Page 62 of The Enforcer's Revenge
Nova grunted in disgust next to him.
“I’ve got a girl for your brother,” Heather said conspiratorially. “She’ll cheer him up.”
Tino snorted at that. “That’s not… so easy. He’s not a normal Siciliano. Very serious. All work. No fun.”
“Oh, you wait. She’s new, and we already have guys showing up every night just to see her. Seriously, she’s amazing. He’ll like her.” Heather sounded really enthusiastic about it, like she was a fan. “And she speaks Italian, too.”
“Ah.” Tino tilted his head, giving Nova a knowing look as he said in Italian, “How good am I at this?”
“You just shit on our entire culture,” Nova reminded him. “And your accent is horrible. It’s all over the place.”
“Says you.” He held up the number, knowing it looked like he was bragging about getting it, which was exactly what a twenty-something Siciliano tourist would do. “I think she likes my accent. I’m pretty sure it does it for her,” he pointed out before he turned to Heather and switched back to English. “He’d like to see your friend.”
“Okay, I think she’s coming up next,” Heather said quickly.
Tino kissed her hand once more. “Grazie.”
When they turned to walk into the club, Nova looked to him and asked, “Ash?”
“What’s wrong with Ash?”
“Like Ash from Pokémon?”
“Yeah,” Tino agreed. “Do you have a problem with Pokémon now?”
Nova was quiet for a moment before he said, “It’s not even Italian.”
“She doesn’t fucking know that,” Tino said dismissively as he pulled open the door. “It’s all about the delivery.”
All the other issues had been hitting Tino one after another, and he forgot how much he fucking hated strip clubs until they were inside.
It wasn’t the dark lighting or the throb of blatantly sexual music because he loved club culture as much as just about anyone. It was the other stuff. This was one of those all-nude strip clubs Tampa was famous for, and the mix of dressed men and fully naked women tossed Tino back to a time he tried very hard to forget.
The gut-wrenching thing was that a part of him instinctively looked for Lola and the rest of his friends. He had this deep, painful hole in his stomach as the very damaged Tino from his youth scanned the crowd with a rush of raw panic. They couldn’t play the game right if they weren’t together. They couldn’t protect each other.
What if a bad one found her?
What if one found him?
Except there was no Lola.
There was no saving her.
This wasn’t the first strip club he’d been in while working, but the other times he was able to tell himself Lola was happy and free of the game when he found himself looking for her and the others in his crew on instinct because it was the only safety net any of them had back then—each other.
This time, it felt as though every ounce of joy had been sucked out of his world, like every sex slave’s story, including his, was going to end gutted, naked, and tragic.
There was no saving any of them.
Tino stood there looking at the beautiful, naked women walking around like it was normal and completely lost his cool. He could physically feel all the color drain from his face, and for one horrible moment, he thought he might pass out in the middle of this club—that was how sick he got.
He had no idea how fucking violent his PTSD really was until he was looking down the barrel at it. He must’ve been obvious, too.
“We can leave,” Nova said in hushed Italian against Tino’s ear. “I’ll come back by myself.”
Tino was just about to agree.
He knew he was a liability, and that was the last thing they could afford. Then the music ended, and the DJ’s voice came over the surround-sound speakers.
