Page 5 of Kings Against the World

I’m greeted at the door by a blonde with a skirt so short, her ass cheeks hang out. She’s got lips that look like they’ve been pumped full of filler and a soft, baby voice that’s barely audible over the thumping music.

“Hey, handsome,” she coos. “Can I get you a drink?”

“Only if you come with it.”

She giggles, then says, “Go on and have a seat, cutie. I’ll be back with a bottle.”

She spins around and prances off knowing I’ll take a look at her ass.

I do. Without an ounce of shame.

Since the tournament won’t begin for another hour, I approach one of the empty tables and pull out a chair to sit down.

If some of the other Steel Kings found out what I’m up to, they’d shake their heads. Silver would be forced to question my loyalties. Mace would call me a dumbass, while Cash would point out it’s not worth the trouble. Ghost would shrug his shoulders and tell me it’s my funeral.

But it doesn’t matter what anybody else thinks. Sometimes you need to self-destruct for a few days.

Besides, Houston’s always had some of the hottest fucking women in the country and it’s been two months since Hope dumped my ass. Time to get some.

I’ve already booked a suite at the Fairmont Hotel in downtown Houston and I’ve got enough room in the jacuzzi to fit at least five.

A few minutes into sitting down, I’m already eyeballing several girls that I wouldn’t mind bringing back with me.

My tastes have always varied—women as tall as Amazons to the shorties that are easy to scoop up and throw around. Thin to curvy to big asses or small tits. White, Black, Brown, candy fucking striped. It doesn’t matter to me so long as the chick has something that catches my eye.

The ones currently on the stage whip themselves around the pole like it’s an Olympic sport. They do all sorts of gymnastics: side spins, back flips, front splits. Tricks I’ve never seen before but that earn mountains of dollar bills tossed their way.

My head sways along to the hypnotic beat as I’m glued to the performance on stage. I don’t even notice when the server who greeted me at the door returns with the bottle she promised.

“Here you go, handsome,” she says, setting down a bottle of whiskey and two shot glasses. “Let me know if there’s anything else you?—”

“You’re not having a drink with me?” I ask, grabbing her by the wrist. I grin and cock a brow at her. “Don’t tell me you’ll get in trouble. Who do I gotta bribe to get you a break?”

She giggles, glancing around as if checking for a manager, then obliges. Sliding into the chair next to mine, she says, “I’m Sugar.”

“Where’s Spice?” I ask.

Her penciled brows draw close. “Who’s that?”

“Uh, never mind.” I clear my throat and reach for the bottle and shot glasses. “I’m surprised the place’s not more packed. There’s usually a bigger crowd for Boone’s tournaments.”

Her face dims slightly. “Oh. You’re here for the tournament?”

“Yeah. That a problem?”

“Um, I don’t think I’m supposed to say. Enjoy your drink.”

“Hang on, Sugar. You said?—”

“I have customers,” she squeaks, popping to her feet. Her ass cheeks bounce under the short flap that’s her miniskirt as she strides off.

“Lips and ass shots,” I mutter under my breath. I redirect my attention back to the stage, but all the pole tricks in the world can’t distract me from what just happened.

Why would Sugar care if I’m asking about Boone’s tournament? It’s an underground poker ring, but it’s hardly a secret if I mentioned it by name…

I uncap the bottle of White Oak and fill both shot glasses with whiskey. Double the fun for me.

Another half hour passes with more girls coming out to dance. I’m still watching the stage, but I’ve moved onto observing other things too, like how empty the club floor is and how the manager has stepped out from the back to yell at one of the bouncers.

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