretty redhead with gold tassels on her breasts to the entryway bar when a distinctive throaty voice sounds through my ears. “Brax, it’s been too long.” Keke saunters around the bar to wrap her arms around my neck.

I return her embrace. “Hey, Keke, what are you doing over on this side of town? The prim and proper get too dull for you?”

She laughs before scraping her lengthened French tip nails down my forearm. “I’m always on the lookout,” she purrs while skimming the full-to-the-brim club.

“For clientele or new staff members?”

Keke winks before she continues scanning the room. She is the manager of a very exclusive club on the other side of Ravenshoe.Maison du Sexe(French for House of Sex). Although she refers to her establishment as a bordello, every male on this side of Ravenshoecalls it a brothel. An incredibly high-priced, invited-members-only exclusive brothel. Though if you’re friendly with the manager, even guys from my side of the tracks can dip their toes into the high-caliber services Keke offers.

Does that mean I’ve accepted the numerous offers she’s bestowed upon me? No, it does not. Even though I only accept cash payments for my services, that doesn’t mean I’m willing to cough up my hard-earned cash for services I can get without money exchanging hands.

Although with my dick on hiatus the past few weeks, I may need to consider other options.

Keke curls her arm around the crook of my elbow and leads me toward the main stage. She stops in front of a beautiful brunette doing an aerial ribbon routine with a set of black satin ribbons suspended from a bolt shackled to the ceiling. Her outfit selection, although skimpy, is more conservative than the clientele at Vipers is used to seeing. It could be deemed more as a gymnast’s outfit than a stripper’s ensemble.

My heart leaps out of my chest when the brunette rolls down the satin ribbon, her stomach-churning tumble only stopping a mere inch from the stage. One wrong move and she would have been splattered on the highly-polished wooden stage.

After loosening the satin material from her slender thighs, the brunette curtseys to the wolf-whistling crowd before the stage lights are switched off, plunging the entire area into blackness.

“Beautiful. Yes?” Keke questions, her fake French accent fully exploited.

Smirking, I nod. Even with the brunette having her god-gifted assets hidden from view, her routine was provocative and entertaining. No doubt a rare treat for any male clientele in a strip club.

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