Page 1 of Daddy Issues

Kenna

Working at The Black Cat meant I spent almost every shift surrounded by sex, women who oozed it, and men who sought it. On the floor, with the dancers mostly nude and drawing attention, I was wrapped in the illusion of sex.

But when I worked upstairs, in the VIP rooms, it was all about the real thing. Though there were often private performances and prime viewing of the stages downstairs, up here the escorts ruled. Ky Soletsky learned very quickly that I was discreet, disinterested, and not easily shocked.

A girl raised by a junkie didn’t spend most of her life surrounded by outlaw bikers and end up a prude.

Besides, I’d seen the seedier sides of life already—experienced them firsthand. A Korean business man getting a blow job behind curtain one was a cakewalk.

Were the Soletsky’s recording for blackmail? None of my business. But I knew of one room thatdidn’thave cameras.

Working the upper level kept me from looking over my shoulder for my ex-boyfriend or stepdad to walk in the door. From up here, I had an escape route mapped out. A way to scramble toward the dressing room, so I could prepare myself to deal with them, or to hide until they left. Was I avoiding the entire MC? Probably.

Facing any of the Kings, since that night after Desert Lights, made my stomach tumble and something heavy lodge in my chest. No matter how screwed up my life had been, only once had a fight with a shitty boyfriend led me to getting drugged and almost date raped by a bunch of fraternity pricks.

After a lifetime of friendship and several years as his girlfriend, I didn’t even speak to Ghost anymore. That was over, dead and buried. He made me someone I didn’t want to be. Even though I lived there, avoiding my stepdad David was easy now too, since he’d hooked up with a washed-up patch bunny and she’d moved in.

But the guys in my life, especially the overbearing, leather wearing type, always had opinions on what they thought I should do.

I wasn’t dancing and even if I was, I wouldn’t be ashamed of it. No, I’d humiliated myself in worse ways. Which was why I was avoiding them, all of them, but one in particular. Puck Kelly always had something to say abouteverythingI did. If I was being honest, I’d say that his opinion mattered even when it shouldn’t. Because itshouldn’t. I wasn’t sleeping with him, he’d never even tried.

We werejust friends. Even if I wanted more, that night after Desert Lights had blown that chance.

Thankfully, he wasn’t one of the Kings that frequented The Black Cat. I’d mostly only had to avoid Merc, since he seemed to work for the Soletskys.

With a quick sidestep, I avoided a customer’s smack to my ass with a wink and turned his drink orders in at the upstairs bar. I made more money slinging cocktails in the VIP section at the strip club than I’d ever made with powder dips at the nail salon.

It was a busy night. The crowd, the music, the strobing lights, and the grabby older man at table twenty had distracted me enough I didn’t pay attention to the Soletskys and their private entrance.

But Dani, the upstairs bartender, pushed a tray at me and pointed toward the purple room. Dimi Soletsky often held court in there. One of the older two Soletskys, he was probably the easiest to deal with. Symon was creepy and Val was scary—in that super sexy, stay the fuck on his good side, way.

I clutched the tray in two hands and glanced down at the fizzy dark soda swirling in a glass beside a familiar, dark bottled import beer. The shimmering purple and velvet curtain swished behind me, leaving chills across my skin. I’d seen this combo before, poured the soda myself a time or two.

My hair was different, darker, curling at the ends where it was dyed a bright purple, very similar to the plush, quilted couches strewn across the room. I hoped it was camouflage enough and shook it in my face, keeping my head down as my heartbeat kicked up faster than the booming bass from the DJ.

Because two Desert Kings were in that room, men I knew far too well. And one I didn’t want to see at all.

The tall, tattooed, flirtatious Jester Vaughn andPuck.

They’d come in the Soletsky’s private entrance, MC business. None of mine, that was for damn sure. A blond woman in a slinky blue dress kneeled between Jester’s legs, her head bobbing up and down. The tall fighter’s light hair was pulled up on the back of his head and the muscles in neck worked, making the Royal Flush of Hearts tattoo flutter.

I still remembered the night he got that tattoo…it was the hand Dylan Merrick beat him with in strip poker. She’d chosen where to put the tattoo and everything. I’d been maybe eighteen but had never forgotten the way his lips had twisted when she showed her hand or the pride on her face.

My best friend. I missed her, too. Avoiding the Kings meant avoiding Dylan.

Focusing on those things kept me from watching the woman suck his dick. Not that it bothered me, I’d seen as much before. Iwantedto watch. Hell, there was a time I wouldn’t have minded being that woman. Jester was gorgeous, kinky, and dangerous.

Knowing their habits, I set the bottle down on his side of the table and slid the soda toward Puck’s side. If Jester was gorgeous, Puck was a giant wall of concrete sex appeal. Standing this close, I couldn’t help but tremble a little. I told myself it was from the cool air coming from the vents in the ceiling.

My cheeks warmed and that heat spread all the way between my thighs. I didn’t dare look up at him for fear he’d see me. The room was dark enough, my makeup heavy enough, that I could slide out and send someone else next time. Instead, I focused on his boots and the two feminine legs that hung between his—an escort in his lap.

The flare of jealousy burned uncomfortable but familiar. I’d looked enough to know that while she was petting all over him, he wasn’t interested in the same treatment Jester was receiving. That didn’t stop me from wanting to be in his lap, hands all over the thick wall of muscle that was his chest.

It made me happy, which was stupid. I had no reason to care if Puck was banging Val’s girls. Not my problem—not my man. I snatched the tip from the table and slid out of there before either of them noticed me.

Especiallyhim.

The music up here was muted slightly, the speakers beneath us facing out into the club. “Give someone else the purple room,” I said to Dani. She was more than a bartender. Up here, she ran the show. Tiny, smaller than me even, covered in tattoos with her bee-stung lips, she got almost as much attention as any of the dancers.

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