Going Deep

 

Blurb

Getting down, dirty and deep is what I do best. 
Because I'm an undercover cop & a bad boy at heart
Let's just say that women love to get under the covers with me
Especially when they know what I'm packing in my jeans...

I'm all set to take down the South Side Gang
I've got Richie Silvestri in my sights
All I gotta do is wait, watch, listen, then make my move
It should be just another day in the life of Detective Danny O'Shea

But then she comes: Hannah, Richie's little sister
She's the finest piece of a$$ I've ever seen
She is smoking hot with a mouth to watch
And all I now think of is burying myself between her thighs

But Hannah is a tough nut to crack
It's going to take more than my bad boy charm to get those legs spread
But I'll keep working her, cause that's what I do

And once I taste her, the whole South Side will explode into flames.

 

Chapter One: Detective Daniel Dutton

Sometimes it was hard being an undercover cop.

Sometimes it was harder than others.

Like now, for instance.

It was hard as a rock.

“Jesus, you’re good at that,” I sighed, sucking the night air in quickly through my gritted teeth. My head clunked back against the dirty brick wall I was leaning against. I barely felt it because all the sensation in my body had pooled in my cock. The girl’s tongue was hot and wet, hotter than the sweltering night air. It slid over my salty flesh like warm butter.

I felt like I was melting, she was that good. My knees felt like they might dissolve, just puddle onto the ground, leaving my body to flounder in the cesspool of stink and rot and filth that filled this back alley.

The thumping bass of the music inside the dive bar matched the pounding of my heart as the girl—what was her name again?—sucked the head of my cock, teasing and tasting my sweaty flesh like a refreshing Popsicle. Even the sounds she made had me thinking of yummy summer treats.

Devouring slices of watermelon.

Sucking a straw full of thirst-quenching lemonade.

Licking at those snow cones I used to get as a kid.

A bead of sweat rolled down the side of my face, and as I wiped it away, she gulped my cock all the way down her throat. I lost all thought after that. I ignored the snickers from some partiers passing the alley. I forgot about the scrape of my head against the brick. I stopped caring about the mosquitos buzzing around my face. My cock was held in a warm vise, being massaged and caressed by the smooth column of her throat and tongue, drawing out drops of precum, which she eagerly swallowed.

That tiny movement made me grit my teeth. The sensation was too good to give up. I refused to come. My greedy cock wanted more.

Danny O’Shea, underworld bad boy, had a reputation to uphold in this shitty town. There was no way I was gonna blow my load this quick, not knowing that this dame would spread the news of our encounter like wildfire, either furthering my reputation of a bad boy with a big cock or as a shit head who couldn’t hold back his cum for more than five minutes.

I lived and died by my reputation, my legend, the other cops called it.

There was no way one amazing blowjob was going to ruin that.

I slid my fingers through her sweaty blonde hair and pulled her closer, ramming my cock even farther into the tight recesses of her mouth. She responded by clutching my ass and clinging tighter, trying to take every inch, and that did it.

My body tensed then shuddered and I couldn’t help but moan. I erupted like a kinked firehose that had been twisted free, shooting so much cum down her throat I couldn’t imagine how she swallowed it all. My cock jerked and lunged to the beat of the music coming through the open door, but that didn’t stop this girl. She kept on sucking and licking, her mouth a siphon, drawing out every drop I had in my body until I had nothing more to give.

She released my cock with a little pop from her lips. I glanced down to see some drops of cum glistening at the corner her mouth. Without hesitation, she wiped her lips with one finger and stuck it into her mouth with a smile.

I let go of her shoulders, then stepped back to run my hands through my hair, pushing the sweat back through the long locks, plastering it to my head. A cool shower was in order, but of course that wasn’t on my agenda tonight. At least not yet. For now, I had other plans.

“I think I owe you a drink,” I said as I glanced down at her. Her hand was still holding my now withering cock. She was caressing it lovingly.

“Just a drink?” she asked coyly, gazing up with luminous green eyes that practically glowed in the sputtering light above the door. Her fake eyelashes cast shadows on her cheeks. “Aren’t you gonna let me ride that big thing tonight, Danny?” She pulled my cock to its full flaccid length. It twitched in response.

I smiled and tugged a strand of her hair to get her attention. I loved blowjobs as much as the next guy, but I didn’t have time to sample all of this girl’s talents, at least not tonight.

“I’d love that, doll, but I’ve gotta see a guy about a job.”

“I just gave you a job,” she said.

“Sorry, not tonight.”

“Fine,” she said with a pouty smile. She planted one last kiss on the tip of my cock and let it go. I stuffed it back into my jeans before she opted to try again.

“Rain check then,” she said as she got off her knees. She tugged her tight red mini dress down to cover her ass. It was a nice ass, and she was probably a nice girl, but I never dated any girl who hung out in dive bars and gave blowjobs in a back alley. Not good for my wellbeing or survival. It wouldn’t pay for anyone to put together that Danny O’Shea, bad boy renegade and criminal opportunist, was actually Detective Daniel Dutton, Vice Division, Chicago P.D.

I zipped up my jeans then dug in my pocket for some money. I held out a twenty.

Another pout. Her cherry lipstick was smeared all over her mouth. Not a good look for her. She plucked the money from my fingers.

“I was hoping we could at least have a drink together,” she said softly as she caressed the money over her face.

“No can’t do, sweetheart. Not tonight.”

“Are you sure?” She took a step toward me, but I held up my hands. Man, this chick didn’t know when to quit. I wasn’t used to women not taking no for an answer. I gave her a firm look and shook my head.

“Maybe another night,” I said. “Like I said, I’ve gotta see a guy about a job.”

She shoved the money into her swollen cleavage. Nice tits to go with that tight ass. Still, a skank was a skank. I could never take her home to meet Pops, or my siblings—all seven of them in the tradition of good Irish folks—would have a field day with this girl, although my brother Paddy would have tapped that ass in a New York minute.

“I thought you really liked me, Danny,” she said, trying to sound hurt. Her voice had taken on an annoying, whining tone, and that did it. I needed her gone. No blowjob out there was worth putting up with a whining woman.

I dug in my pocket and yanked out another twenty. What difference did it make? I was going to expense it anyway. Her eyes brightened, and her lashes fluttered in her excitement as she held out her hand.

The crash inside the bar came right on cue, and a beer bottle came flying through the door to smash against the opposite wall of the alley. She flinched and ducked as she glanced toward the open door.

Inwardly, I smiled. Things were progressing right on cue.

Another bottle hurtled through the door, hitting the dumpster and shattering into glistening shards. A body spilled into the alley and rolled several feet to land in the glass.

The girl snatched the money from my hand, and stuffed it into her cleavage with the other bill. “Gotta go before the cops get here. See ya soon, Danny. My pussy will be hot and ready when you are.”

“Good to know,” I said. “Now, scram.”

She could run fast in those five-inch stilettos. I took a moment to watch her ass flex and shake as she rounded the corner onto the sidewalk, then rubbed my hands together and took a deep breath.

“It’s show time, folks,” I said.

I headed into the Rack ’Em Up Bar to begin tonight’s act two in the life as Dirty Danny O’Shea.

Chapter Two: Hannah Silvestri

The sounds and smells of the city filtered through the gauzy curtains over my windows when a whisper of a breeze came through. The night was hot and mostly still, one of those nights in Chicago where everyone and everything seems a hairsbreadth away from melting. The ancient air conditioner jammed into the other window had died two days before, and though I’d asked three or four times, no one had come to fix it yet.

The rhythmic thump of Girls, Girls, Girls filtered through the floor from the club below. Lucky me, I lived above Pussy Whipped, my brother’s strip club. Any money my brother made went back into the club or into his pocket, not in the areas no one saw. It was a shithole apartment and he let me live there free, so in his mind, I had little right to bitch about anything. The paint was peeling on every wall, and the ceiling had a crack that leaked water in a heavy rain. This had caused a huge stain that looked disgusting and was probably festering into deadly mole, but at least it was on the ceiling, so I never looked up and tried not to think about the tiny spores burrowing not my lungs.

A tiny bedroom lay off the living room, and the adjoining bathroom had been remodeled sometime in the eighties. The puke green was a lovely color. All in all, not a decorator’s dream, but I did have a small kitchenette, which served my purposes because all I really needed was a small fridge and a microwave. I got most of my meals from the club’s kitchen, and when I was ready for take-out, almost anyone in the neighborhood would deliver to the club, hoping for a free peepshow.

I was comfortable enough, but the noise level of the music, not to mention the sounds of the catcalls made by its illustrious patrons and the city noise outside, made it hard to concentrate, one of the many prices I paid for being the sister of Richie Silvestri.

I guess I should have been grateful he refused to allow me to dance. Such a good brother to keep his sister from stripping. As it was, I bartended the day shift, mostly because Richie thought the classier men came in during the day. There was nothing classier than a man who spent his hard-earned money going to a strip club during lunch hour and happy hour. And they all leered at me like I was a piece of meat in a butcher’s front window. Not in my most terrible nightmares would I give any of them the time of day, much less allow them into my bed. I wanted a man who wanted me, not some body dancing around a pole.

I’d seen them all lined up at the bar and the tables around the center stage—politicians, guys in suits, office workers, the construction guys, the factory rats. Very few of them tipped the bartender well because they’d earmarked their money on the hot fantasies shaking pussy and tits in their faces. Fantasy was the right word because, underneath the erotic outfits and the cliché names, the daytime ladies would never be indulging the fantasies of these men with no future, no hope, no passion in their lives except the hard-on in their pants. These women were single mothers, women going to night school, trapped girls trying to make enough money to get back home to Boise and Omaha and Bismarck, women who’d once held big dreams for Chicago. I could have told them dreams died in Chicago, but they wouldn’t have listened. You had to live it to believe it.

None of the women gave a damn who passed over the dollar—sometimes a five or ten—as long as it got passed. Yet the men were all looking for that hookup, not knowing that the stripper with the heart of gold, the hot body, and adoring gaze was a fantasy only in their pornographic imaginations. None of the dancers cared who these men were or what they wanted. The women wanted their money, plain and simple, because they had to feed their kids and buy that bus ticket back to failure and lost dreams.

All of us were trapped between fantasy and reality, playing mind games and just trying to make it through our ten-hour shifts. I really hated the daytime.

The nighttime, though, belonged to me. Richie thought I watched Netflix and read romance novels up here in my tiny apartment. If he knew I was working toward a degree, my internet would have been unplugged between one heartbeat and the next. Richie thought women were good for two things—stripping or pushing out kids. I had created a problem for my brother because he didn’t want me doing either.

I finished up my lesson for the night and saved everything on the flash drive. I had just hit Clear Browser History when a fist pounded on my door. My heart skipped a beat.

“Jesus, hang the fuck on,” I yelled.

I shoved the flash drive into the pocket of my shorts.

“Who is it?”

“It’s me, Butch.”

My head dropped before I could hold in the sigh, and though my heart tried to return to a normal rhythm, the sound of Butch Collette’s voice always made my hackles rise. They didn’t come uglier than Butch—or meaner. What the hell was he doing here?

“What do you want, Butch?”

Something knocked against the door, and then I heard the rattle of something metallic.

“Came to fix your window unit.”

Yeah, right. My brother’s right-hand man and enforcer had decided to play service technician? Something wasn’t right here. The man would do anything to be alone with me. I guess I had to give him props for at least finding a valid reason to come to my apartment instead of stalking me on the bar floor like he did every afternoon.

I glanced at the clock on the microwave. It was almost midnight. I went to the door and opened it a crack, making sure to keep the chain in place. Not that a chain—or a door for that matter—would matter to Butch. If he really wanted in, he’d get in.

I peered through the opening, up, up, up into Butch’s face. His bald pate glistened with sweat. The scar on his chin blazed a fiery trail over his skin and cut through his lip. No one talked about that scar, but rumor had it he’d gotten it while protecting Richie from a very dissatisfied customer years ago. Butch had carte blanche around here because of that scar. The prison tats on his hands and arms signaled Butch was a badass motherfucker. I never asked what they meant because I didn’t want to be more scared than I was.

Yes, he scared me, but that didn’t mean I had to let him in my house. Richie thought Butch walked on water, but he would back me on that.

“I’m getting ready for bed, Butch.”

Bed. Wrong thing to say. His piggy eyes lit up as he raked his gaze down the gap, trying to see anything at all, any flash of skin. My skin crawled. I curled behind the door and pressed against it, hoping to become invisible. No such luck because his gaze just came back to mine. I felt the flash drive in my pocket like a dirty secret as I tried not to cower under his stare.

“Anything I can help with?” he asked, giving me a lurid smile.

I almost vomited right there at my front door.

“No…thank you.” I swallowed hard.

“I brought the tools.” He held up a metal toolbox and rattled it for effect. I knew for a fact a hammer and screwdriver weren’t going to cut it on an air conditioning unit. That was the box they used to fix the stripper poles downstairs and occasionally tighten a screw on a barstool.

“Can we do this tomorrow please? Maybe before my shift?”

“Seven thirty?”

“Sure. That sounds great.” I tried to smile, but it felt lost inside. I wasn’t even sure I knew how to smile anymore. I’d heard it often enough at the bar.

“Hey, beautiful, nice ass… give me a smile with those ruby red lips...”

What I wanted to do every time I heard it was smash a beer bottle against the counter and shove it in the guy’s throat just to shut him up.

I really needed out of this town.

“Okay, Hannah,” Butch grunted. “See you in the morning.”

He gave me a gap-toothed smile, turned and lumbered down the staircase, all six-feet-five, two hundred fifty pounds of him, muscles and sinew and bone, so much there to inflict pain. Each step creaked a protest beneath his frame.

I closed the door and locked all three locks, and then for good measure, I shoved a chair under the knob. None of it would have stopped him. He became a charging bull under the right circumstances.

My legs buckled, and I hit the floor hard. The flash drive poked into my hip, reminding me I needed to put it in the tampon box with the others. As far as I knew, Richie never came into my apartment. Why would he? He knew I was a scared little mouse watching the cats prowl around the house with absolute impunity. Every step I took, every move I made, brought the potential for the snap of the traps that seemed to encompass every aspect of my life.

Someday…

I just kept telling myself…

Someday…

Someday I would be free.

But in the meantime, I was stuck here until I could do something better.

Then the flash drive joined the other four, which held the courses I’d already completed, in a tampon box in the top of the bathroom closet, each stuffed into a little cardboard tube which I knew no man would ever want to touch.

Chapter Three: Danny O’Shea

The bar lights should have made the place welcoming, but all I felt was sadness. Neon colors split the semi-darkness, creating pools of vibrant blue, red, and green. Some of the lights flickered, and other had burned out creating gaps in the messages. The Chicago sports teams were all represented.

The Bears and the Bulls and the Cubs were all partnered onto signs with Budweiser and Miller Lite and Old Style, as though those multimillionaire players would touch a bottle of something so mundane or drink it with the common guy. I wondered why they bothered. No one who frequented this shit hole had the money to actually go to a game.

To be fair, I guess there was a chance someone would come out ahead on the wagers going down at the tables, but chances were that bonus cash would find its way into a vein or a pussy somehow. The Cubs wouldn’t see a dime.

All the lights made my head hurt and would have spiraled me into a severe depression if I hadn’t been here for work. As it was, I was eager to get the party started.

I waded through the sea of bodies sprawled across the dirty plank floor in various stages of consciousness. My dad’s buddy, Stan—appropriately nicknamed “Gorilla”— had been hard at work in lieu of my arrival. He was supposed to start a bar fight, zero in on a dude named Archie Dee, then let me save Archie’s ass as a way of infiltrating the South Side Gang, which was headed up by Archie’s best pal, Richie Silvestri.

Stan had been one of the best detectives on the force before he was forced to medically retire after taking a bullet to the brain that would have killed most guys. At six-foot-six and three hundred pounds, it just pissed Stan off. Still, the force deemed him unfit to serve and mustered him out. Now, he worked as a private consultant, helping out cops here and there and earning a few bucks for his time. Having him bust up the place and knock a few dicks in the dirt tonight was the best five hundred dollars I’d ever expense to the job. When he said he’d start something to give me an in with Richie Silvestri, he hadn’t been kidding.

The target of my brawl ruse—the reason for the C-note investment—was currently being held against the bar by a big, burly fellow who looked like he could be Bigfoot’s cousin. He wore greasy jeans, had a scruffy beard, a shaved head, a sleeveless t-shirt that showed off his ham-hock arms, and an old biker’s jean vest that had the name KILLER sewn on the front.

He was not Stan, even though he was holding my target, Archie Devereaux —Archie Dee— the small-time fish playing with the sharks in the big cesspool that was Chicago’s underworld. I knew Archie was allowed to play only because he’d been Richie Silvestri’s best friend since they were baby gangbangers. He was a tall, skinny dude that looked like he might break if you looked at him hard. Another few seconds with this guy’s beefy hand around his throat would have probably made him shit his pants.

“Sorry about that,” a deep voice said from behind. I turned to see Stan staring at the guy who had Archie by the throat. I had to look up to meet his eyes. “That asshole got to Devereaux before I did. You want me to take him out for you?”

“Nah, I have to do this,” I said, taking a deep breath and blowing it out slowly. “Just keep my back covered.”

“Will do.”

“And Stan,” I said with a smile. “If this goes south, don’t let this guy kill me.”

“Roger that.”

“Hey, Bigfoot,” I said, approaching the big guy from behind.

He gave me a hard look, like you would do to a fly buzzing around your ear. A growl rumbled out of the big guy’s throat, followed by a snarl. “Fuck off,” he said. “Or you’ll be next.”

“You’re not supposed to play with your food,” I said. “Why don’t you just put the guy out of his misery or let him go?”

He growled at me again and tightened his grip on Archie’s throat. “I said fuck off, shit head.” He swung around, pulling Archie with him like he was a rag doll. “You wanna take his place?”

“Sure,” I said with a shrug. “I’ve got nothing better to do than knock your fat ass away from the bar so I can get a drink.”

The guy frowned at me like he was sensitive about his weight. He let go of Archie’s neck, and the poor guy dropped like a stone, gasping, his face red, eyes bulging. Bigfoot took a step toward me, stomping on Archie’s hand in the process. A howl rose from the floor as Archie clutched what was probably a broken hand, but the big guy kept his focus on me.

This asshole was huge and hairy, and would have looked far more comfortable in the Pacific Northwest than here in a steamy pool hall that reeked of sweat, stale perfume, and so much beer-soaked wood a man could gag just walking into the joint. But I was big, too, and had been a linebacker in high school. As long as I didn’t hit him with my bum knee—or he didn’t hit me—I figured I was golden.

“Think I can’t take you?” I asked, smirking at him just to rev him up. Big guys like him get revved up and lose focus, thinking they can win the fight purely by their size.

“I know you can’t take me,” he snorted. “Come on, pretty boy. Show me what you got.”

Pretty boy? Really?

He took another step forward. Crunch went Archie’s foot. Archie howled and scrambled away, crab-walking his way several feet to curl under the lip of the bar.

I had almost forgotten that the bar fight Stan had started was still raging behind me. A body slammed into my back, but I shook it off, ignoring the warmth of damp sweat, and possibly blood, against my T-shirt. This fight had devolved from a chaotic skirmish into a full-on battle. I wasn’t worried about me, but I needed Archie out of here in one piece to be of any value to me.

When the guy came toward me my right fist shot out quickly. My knuckles caught him right on the chin and stopped him cold. He rocked back on his heels then staggered against the bar. He clutched at a stool to keep from tumbling, and then he roared at me like a pissed off mountain gorilla.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” I shook my hand, hoping that I hadn’t broken it on this asshole’s face. “Did I hurt you?”

His hot breath poured from his mouth as he let out another roar and charged toward me, head prepared to butt me into next Tuesday. Even better.

When the fucker got within a foot of me, I sidestepped and spun around, using my weight to propel him farther. He plowed into a table, toppling bottles, breaking glasses, knocking people down, and smashing the rickety thing beneath his ginormous head.

The sounds of clapping and cheering replaced the sounds of fists hitting flesh and bottles shattering against the floor as everyone around us froze in mid-step and mid-punch. I sauntered over and lifted the ape by the belt and the dank hunk of hair at his neck. I somehow managed to lift him and flung him across the wet floor like a bowling bowl.

My human bowling ball knocked down everything in his path and smashed into the jukebox, cutting off Johnny Cash in mid-warble. The glass over the front cracked then rained in shards to the floor. The lights flickered, dimmed, flickered again, and then the box just moaned and died. Bigfoot gave a low groan and fell still.

“Holy shit, man. You took down Otto.”

I turned to find Archie limping toward me, nursing his hand against his chest like a baby bird. A bright red ring punctuated by two thumbprints hugged his neck. His eyes said junkie; his breath said alcoholic. I knew he was both, but he was perfect for my plan. He was staring at me with something akin to wonder. Even better.

“Otto was messing up my night,” I said with a shrug. “I don’t mind a good brawl, but killing someone shouldn’t be part of it.” I waved my aching hand up and down his body. “You all good?”

He nodded quickly, so fast I thought his head would pop off.

“I haven’t seen you around,” Archie said, his eyes still glowing like I’d just played the world’s greatest guitar solo. “New to town?”

“I been away for a while, upstate,” I said, inferring that I’d just gotten out of Joliet Prison without actually saying so. “Danny O’Shea.”

“Archie Devereaux. But call me Archie Dee. Everyone does.”

“Nice to meet you, Archie Dee.”

I held out my right hand. Archie started to shake it then winced at the pain in his own hand. I was glad because my hand hurt like a mother.

I nodded at the hand he was clutching to his chest. “Is it bad?” I didn’t care, but it seemed the right thing to say.

Archie glanced at his hand and tried to put on a brave face. “Would have been worse, a lot worse.” He glanced toward the giant slug still lying in the demolished jukebox. “Otto doesn’t quit.”

“Seemed like a quitter to me.” I huffed.

“Yeah.” Archie gave me one of those smiles that almost made you feel sorry for a guy. Almost. “I owe you,” he said. “Big time. You name it.”

I shoved my hands in my jeans pockets and rocked on my heels. This guy was like putty in my hands, though I’d suspected he would be. I pretended to think for a minute.

“I could use a job,” I said. “Know anyone looking to hire someone with no marketable skills?”

Archie gave me a bobble-headed nod. His shaggy hair fluttered against his shoulders. “A job? Sure, I can hook you up. You got a car? I can take you to him right now.”

“Sure, my car’s right outside.” As we started out the door, Otto was groaning, starting to come around, I looked at Archie and smiled. “Wanna give the bastard a kick for luck?”

“I’m afraid it would be bad luck,” he said, giving me a nervous smile and shaking his head, as if he knew what kicking Otto might bring down on his head later on.

“Then let me do it,” I said. I pulled my foot back and gave Otto an easy kick in the ribs that made him groan.

“I like your style, Danny O’Shea,” Archie said with a look mixed with admiration and dread. “Come on, let’s get the fuck out of here before he wakes up. I got someone you need to meet.”

Chapter Four: Hannah

Unfortunately, the staircase that led to my apartment was connected to the strip club by a narrow hallway, and down this hallway was Richie’s office, a storeroom, and the kitchen, as well as a door into the alley.

As I was turning off the lights, the sound of Richie’s laughter boomed in the hallway, a signal that my brother was in a seriously good mood, and it probably involved money. That could only mean that someone had become ensnared in one of his traps. Drugs. Whores. Gambling. It didn’t matter. Richie would get someone hooked, and then they owed him for life.

After midnight was an odd time of night for a meeting though. Curious, or stupid, I decided to take a peek. If he saw me, I’d feign insomnia and ask for a nightcap. He liked to look like a doting brother in front of minions.

Since I was dressed in a teddy that showed way too much skin, I grabbed my flannel bathrobe and wrapped it tightly. The last thing I needed was someone eyeing me and getting any ideas. I wasn’t sure who I might encounter.

My locks disengaged quietly because I kept them well oiled. The stairs didn’t protest under my weight because I was tall and slender, not a big old ox like Butch. I crept down on bare feet, pulling the sash of my robe tighter, suddenly wishing it had a turtleneck because this robe showed too much cleavage.

The music got louder as I descended, the thump and beat of “Pour Some Sugar on Me” vibrating against the risers. I’d always liked that song, but lately I cringed when I heard it.

The flash of strobe lights flared through the partially opened door to the club. I squinted against the annoying flicker, wondering how anyone could enjoy a night out in that environment, but I knew from experience that the louder the music, the more liquor was consumed.

The pulsing lights kept the excitement level up, and the more excited the men got, the more money they threw on the stage. Men were sheep, and when you put a bunch of them in the same room with a naked woman and all the liquor they could drink, they became horny rams looking for a score.

The only other light shown from Richie’s office around the corner, so I followed the dim trail and peeked around the T-junction. Richie was shaking hands with a stranger, and Archie Dee stood by like a good little bootlicker. I could feel the hero worship from here. It wafted off Archie in pitiful waves as he fawned over my brother and gestured between himself and the stranger. I hadn’t gotten a good look at him because he faced away from the door, but he was a big lout. All we needed around here was more brawn and less brains. The place got dumber by the day.

No one just casually meeting Richie would know what a bastard he was. My brother was a good-looking man by almost any standards except mine. I knew the blackness of his heart. We both had our father’s black hair and olive skin, and I’d been blessed with my mother’s cornflower blue eyes, but Richie’s eyes were like no one’s in the family. Black voids. Empty except for the darkness that led to his soul. Staring into his eyes was like staring into a level of hell you’d never known existed, and when he smiled, and you knew him like I did… Well, men actually pissed their pants sometimes.

Tonight, though, that smile was different, big, wide, friendly. He put his arm around Archie Dee and tucked the smaller man right into his side like the good buddies they had always been. If my brother had a soft spot, it wasn’t for his strippers, and it wasn’t for me. It was for Archie. Something had bound them together as kids, but I’d only been a baby then, so I wasn’t in on that secret.

The lighting had changed to flashing red lights, casting an eerie glow over the dark hallway, and then I heard the guitar. I knew what was coming next. Glimmer’s favorite song. I happened to like it too, and for a moment I lost myself to the music and started bouncing and swaying in the hallway until I caught myself. Occupational hazard I guess, or maybe it was just me. Did I like to dance? I sure damn did, but dancing in this place was a bad and dangerous precedent to set. Richie could always change his mind and decide to give me a promotion. Lots of guys had begged him to put me on the stage. The thought made me gag. I didn’t even like them looking at me in the low-cut blouses Richie made me wear. I died a little inside every time I had to put one on.

I crept a little closer so I could hear them over the pulse of Shook Me All Night Long.

“That was a good thing you did, friend,” Richie said. “I won’t soon forget it. Archie here is a friend for life.”

Something was wrong with Archie’s hand because he kept it cupped against his chest, and every time Richie moved, Archie winced and sent a tight smile toward the man in the shadows. He was tall, built like the hero on the cover of the book I kept on my nightstand, with a head of dark hair that curled against the nape of his neck. Below the sleeves of his black T-shirt, his arms were loaded with tats, not scary ones like Butch’s but beautiful artwork that drew the eye.

“He looked like he could use a hand,” the man said. “Bad pun, Archie. Sorry.”

“No problem,” Archie said, cupping his hand closer. Richie jostled him again, and Archie grimaced. My brother was such a dick.

“Archie should stay out of the pool halls,” Richie said. “He sucks balls at it.”

The stranger laughed, and when I heard it, the sound shot straight through my body and my pussy clenched on emptiness. Jesus.

“Aw, Richie, that ain’t true. I’m okay at pool.”

“Not good enough to hustle the big boys,” Richie said.

“I just needed a little extra dough.”

“Bullshit,” Richie muttered. “I’m not good enough to you? Don’t I take care of you?”

Archie scratched at the arm cradled against him and, even in the dim light, seemed to pale. My brother generally kept him supplied with drugs and liquor, but Archie must have gone through his allotment for the month. Richie wasn’t going to be happy about that. He liked to keep Archie malleable but mostly in the here and now. Too many junkies dropped out of reality, and that wouldn’t serve my brother at all.

“You do, Richie,” Archie murmured. “Like I said, I just needed some extra dough, you know, for my kids and shit. That damn bitch has been on my back again.”

Richie sighed. “You should have come to me.” He dropped into his leather chair and twisted it back and forth, his hands loose on the armrests. I’m not sure I’d ever seen my brother so relaxed. It had to serve a purpose, and seeing it made me nervous. “You’re a damn fool, Arch. You could have been killed. Hustling Otto is the fast track to the morgue.”

“I wasn’t hustling…at least not Otto,” Archie said. “There was some rube from Ohio there. Thought he was all that. I was playing him. Otto was taking down some guy on another table, and he was in a great mood up until the fight started.”

Archie ran out of steam and hung his head.

“And?” Richie said.

Archie drew in a deep breath. “And then he noticed the money missing from his table and blamed me.” He scratched his head. “I don’t know who started that fight. Came out of nowhere.”

“That true?” Richie asked, eyeing the stranger.”

“True from what I saw,” the stranger said, nodding. “Some big guy at the next table threw a bottle and all hell broke loose.”

My pulse picked up as I stared at him. I hadn’t even seen his face, but the timbre of that voice did something to my insides. I knew this was the man I wanted.

The men’s voices became more muted, but it sounded as though they were rehashing the fight, and the stranger laughed as he talked about Otto. When I heard his laugh, the sound shot straight through my body and my pussy clenched again. My breath caught at the sensation, and for a split second, I was afraid they’d heard me because the mystery man turned slightly, his gaze darting toward the open door.

Jesus, he was good looking.

“So, Richie, about the job…” Archie scratched at his arm again, clearly needing out of there.

“What do you think of Pussy Whipped?” Richie asked.

The tall man laughed. “Depends on the lady.”

“Good one,” Archie said then murmured helpfully, “But he means the club.”

“I get it, Archie. It’s a great club. First-class ass. Love the classic rock vibe too. Too many clubs play all that new shit. You can’t go wrong with classic rock.”

“So, Richie, Danny here is looking for work. I kind of thought you’d help him out,” Archie said. “After he helped me out and all.”

“And we always make good on promises around here,” my brother said. Truer words had never been spoken, and in my brother’s case, those promises often ended in real pain. Why anyone would willingly take a job in this place was beyond me.

“Do you want to work here, Mr. O’Shea?”

“I could use the cash,” the man said. “Like I told Archie on the way over, I’m looking to start a new life with new opportunities.”

Richie gave him the eye. “Was the old life so bad?”

“Depends on your definition of bad,” the guy shot back.

Richie sat forward in his chair and folded his hands on his desk. His “businessman” persona.

“What the hell. I’ll give you a shot. We always need good bouncers here at the club. Day shift to start. It’s a good training ground. Not much happens during the day. Still, we like a solid presence to show we mean business and our girls are not to be touched without permission. Until after the guy pays, of course, for a little backroom action.” Richie winked. “Butch here can show you the ropes tomorrow. Be here around noon.”

I hadn’t noticed Butch slinking around in the opposite corner. He grunted now, not seeming too happy with the new hire or the added responsibility of training him. Butch liked to sleep in until early afternoon and then spend his shift staring at me and making my life as miserable as possible.

“Sounds great, Mr. Silvestri,” the man said, sticking out his hand. “I appreciate the opportunity.”

“Richie,” he said with that pleasant, almost unrecognizable smile. “Mr. Silvestri is my dead father.” He laughed, and there he was, the brother I knew, the one that made my heart sink every time I saw him.

They shook hands and exchanged a few words, and then as I heard my brother tell Butch he needed to get Archie to the hospital, the stranger turned. I caught a better look of his face, and I froze, my eyes wide, my hands clenched. I simply couldn’t move. I felt as though I’d been caught in a magnetic pull.

His face was as gorgeous as I expected. His dark hair was combed back from his forehead but fell in soft waves against the sides of his face. He had an Italian look to him, but the name O’Shea meant Irish. Black Irish. I’d read about them in the historical novels I devoured. His cheekbones stood out prominently, and dark, penetrating eyes locked on mine.

We stared at one another as he pulled the door closed and began to walk in my direction. Walking wasn’t quite the right word though. This man prowled, like a jungle cat, like a predator walking toward prey. And like a rabbit caught in a snare, I just stood there waiting for the inevitable.

His gaze went from my eyes down my face to stop where my robe gapped just a bit. I felt the heat of that gaze on the swell of my tits, rising and falling as my breath grew ragged. His stare left a trail of fire, and beads of sweat popped out along my skin. I was sure it was from the intensity of that stare, though it might have been from standing in a hot hallway in a flannel bathrobe. He continued to stare, his gaze wandering from my cleavage to my hips and lower to my bare toes, which I curled against the dirty wood floor.

Finally, I managed to shake myself out of my near-catatonic state. I put my finger to my lips and said, “Shhh…”

A smile curled up the corners of his mouth, and then he pulled an invisible zipper across his lips. He made a little gesture with his finger, flicking it between himself and me, and then he cupped his crotch and winked.

I almost giggled but managed to hold it in by pressing my lips together. I shook my head as I smiled. He put his hand over his heart and made a pouty face. As I walked backward toward the staircase, I couldn’t seem to keep my eyes off him. He strolled down the dark hallway as though he owned it. I was turning to go up just as he reached me, and I gasped and jerked when his hand landed across my ass in a quick, snapping slap.

I whirled around and met dark eyes glittering with both danger and desire.

“Couldn’t resist that ass.” He leaned forward and whispered, “Until we meet again, Miss…”

“Silvestri. Hannah Silvestri.”

He shot a glance down the hall, his brows furrowed. “Fuck me. You’re married to Richie?”

“No, no, no,” I whispered furiously. “He’s my brother.”

His smile widened. “Danny O’Shea.” He took my hand off the bannister and lifted it to his lips. The kiss was sweet and gentle but molten hot, sending rivulets of lava boiling through my veins and down my spine. When he lifted his face, he gave me a wink and gestured up the stairs with a toss of his head. “We’ll save this for another day, Miss Hannah. Beat it before you get in trouble and I end up six feet under.”

He continued down the hall as if he wouldn’t care in the world.

When I came back down to earth with a heavy, almost happy sigh, I found Butch staring at me from the T-junction, a dark thundercloud encircling his huge frame. I ran up the stairs as fast as I could.

Chapter Five: Richie Silvestri

“He gone?” I asked when Butch lumbered back into the office.

“Fuck that guy,” Butch muttered. His ugly mug looked uglier than usual. Danny O’Shea hadn’t impressed him much. “He’s trouble, boss.”

“They’re all trouble, Butchie boy, but you know my motto. Surround yourself with trouble, so you have someone to blame things on when the shit goes south.”

“Not sure about that,” Butch said, glancing at the doorway. “This one might be different.”

“He’s just a guy looking for work,” Archie said.

“There’s no such thing as just a guy looking for work, you fucking pussy,” Butch said.

“Fuck you,” Archie shot back.

“Easy, boys,” I said. “Tell me again, Archie. How’d you meet this guy?”

I rounded on Archie, happy to see he cringed just a bit. It never hurt to remind him who was in charge around here.

I loved the guy like a slow brother, had since I’d pulled him out of a toilet when we were grade school. I still didn’t know why I’d done it. Something about seeing a little kid floundering in shit I guess. My dad hadn’t been the nicest guy, and I’d had my fair share of shit swirlies from that abusive bastard. Pulling Archie up by the collar and wiping the crap off his face, and the vomit off his clothes after he puked, made us brothers of a kind. He wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, and not even the strongest, but he’d always had my back, and I’d always had his. I guess when you knew the world was already out to get you at the age of eight you needed someone in your corner. Archie was in mine. Probably the only one there by choice.

So, I was stuck with him, and most often I didn’t mind it, but sometimes he made my life a lot harder than it should be. Like tonight. The guy didn’t have a fucking brain in his skull, and I didn’t buy for a minute that he’d been hustling pool for money to give his kids. He hadn’t seen those damn kids in eight months. I knew that because I had to send him with a driver out to Arlington Heights when that bitch ex of his had remarried, to a goddamned chiropractor of all things, and moved out of the city.

Archie had been trying to score money for his habit, and that meant trouble because I supplied Archie with exactly the right amount that worked for me.

“Well, Archie?” I settled in my chair and waited.

“I already told you.”

“Tell me again.”

“Like I said, just a guy,” he stuttered. “He did me a solid. Otto could have killed me, Richie. He had me by the fucking neck.”

“No big loss,” Butch said. “You’re as worthless as tits on a bull.”

I cut a glance to Butch to shut him up. He wisely shut his trap.

Archie looked at the floor. “I’m trying to help a guy out is all.”

“Where’d you say he’s from?”

Archie swallowed. “Don’t know. He mentioned Iowa.”

“That dude ain’t from Iowa,” Butch said.

“H-he didn’t say he was born there,” Archie said. “Only that it was a shithole state and he didn’t want to park there. Ran out of money or something.”

“I don’t give a fuck if he came from Mars,” Butch said. “I don’t like his attitude. All cocky and shit.”

“You’re all cocky and shit,” I reminded him.

“Yeah, well, he ain’t me, okay? He ain’t earned the right to be cocky around here.”

“True, true, but I suspect you’ll keep him in his place.”

“We don’t need another bouncer,” Butch said. “Got bouncers up the ass around here.”

“Because we have pussy up the ass here,” I said. “Some of these drunks think they can cop a feel any time they want, and that doesn’t fly here. If they want their fingers to smell like pussy, they gotta pay. If they want a blowjob, they gotta pay. If they want to fuck someone in the ass, they gotta pay.” I spread my hands and smiled. “You can’t do it all, Butch, and I know for a goddamned fact some of these so-called bouncers, the men I pay, are skimming from me. I need you focused on that.”

“I’ll focus. Got it, boss.”

“Let this guy handle the nitty-gritty and you focus on this damn thief. I know the girls are doing their damn jobs making me dough, and almost every night, the till seems lighter than it should be. Once I know which of them is snatching money right out of my goddamned pocket, you can deal with that too. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Butch smiled. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Good. So, train this new guy to look after the girls. He’s new blood, so it’ll take a while for him to start getting brave enough to steal from me. In the meantime, he reports to you, so watch him close.”

“No problem,” Butch said, cracking his thick knuckles. “I’ll watch him like a fucking hawk.”

A hawk. I needed Butch to be a pit bull. Not a fucking hawk.

I pinched the bridge of my nose and glanced at the clock. I hated doing business after midnight. “Get Archie to the hospital and get that hand fixed. No painkillers. I don’t need him jacked up on something else.”

“Ah, Richie, I ain’t jacked up.”

I stared at the scratches on his arm, where he’d been digging at himself with his raggedy fingernails.. “Sure you’re not.” I leaned forward. “I’m serious as a heart attack here, Arch. No painkillers. I don’t care if you have to put a stick between your teeth. You hear me?”

Archie nodded miserably.

“Now get out of here.” I reached toward my desk drawer for my bottle of scotch.

“One other thing, boss.”

Huffing out a sigh, I glanced up to find Butch shuffling his feet. There was something he didn’t want to tell me, but he would—because he was a good little soldier. “What?”

“The dude…he saw Hannah, out on the stairs.”

Jesus Christ. As though I didn’t have enough trouble. If that little bitch was sneaking around stirring up those dancers again about better pay and shit, she was going to find herself in a world of hurt. The last time I’d lost three of my best girls, along with some of my best-paying clientele. If these cunts wanted health benefits, they were in the wrong place. Let them try to find another job with no skills but big bouncy tits, cocksucking lips, and a damp pussy.

“What the fuck was she doing out there?” I asked.

“Don’t know.” He cracked his knuckles again, his mind obviously still on O’Shea. “She was wearing that ratty old robe that looks like shit.”

“Hmm…” If she hadn’t been dressed, she probably wasn’t stirring shit up, at least not tonight. “Hungry I guess. Did she have food?”

“Not that I saw.”

“So did they talk?”

“A couple words I guess,” Butch said. “She looked flustered, but I didn’t like the way they were looking at each other.”

“And how was that?”

“All cow-eyed and giggly. Made me want to puke.”

“You’re just jealous,” Archie muttered.

Butch turned on Archie so fast the smaller man stumbled and fell back against the desk. He cried out and clutched his hand tighter.

“Shut your goddamned mouth, you fucking junkie piece of shit.”

“Down, Butch,” I said with a sigh that let them know I was getting bored with their sit. “It’s no secret around here you’ve got a massive hard-on for my little sis. It’s a done deal, you’ll be family. She’ll come around…eventually. You just gotta be patient. Gotta catch that sexy fly with honey, and the way I see it, what you been dishing out ain’t honey.”

“I try,” Butch said, sulking.

I’d been watching Butch pant after Hannah for years, even since she sprouted tits at fourteen and started smelling like pussy instead of peanut butter and Kool-Aid. Did I want Butch as a brother-in-law? No fucking way. But I needed someone in the family to keep Hannah under control. There was only so much a brother could do. She needed a firmer hand, and though I never minded a bit of violence, I’d promised my dead mother I’d never hurt her little girl. A promise was a promise.

Archie whimpered. “Damn, Richie, can I get this hand looked at? I can’t feel my fingers anymore.”

“Then why are you whining so much, you cunt?” Butch snarled.

“Shut up,” Archie whispered.

“Boys, boys, I’m starting to feel like a referee here, and that isn’t a good look for me. Hate stripes.” I adjusted my plain red tie.

“Let me follow him now and put him out of our misery.” There he was. Finally. Butch, the pit bull with a bone.

I waved my hand, holding on to my patience by a thread. “Not tonight. I wanna see where this leads.”

“It’s leading to disaster,” Butch said. “I can smell it.”

“What you smell is the stench of your own envy, Butchie boy.”

Butch narrowed his eyes, seething. I really shouldn’t goad him, but these two were wearing on my temper. Trying to look like I didn’t give a fuck about this new guy had given me a migraine. It pulsed just beneath the skin on my temple and threatened to erupt full force. What I wanted was my bottle of scotch and some hot, wet pussy. Maybe Jacklyn. I could bury my face in her plump cunt and inhale. The scent of pussy always calmed my nerves.

“I don’t like him,” Butch said.

“I got that,” I said. “Noted. In bright red crayon. Now get the fuck out of here before I decide I need different lackeys.”

They skedaddled after that. They knew when they’d pushed the final button and I was ready to blow.

I yanked the bottle out of my drawer and drank right from the bottle.

Goddamn, my head hurt. Hannah better not become a problem. I’d loved my mother for the short time I had her and wanted to keep my word, but that girl could only push me so far. I had a business and reputation at stake, and no one—not even a little sis—was going to bring me down.

 

Chapter Six: Danny

I’d met a lot of dicks in my life, but Richie Silvestri took the prize. Just being in the same room with him made me feel dirty and tainted, and I’d spent a lot of time in the company of junkies, gangbangers, and whores. I think part of my distaste came from the fact that Richie Silvestri wasn’t stupid.

So many of the people I’d come across in this line of work had never had any opportunity to rise above the station of their birth due to either circumstances, poverty, or actual stupidity. Richie had come from money—his family owned several legitimate businesses in Chicago and the Midwest—had political clout, and had educational opportunities up the ass. Still he’d chosen to be part of the problem instead of the solution.

I, however, was part of the solution, and I had a score to settle. I was tired of the drugs polluting young minds, the gangbangers ruining the lives of decent citizens, the men who thought they were above the law and no one could touch them. I was the law in this city, and I was determined to make it safe for my neighbors and friends. To do that, I’d decided to play a game—think like them, act like them, become them. When I looked in the mirror, I sometimes cringed because I was in so deep now that I often saw my worst nightmare.

But then, something would happen to make it worthwhile. I’d manage to get a junkie to rehab. I’d find a young kid on the street and get him into a sports program. I’d help a young mother find a job that didn’t involve stripping or prostituting herself. Those days were good days.

But today… today had been exceptional. I’d turned around and seen a glimpse of beauty, a flash of sunshine in my drab, dreary, pain-filled world.

Hannah Silvestri.

Raven hair, light blue eyes, dark olive skin that shone with health, and a rockin’ body, even in that ratty old bathrobe. I saw a glimpse of her cleavage when her robe dipped, and my cock ached to squeeze between those tits and pump away until I spilled cum into the deep valley.

But I was getting ahead of myself. I thought I’d made an impression, but hopefully I’d get a chance to get up close and personal with Miss Hannah and see what happened between us. Was it smart? Hell no. Richie would blow a gasket, as all Italian brothers would, and that Frankenstein monster Richie kept a leash on—Butch Collette—would probably be up my ass in a heartbeat. Before I made it back to the club, I did a quick glance behind me, hoping for another glimpse of Hannah, only to find that behemoth staring at her like a free buffet. So, no, the last thing I should do, for my health, sanity, or survival, was put the moves on Hannah.

But I was playing a role, and in my view, Danny O’Shea was the sort of man who might hit on the most beautiful girl in the joint, no matter the consequences. Boss’s sister or not, Hannah would be that girl. There was no doubt about that. Plus, I wanted her.

That little giggle in the hallway had done something to me, brought me back, for a split second, to reality in which pretty girls were happy, filled with hope. My cock had perked up, eager and willing to add to that sense of happiness and bring that girl to a world of delights she had never known, a festival of carnal pleasures.

Was she happy? No clue. Did I care? I wasn’t sure yet. I was pretty good at determining the worth of a person right off the bat. Few surprised me, but I hadn’t spoken enough words with Hannah to know for sure how she led her life or whether it made her happy. I hadn’t seen despair in Hannah’s eyes, so I had no idea how good or bad her life was, but exploration was in the cards. If she wanted some attention, I was more than willing to toss some in her direction.

I got back in my car to head to my undercover shithole a couple miles away. When I was in deep, I kept as far away from my real life as possible. I pulled my burner phone from my pocket. It was pretty damn late, but I needed to check in.

My commander answered on the first ring.

“Domino’s,” he said with a sleepy tone. “May I take your order?”

“I’m in,” I said.

“Good,” he said. “Keep me posted.”

There was no need for chit chat. The message had been relayed. I hung up and made another call to my dad. Pops would want to know how the evening had gone.

When I heard him pick up the phone, I pulled out into the street.

“Hey, Pops. I’m in.”

“Good, Danny. That’s great. I knew that idea would work.”

“Yeah, thanks. Stan came through like gangbusters.”

“Stan was a good cop. One of the best under my command.”

“You shouldn’t have retired, Pops. We could have taken Silvestri down together.”

“I’ve had enough dirt on my hands to last a lifetime. Gotta keep my hands clean now for the grandkids. Got one on every branch of the tree but yours.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I sing-songed. “You’re starting to sound like Ma.”

Both of us fell silent for a minute. My mother had been dead only six months, and every mention of her still caught us off guard. For a split second, the pain was so intense at the mention of her name that neither of us could breathe.

I stopped at a red light, trying to find any words to say to make this better. The quiet between us was palpable, painful.

“Damn,” Pops said finally. “I miss her.”

“I know,” I murmured. “Me too. Sorry I brought it up.”

“No, never apologize,” he said suddenly, firmly. “We need to bring her up. We need the grandkids to see her as we saw her. The most beautiful, brave, loving goddamned woman in the universe.”

“She was.” My words were quiet, barely there. Pops was quiet again as I traveled down three blocks of flashing neon and corners filled with losers. I’d finally reached my street and was able to find a parking space only because the tenements on this street held very few licensed drivers and even fewer people with cars.

“Danny…”

“Yeah?”

“Be careful, son.” It was Thomas Dutton giving me a direct order, both as my former commander and my dad.

“Always, Pops.”

“And check in.”

“I know the drill. Tell everyone hi, and tell Moira I’m sorry I missed her birthday. I got her that pony set she wanted though. I left it in my hall closet, wrapped in pink, so you’ll do that for me?”

“Consider it done. Night, Danny.”

“Night, Pops.”

I hung up the phone, got out of the car, and left it unlocked. There was nothing of value in it, save some change in the cup holder, and it kept scavengers from breaking my window to find out. I glanced at my fourth-floor window.

“Home crap home.”

I used my key on each of the front door’s four separate locks and let myself in, trudging up the stairs, avoiding fast food wrapper, used needles, and a couple of people passed out on the landings.

My apartment smelled like piss and old farts. I wouldn’t have dropped my worst enemy into it, even with a gas mask. I opened the window to let in the lovely aroma of car exhaust and greasy fried food. It was the best alternative I had. The furniture looked like it might have been new in the early fifties, not that nice retro furniture you saw in high-end thrift shops but the kind that had literally been picked out of an old dump.

I dropped my clothes where I stood, did my business in the bathroom, and then fell onto the stained messy mattress. I’d covered it with sheets I got at the used store down the street because it was good for my rep to be seen poking around the neighborhood shops. The musty smell wafting up from the sheets was probably better than that of the mattress, but not by much.

The clock on the nicked nightstand read 1:30 AM.

I had to be at Pussy Whipped in a bit over ten hours.

Plenty of time for a good night’s sleep in my craptastic studio apartment in the ass-end of Chicago.

Good night, Danny O’Shea, you dirty Irish bastard.

 

Chapter Seven: Hannah

I couldn’t help it. I looked at the clock again. 1:30 AM. Man, it sucked to be me. I had an eight-to-six shift tomorrow, and I had Butch coming to the apartment at seven thirty. Chances are, after what he’d seen on the stairs, he was not going to be happy. Did I care? Not really. But would I pay the consequences for his displeasure? Probably. That I did care about.

Still, I wouldn’t have traded that experience for anything. I could still feel the pressure and heat of those lips on my hand, sense that little tingle that had traveled up my spine, and that clenching of my pussy could not be forgotten so easily either. I hadn’t felt that in a long while. I wasn’t a virgin by any stretch, and I’d certainly slept around enough, but I was cautious about who I slept with because Richie kept his eyes on me, and dating the right man was important. He couldn’t be trash, and yet he couldn’t be too rich, powerful, or influential in the town. He had to be “good enough” without being competition.

I had to date a pure Goldilocks. Someone with a decent, stable job, but no money. Someone who was reasonably smart, but had no degree or ambition. Someone who wasn’t ugly—it wouldn’t do to create ugly children—but couldn’t be better looking than my freaking brother. Basically, I had to date Johnny Middle-of-the-Road when it came to any aspect of his life. You’d think average men were a dime a dozen, but believe me, when it came down to finding a decent “average man,” it was a lot harder than it sounded.

Danny O’Shea. I couldn’t count him as average. He was too good looking. He seemed to have a sense of humor. He might even be smart. I guess we’d find out how fast he learned during training, not that any moron couldn’t be a bouncer because Butch was proof of that. You needed muscle and a set of eyes. Brains optional.

I closed my eyes. I wanted to sleep, but thoughts of Danny kept intruding in the darkness. Those deep eyes had stared into mine with an intensity that made my breath quicken. The promise in those eyes caused me to sigh now and arch my body with a moan. I clenched my pussy muscles because I could practically feel his tongue on my clit, flicking and tapping against the taut bud and dipping down into my leaking cunt. How would he make me come after he’d teased and stroked and licked? Would he suck on my clit, or would he spear my pussy with his tongue? Would he scrape his teeth across my tender flesh, or would he stroke me from ass to cunt to clit?

I wanted to find out. In the meantime, all I had was my own hand.

I slipped my hand into my panties and very gently stroked my finger over the swelling bud. It tightened up beneath my touch, and my body gave a little jerk. After a few soft circles, I dipped below to stick my finger into my pussy. I was wet, the juices hot and dripping already. The mere thought of what Danny might do to me had turned me on so much that I knew I could come within moments.

I jammed my finger deeper, curling my finger and stroking, searching for my G-spot. When I found it, I pressed and began to pump my fingers. But I wanted to come hard. I wished I had someone to roll my nipples, to pull on them and twist, but I needed my other hand for my clit. As I continued to rub my G-spot, I rubbed my clit, gently at first and then harder and faster, over and over, until my breath stuttered in my chest and my back arched. My entire body shuddered as huge swells of pleasure rolled out from my clit and bright spikes of sensation crested through me. My pussy spasmed, once, twice, three times, then pulsed against my fingers. My clit burned and ached and throbbed as I kept rubbing, circling and circling until my body stopped trembling. I gasped as all the tension in my body simply released in a huge wave, like an atomic blast finally running out of energy and leaving a wake of destruction in its path.

In my case, though, the wake of destruction was simply a sense of completion, of having had every ounce of energy torn from my body, leaving me limp, useless, incapable of doing anything but turning over and closing my eyes.

My heartbeat slowed down as my breathing returned to normal.

No one had ever given me a better orgasm than I gave myself. It was both a delight and a curse. A delight for me because I was never unsatisfied, but a curse to any man I dated because I never needed a man to come.

I thought again of Danny O’Shea. He looked like a man who might give me a run for my money. If I could find a man who made me come harder or gave me more pleasure than I could give myself, that man would own my heart forever.

Average my ass. I wanted exceptional.

* * * *

A bit of morning sun filtered through the haze, indicating another blistering Chicago dawn and brutal day. The heat index threatened to be over 100 today, just a shade hotter than the grueling morning we’d had the day before. Despite having the windows open and a fan blowing across my bed, a sheen of sweat covered every inch of my body, and my teddy was plastered to my skin. I could have slept naked, but even with all the locks on my door, I never felt comfortable enough to do that. With the kinds of men who came to the club each night—not to mention Butch—I was reluctant to add to my vulnerability. The baseball bat I kept under my pillows was a deterrent, but some men couldn’t be deterred when they’d already hit rock bottom.

I knew rock bottom. I saw it on faces every day. The men and women who’d hit it had nothing to lose and always thought they had something to gain. The closer you got to the bottom, the more stupid you became.

I pulled the earplugs out—a necessity living above a strip club—rolled over, and felt the dampness between my thighs. I sighed because, though I was sticky with sweat, this dampness had everything to do with my new fantasy man. I sure hoped he didn’t let me down by being a bastard like most of them around here.

The thought crossed my mind that I could indulge myself in another round of “Fuck me, Danny O’Shea.” I smiled as I fingered my pussy through the moist fabric, even went so far as to slip the tip of my finger inside to touch my clit.

And then it hit me.

Freak show was coming up here in…

A glance at the clock showed I had ten minutes.

I yanked my hand out of my panties and gave it a sniff. Yep. Definitely tangy. The last thing I wanted to do was give Butch a whiff of my cunt after I’d fingered myself. I had ten minutes to get rid of the smell of my juices before he banged on the door.

After hopping in the shower and scouring myself with a loofa, I pulled on a pair of baggy shorts and a loose T-shirt to keep his leering to a minimum. Not that he cared what I wore. Even that ratty old bathrobe didn’t turn him off. Sometimes I wondered if he had x-ray vision.

Hair in a ponytail and coffee in front of me, I sat down at my rickety little table and waited. And waited. The sweat pooled in all the creases of my body and dampened my clothing. Seven fifty-five rolled around, and the big lug was a no-show. Eight ten and I was spitting mad, ready to kill someone.

“Damn him. I can’t go through this another day. I’m going to die in here like a dog.”

I flung the coffee in the sink and let the cup drop on the chipped porcelain. I was into the bedroom, halfway out of my shirt, when a knock sounded.

“Who the fuck is it?” I yelled.

“Carmen,” came the muttered response.

I managed to get my arms back into the shirt, stomped across the room, and yanked open the door to find my brother’s handyman standing there, head hanging.

“What?” I snapped.

“Sorry, Miss Hannah.” He lifted a toolbox. “Richie says I am to fix your a…c.”

I put a hand on my hip. “I thought Butch was going to do that.”

Carmen shrugged. “I have work order.” He held up a slip of paper. I snatched it out of his hand and looked it over. Sure as shit my brother had sent him. So what the fuck had Butch been doing up here last night? I was going to wring his sorry neck and plant a stiletto in his ass. Really deep.

“That fucking fuck,” I muttered.

“Qué?”

“Sorry. It’s hot as a donkey’s ass in here. I’m sweating like a whore in church.”

“Sí, Miss Hannah. Muy caliente.”

I ran a hand over my brow, pushing off stray hairs and a few drops of sweat. A few drops? It felt like a bucketful. I glanced down at my clothing. I didn’t have time for this right now. I still had to put on my tramp outfit for work.

“Give me a minute, Carmen.”

I slammed the door in his face, tore into the bathroom, and ran a washcloth over my sweaty skin. I splashed on some perfume to cover any lingering stink then shimmied into my slut blouse and my boy shorts. Why they called them boy shorts I had no idea because, other than a few twinks down at the gay bar on the corner, I’d never seen a boy with his ass cheeks hanging out in broad daylight.

The shorts looked far better on the twinks than they did on me because you really needed a skinny butt to pull them off. I wasn’t overweight or anything, but I did have an ass and tits. Ass and tits, I preferred to cover around certain types of people.

I pulled them down as best I could, plumped up my breasts because Richie would give me hell if they weren’t displayed to perfection, and smeared some lip-stain on my mouth. Cherry red because cherry red was the standing order at Pussy Whipped. As though it took red lipstick to strip or pour a drink. Men were pigs.

Well, to be fair, Carmen was okay. He was a quiet man, always polite, and had a wife and five kids under eight a couple of neighborhoods over. I knew he only worked here because he was an illegal, and he had a lot to lose because his kids had all been born here. Richie didn’t give a damn about Carmen’s family or his legal status. He liked illegals because it kept some of his workers tied to him for virtually everything. Richie liked it that way. Richie was a pig too.

I calmed down a bit before I opened the door. Eight in the morning and I was already far too riled up for a hot day like this.

“Sorry about that, Carmen. Bad morning.”

He nodded and gave me a tiny smile.

“I gotta get downstairs. You’ll be okay here?”

He glanced around as though expecting danger—or maybe the INS—and bobbed his head. “Sí, Miss Hannah.”

I handed him my house keys and tossed the club set in my purse. “Lock up when you’re done and bring me the keys, okay? Just me. No one else.”

“Sure, sure, I bring them.”

“Okay then.” I crossed my fingers. “Cool digs when I get off tonight, right?”

“Sí, I do good job.”

I left Carmen standing on the landing and bounced down the stairs. Late, late, late. The word drummed through my mind.

The club closed at four a.m. so the cleaning crew could wipe down the seats, tables, and floors of beer, liquor, and food debris, as well as piss, cum, and whatever other liquids the dregs of humanity had decided to share the previous evening. We re-opened at eight, and there were usually a few die-hards waiting there with their tongues hanging out, jonesing for their morning Budweiser or Jack with a side of tit. Sometimes they came after their shifts, and sometimes they came before, but they always came.

I was fifteen minutes late opening the doors, and though the bouncers had keys, they knew better than to open the door without me there. It was one of Richie’s rules, and anyone who violated one of Richie’s rules found himself out in the gutter with a Gucci print in his ass—and those were the lucky ones.

As I burst through the door into the club, I ran into a solid mass of muscle as two giant hands wrapped around my arms. This man could go toe-to-toe with LeBron James and probably come out ahead.

“What the fuck, Hannah?” Jonell growled. He gestured to the door, and through the dark shades, I saw the outline of the people waiting outside. Based on the shadow of the overdone hairstyle, one of them was a woman, but that didn’t really surprise me because, when you needed a drink, you needed a drink. We were the closest open bar for some people.

As far as bouncers went, Jonell was okay. He kept his eyes and hands to himself, and in my book, that elevated him to one of the “okay” guys.

He released me, and I scurried toward the front doors. He followed behind me to take his place at door.

“Sorry, I’m late. Where the fuck is Butch? I was sitting up there with my thumb up my ass waiting for him to fix my a/c.”

Jonell nearly busted a gut laughing, bending over and slapping his legs, trying to get his breath. Key in the door, I waited until he could answer, and then he flashed me a big smile full of sharp white teeth. “How in the hell would Butch fix your AC? He’s a fucking moron. You know that. He can barely fix a fucking drink?”

“Yeah, I know that.”

Jonell took his seat on the high stool, which creaked under his weight. Most of the people who came in here were legal, but inevitably some high school kid tried sneaking in for a shot before school. It happened all the time. Richie was a snake, and he was probably involved in more shit than I even knew about, but the place was off-limits to kids. No drinking, no peeking, no loitering.

I twisted open all the locks and nearly got stampeded as my morning regulars swept into the room like a mini tidal wave. The dancers didn’t start until nine, but that didn’t hinder the drinking. These guys were hardcore. They could pull an eight-hour shift in a junkyard or gas station after drinking a six-pack, which they usually did in under an hour.

Once the customers were inside, I shut the door again and leaned back against it for a moment. I wanted to savor every drop of cold air. Richie kept it like an ice factory in here. Tits perked up in the cold. Dancers didn’t pass out. Men drank more because they weren’t falling asleep at their table after drinking themselves into a stupor. Richie was willing to pay the high utility bill because he made five times the money with the a/c cranked.

“He still trying to get in your pants?” Jonell asked.

I rolled my eyes.

“Need me to put some hurt on him?” He smirked. It was a nice idea, but we both knew he couldn’t jeopardize his future like that. He worked the day shift to avoid drama to keep a clean record. He was taking courses at Chicago State, hoping someday to get out of this rat hole. I admired anyone with a real goal. I wished him the best.

“Hey, Hannah!” one of the regulars called from the bar. “What gives? I’m thirsty.” He glanced at his battered watch. “I’m down to thirty-five minutes before I have my shift.”

“Sorry, Hank. Coming.” I turned back to Jonell. “You don’t need to worry. I can handle myself.”

“Oh, I ain’t got no doubt about that, girlie. But sometimes…” He glanced around. “Sometimes things just get…worse. You know what I mean?”

“I do, Jonell. I really do.”

I headed across the room to make sure Hank had his bucket before work. These guys might not be angels, but sometimes they were the only friends I had. Plus these were the guys who left good tips.

Chapter Eight: Danny

I felt like a wet sack of dog turds after I’d driven the few miles to Pussy Whipped. The shower that morning had been a complete waste of time. My shit-mobile didn’t have AC, which would have ruined my street cred in this neighborhood. Oh sure, you saw the big Town Cars and Lincolns driving around, but those were the gang bosses and the pimps, cruising to make sure business was booming, but not booming. No one really wanted the law to come down unless they were idiots. Businessmen—and as bad as these guys were, they were still businessmen—played it as safe as they could. They also didn’t park their cars here at night. They parked them in their three-car garages out in the ’burbs, where their wives went to bake sales and their kids went to private school.

It was close to noon, and never one to be tardy—I’d had that beaten out of me in Catholic school—I entered the club, wearing the requisite uniform of the bouncer. Black pants. Black T-shirt. Black shit-stompers. I’m not sure the knife in my boot or the brass knuckles in my back pocket were standard bouncer accessories, but I had a motto. Don’t leave home without them.

The minute I opened the door the smell of old beer and cigarettes wafted out and hit me. Yeah, there were no-smoking policies in place everywhere, but you learned real fast who gave a rat’s ass and who didn’t. If you wanted to get lung cancer faster, you hung out in strip clubs. I’d never known a stripper who didn’t have some sort of asthma problem.

Along with the smell came the pounding music.

I blinked for a minute to adjust from the blaring sunlight to the virtual darkness inside. The glow of the bar signs cast pools of color, and a few dim lights hung over the bar, but other than those and the pulsing strobes flashing on the dancer, everything else was pretty damn dark. It was easier to get drunk and forget in the dark.

When the door hit my blind ass, I almost ploughed into my exact twin—only he was African American—as he began to stand up. I glanced up, and up again, and realized he was a lot bigger than I was. That didn’t happen all that often. This guy was six-eight if he was an inch and probably had about fifty pounds on me. My smile said, “Let’s be friends.” I didn’t need this dude on my bad side.

I held out my hand, and the big guy took it and squeezed. I held in the wince.

“Danny O’Shea. Just starting today.”

“Jonell Carter. Nice to meet you.” He had a glow-in-the-dark smile.

I glanced around. Now that my eyes had adjusted a bit, it was easy to see the pretty Asian woman dancing to “American Woman.” Seemed a bit strange, but who was I to judge?

“So, I’m supposed to meet Butch here. Noon. Know where he is?”

Jonell shrugged one massive shoulder. “Home probably. Sleeping. Don’t usually see him ’til after two or so.”

“Huh. Well, that kind of presents a problem. Got any suggestions?”

He jerked his chin toward the other side of the room. “Talk to Hannah. She runs the shift.”

Hannah. That breath of fresh air in a skanky cesspool. Oh yeah, I’d talk to Hannah all right. I swung around and snagged her with my glance as she came through the doorway from the hall. She was carrying a huge box, struggling under the weight.

“Thanks, man.”

Jonell forgotten, I skirted around the tables like my old days on the football field, dodging a few drunks on their way to the head and pushing chairs out of my way. I reached her just as the box slipped from her grasp, and I swept it into my arms. I peeked around the edge.

“Hey, beautiful.”

She blinked those blue-sky eyes for a moment, and then a pretty smile crossed her face. “Danny O’Shea.”

“Hannah Silvestri. What’s a gorgeous creature like you doing in a dump like this?”

Hannah reached back and adjusted her ponytail. “Running it. Same as any other day.”

“Seriously?” I glanced around. “You run this place?”

Surprisingly enough, the crowd seemed reasonably under control. There were the usual catcalls and whistles, and several determined men were vying for a place closer to the stage and the cute dancer, but a couple of strategically placed bouncers were fending them off with no problem. Beer stains dotted the floor, and crumbs littered every inch of space, but the women carrying drinks and food to the patrons looked cheerful and pleasant, not unhappy to be slaving away for a bunch of drunks.

“I do,” she said, stepping behind the bar. “You can put that here.” She patted the counter.

I put the case of liquor on the bar, and she started pulling out bottles of Popov. Now that was some prime rotgut vodka. Only the best for Pussy Whipped patrons. I’d had my share of Popov in college, and you couldn’t have force-fed it to me now. I’m pretty sure Homeland had it in their arsenal of interrogation tactics.

“This looks like a kindergarten class compared to what I saw last night.”

She laughed. “Totally different crowd. They can get rowdy, and a bit grabby at times, but most often they’re pretty well behaved. I don’t put up with their shit. They give me a hard time, they’re banned for a week.”

“And Richie’s okay with that? I mean it’s business.”

She lifted a shoulder. “Not sure he’s okay with it, but he backs me. He wants me here, and believe it or not, he wants me safe. He trusts me to know what’s best for this shift. We have no 911 calls here during the day because I weed out the bad ones to make it better for the good ones. I run a tight business for him. My girls sell plenty of food, with a good profit margin, and tons of liquor, which is a bigger profit margin.”

Her girls were doing okay for themselves. I saw one woman stuff a twenty into her rather generous cleavage when she delivered a bucket of beers to a group of construction workers. One slapped her ass, but she gave a giggle and turned to another table. I’d take a slap on the ass for a twenty. Hell, I’d pay twenty for a slap on the ass.

“So, Hannah…”

She held up her hand. “Stop right there.”

I drew back and gave her a disappointed look, the one I reserve for women who say they don’t fuck on the first date. I mean everyone fucks on the first date. What was the point of a first date if not that?

“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“Yes, I do. You’re going to ask what I’m doing later. I’ll get all gushy and say, ‘Hopefully going out with you, big boy,’ and then you’ll say you’ll pick me up at blah, blah, blah.”

“I give great blah, blah,” I said.

“I’m sure you do,” she said, blushing just a bit beneath that beautiful olive skin, “but that’s beside the point.”

“It’s exactly the point.” I let my gaze drop to those delectable tits. More than a mouthful. They looked luscious peeking over that tight top.

She shook her head, as though shaking thoughts away. I hoped they were kinky thoughts and all involved me, my cock, and I.

She huffed and said, “Have you been hired for my shift?”

I gestured to my clothing. “Either that or I’m completely overdressed.”

She pressed her lips together, hiding a laugh.

“Come on, you know that was funny.”

“I am in serious trouble here,” she said, shaking her head again.

“That’s the best kind of trouble.” I lifted a brow and gave her one of those George Clooney looks the women seem to love. What a douche that no-talent hack was, but it worked every time. “Yes, I’m working your shift. Lucky me. Lucky you. We could make more luck together.”

“You are a piece of work, Danny O’Shea.”

“But charming. Admit it.”

She shook her head again with a cute little smile.

One of the servers came up and ordered another bucket of beer and a Crown on the rocks. As Hannah filled the bucket, I glanced around wondering which of these lushes had great taste and was willing to pay for it. I could go for a Crown myself, but happy hour had gone out the window for me with this assignment. Then I saw my dad’s buddy Stan lounging in a booth, sipping at a lowball glass. He blended in great, just a large fifty-something man out for his afternoon cocktail. His eyes were riveted on the stage, taking in the Asian girl—the announcer had called her Jade—now twisting her body around a pole to the sweet sound of Every Rose Has Its Thorns.

Stan’s gaze shifted for one moment to me, and I gave him a brief nod before I turned my attention back to Hannah and he turned back to Jade.

“So, where were we?” I asked, leaning against the bar.

“We were talking about luck, and I’m afraid—”

“Hey, Hannah, I need another Miller Lite. Oh, hey, Danny.”

I swung my face toward the server who’d just approached the bar. Shit. The girl from last night with the fuck-me lips. My little blonde bombshell who could suck the balls off a bull.

I straightened up. “Oh, hi…” Damn it. I never expected it to bite me in the ass this fast.

“Charity,” Hannah whispered.

“Hi, Charity.”

Charity sidled closer to me, casting a cautious glance at Hannah. No help there. Hannah’s ass was hanging out of the beer cooler. Jesus. Her plump cheeks hung out of those boy shorts like a pair of ripe melons I wanted to sink my teeth into.

“I was hoping I’d see you again.” Charity ran her fingernail up my arm. I watched the trail of red polish as it swirled among a few black hairs. “I had a good time last night.”

Hannah slammed a bottle of Miller Lite on the bar.

“Yeah,” I said, pulling my arm away. “Good times.”

Hannah slammed a bottle of Blue Moon on the bar and slid both bottles toward the server.

“Tom is signaling over there, Charity. Move your ass. He’s out of here at one.”

“Sure, Hannah.” She gave me those cow eyes again, a sweet syrupy look that gave me an instant sugar high. I hate sugar. “See ya around, Danny. Don’t be a stranger.” She wiggled her fingers and snatched up the bottles to bounce away.

“Jesus,” Hannah said with disgust. “You must have a big cock.”

“You can always find out for yourself.”

She pursed her lips and wiped at the counter with a bar rag. “Nope, not happening. I never fuck my employees.” She gave me a hard stare. “And I don’t want my employees fucking each other. Got that?”

I pulled back, almost insulted. “Me and her? Are you nuts?”

She pushed out her lips, twirled her ponytail, then singsonged, “I had a good time last night.” She blew me a kiss. “Danny.”

I was going to have this girl, whether she knew it or not.

My turn to hold up my hands. “It was a blowjob. That’s it. I never touched her.”

“I don’t care what you did…yesterday. I only care about what you do from now on. Got it?”

Oh, this little woman was a handful. I loved it. She would be mine.

“He gets it.”

That grumbled tone. That bad breath. That body odor. It could mean only one thing.

My trainer had arrived. Talk about luck.

“About time you got here,” Hannah snapped. “Show him how to work the door. Jonell needs a lunch break.”

“Come with me, ass hat,” Butch said.

I gave Butch the finger when he turned away. “Can’t you train me?” I whispered with a shudder. “He smells.”

There was that smile again. My cock hardened because that smile did wonders for my soul, my heart, my brain, my cock, hell, every molecule in my body.

She tried that stern face again, but it wasn’t her best shot. She liked me. I could tell. “Not today. Maybe some other time. Get to work before I fire your ass.”

I saluted, gave her another killer smile, and headed toward the freak waiting for me at the door.

I had this girl caught on my line, and sure, she was going to give me a hard time. She would fight and twist and pull that line, but the fight would make it all the sweeter when she was finally mine. I lived for challenges.

Chapter Nine: Hannah

Butch kept Danny busy—and away from me.

Three days had passed, and though Danny and I exchanged a few words, and lots of hot glances, I didn’t know any more about him than I had when he arrived for training.

He came in at noon each day, cheerful and smiling, relieved Jonell for his lunch break, and then Butch stationed him at the dance floor to guard the girls. He got along with the servers and the dancers. He was pleasant and respectful, and I hadn’t yet seen him make any advances, though he’d had to thwart a few.

I gave him credit for taking me seriously. The other bouncers had accepted him with no problem, which was unusual because often these men vied for territory in a strip club. Yet everyone took Danny in stride. I had to admit he did have a charming personality, a good sense of humor, and handled the job with ease, even with our most determined or rowdy customers.

So why was I disappointed? Every morning I’d bounced down the stairs actually looking forward to work. Not that I didn’t like my job, but it had a sameness to it that often felt stagnant. Lately, though, the dawn seemed to a bit brighter, and despite the heat that my little AC couldn’t quite dispel despite chugging like a champ, I awoke with a bright spirit and some long-forgotten enthusiasm.

I chalked it up to Danny. I liked watching his quick smile, those little winks he sent toward the girls when they vacated the stage, the easy way he chatted with Jonell and the others. I even liked the way he handled the men who’d clearly had two or three too many drinks. He’d put a chummy arm around their shoulders, bring them to the bar to sit quietly for a few minutes, and make sure they had a big glass of water. So many of the other men would have just hustled them to the door and kicked them out for the day, but Danny made sure that, when they left, they managed to walk down the street instead of passing out in front of the building.

I wondered where he’d come from, where he’d been, and how he’d managed to retain so much humanity living the hard life so many of these men had.

All the while Butch came and went throughout the day, casting Danny hard glares of displeasure and sending me stares that made my hackles rise in disgust. He spent most of his time in the back of the club or cruising the neighborhood, taking care of things for Richie.

My brother trusted Butch to hold things together and to make sure that all Richie’s evil little minions scattered through the South Side did their assigned tasks—gathering protection money, distributing drugs, and collecting money from his pimps.

I knew the sorts of things my brother had become involved in over the years, but I watched it all from afar, like a disinterested observer. I saw the activity, but I knew none of the details. It was safer that way.

My brother spent most of his time in his downtown office, where he oversaw several businesses the Silvestri family had owned for decades. Richie had two personas. The day one brought him into contact with some of the most powerful men—legitimate men—in Chicago. The second one, the one that came out after dark, brought him into contact with the most powerful men in the underbelly of Chicago. Richie was determined to be at the top of both food chains.

Butch returned in late afternoon from one of his endless errands in a very dark mood. I idly wondered which minion he’d had to slap down and why, but questions like that wouldn’t do much for my health or my sanity.

I slid a glass of ice water across the bar, and he snatched it up.

“Rough day?” I asked.

I didn’t really care, but I had to try to be pleasant until he did something to upset that. Our days went far better when Butch wasn’t raging and riling up my staff and customers.

“Goddamn, Archie Dee.” Butch gulped the water down and held out the glass for more. I grabbed the soda gun and refilled it.

“What’d he do now?”

“He’s scoring free pussy all over town,” Butch snarled. “That ain’t gonna make Richie happy.”

“Richie gets free pussy all over town,” I pointed out.

Butch rounded on me. “Well, Archie ain’t Richie, now is he?”

I shrugged. “Does it matter?

“It sure as fuck does.” Butch wiped his mouth with a big paw. “I heard from four guys their bitches are giving it away to Archie for bags of weed.”

“Then it’s not free,” I said. “He’s paying them.”

“Goddamn it.” Butch glowered at me. “Are you fuckin’ stupid? The point is the pimps ain’t gettin’ money. The girls are keepin’ that shit.”

“They did the work, didn’t they?”

“Jesus Christ, you’re dumber than a box of rocks.” He leaned over the bar, and his voice rose from grumbling-asshole level to irate-asshole level. “The pussy money goes to the pimp. Got it?”

The volume of his tone caught Danny’s attention, even over the beat of “Thunderstruck.” He narrowed his eyes at Butch and then swung his gaze toward me. I raised my hand a bit to let him know things were cool. It was my signal to bouncers that I had things under control.

“Gee, Butch, I had no idea that’s how any of this worked.” I leaned over the bar until our noses were almost touching. “If Archie is fucking the girls on their own time, paying them in weed, it’s none of your goddamn business.”

He slammed his fist on the bar and yelled, “And where the fuck do you think he’s getting the goddamn weed?” His bald head neon-glowed in the bar lights, sweat dotting his flushed skin. If I were lucky today, Butch would drop dead of a heart attack. I would buy Archie all the pot he could smoke as a thank-you.

Several of my bar customers actually lifted their faces out of their drinks and swung their heads toward Butch. Butch snarled at them, and they went back to their own thoughts.

I tapped my finger against my cheek. “If I had to guess, I’d say he must be getting it from Richie. Richie does give him weed, you know.”

Butch shook his head like an angry bull, spittle flying from his lips. “He’s stealing from my warehouse.”

“Your warehouse?”

“Jesus Christ, Hannah, you know what I mean. Stop fucking with me.”

I wondered how I could raise his blood pressure just a touch more, enough to cause a small stroke. I wiped the droplets of his disgusting spit off my counter, threw that rag into the trash, and gave him a casual glance.

“Are you angry because you think Archie is stealing, or are you angry because Archie is getting pussy and you’re not?”

Butch swiped his arm, and the water glass flew, clashing into a beer mug. The mug and glass both exploded, sending foam and shards of glass over the counter. Several glass fragments hit one of my best customers on the arm.

“Fuck!” Hank lifted his arm and pulled out a chunk of glass. “Jesus, Butch, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

I took Hank’s arm, inspected it, and pulled out several more pieces. Then I grabbed a clean bar rag and pressed it against the wound gently.

Butch had the decency to look embarrassed.

I blotted Hank’s arm with water, giving it several pats, and when I looked up, Danny was standing there.

“Problem?” he asked, glancing between Butch and Hank.

“Get back to your post,” Butch snapped.

“I think I’ll get the first aid kit first,” Danny said.

He disappeared while I continued to clean Hank’s cut. It wasn’t deep, so it didn’t need stitches, but the last thing I needed was for Hank to get an infection.

“Sorry, Hank,” Butch said. “Free drinks the rest of the week.”

“It’s Thursday already,” Hank muttered, giving him a baleful look.

“Free drinks all next week,” Butch said.

“Okay.”

“Hold that there,” I said, pressing the cloth back to the wound. “I’ll get this cleaned up.”

As I grabbed more rags, Butch came around the bar and tried to help me. I didn’t want his bulk taking up my personal space or him breathing my air. I hip-checked him to get him out of my way, and I felt his arm slide around my waist. I shuddered but held my tongue.

“Sorry, Hannah.”

“No, you’re not,” I snapped. “You’re just afraid I’ll tell Richie.”

His hand drifted a bit lower, and I slapped at his arm. It had no effect at all. When I leaned down to get another rag, Butch had the gall, and stupidity, to grab my ass and squeeze. I whirled around and clocked him in the face hard enough for him to see an entire cluster of stars.

All I saw was Danny O’Shea standing at the end of the bar. If looks could kill, Butch would have died a thousand deaths, and I’d have been happy to see each and every one. Danny’s dark eyes blazed with fury, and his hand clenched on the first aid kit so hard his knuckles whitened.

As Butch reeled back from my strike, Danny came forward, whirled Butch around, and slammed his face against the bar. Butch had time for one grunt before Danny did it again, and then he moaned before he slid to the beer-drenched floor mat in a heap.

The music cut off mid-drum beat. On the dance floor, Tiffany slid to the bottom of her pole and stared wide-eyed at Danny. The bouncers and servers stared wide-eyed too. From the other side of the room, I heard the sound of clapping. Jonell was giving Danny a standing ovation, and soon all the customers in the place joined in.

“Fuck me,” Hank said. “That was amazing.”

I stared at the crumpled form and then up at Danny.

“Girls,” I called out, and the four servers on the floor all twisted in my direction. “A drink on the house for everyone.”

I got a round of applause this time. I waved at Spinner, our D.J., to start up the music again. “Bad Medicine” picked up in mid-song, and Tiffany jumped back onto the pole.

“I could have handled it,” I said.

“And you did,” Danny said. “I just finished what you started.”

“Well”—I glanced down again at Butch’s bloody face—“thanks.”

“No problem.” He swept up the first aid kit and handed it to me. “I’ll get a few guys and get him out of your way. Where do you want him?” He gestured for a couple of the bouncers then started to heave Butch up off the floor.

“There’s an old sofa in the store room. Is he breathing?”

“Oh yeah, snoring like a champ. Got some blood of course. I can clean that up for you. Seen my share of blood.” He laughed. “Worn enough of it too.”

Connor and Jack got Butch out from behind the bar and drag-carried him through the door to the hallway.

As Danny turned to follow, I touched his arm. His skin was so warm beneath my hand, so appealing, so unlike most of the people I knew.

“I’ll bring you the kit when I have Hank taped up.”

He nodded.

“Thanks again…Danny.” I couldn’t help it. My voice was laced with hero-worship. I’d had guys try to protect my honor before but not quite as thrilling as what I’d just witnessed, and certainly not against Butch. I glanced toward the doorway. “We might end up paying for that.”

“Worth the cost,” Danny said. With a quick smile, he vanished as fast as he’d appeared. Superhero all the way. I was smitten.

I heaved a sigh and pressed my smile away. I rubbed my ass to get rid of the feel of Butch’s hand. I had a business to run, a wound to tend to, and about thirty free drinks to make. I really hated to give away drinks for free, but it would be worth it to make up for the little altercation. Hank, alone, would spiral me into near bankruptcy next week.

When Spinner began the next song, I couldn’t help myself. I danced behind the bar to Dirty Deeds Done Cheap, wiggling my hips, bobbing my head, and singing along. All in all, this afternoon had been great.

Chapter Ten: Danny

I’d been a good little bouncer all week. Despite Butch’s insistence that I needed to train for a week or so, he learned after the first day I wasn’t just a dumb ex-jock with muscles. I stuck to my post, kept my eyes away from the girls, and though he wanted me to throw deadbeats out on their asses, I found that the simple approach worked best. If you pointed out they were halfway out the door, they rallied and became model bar flies. When Butch saw I could actually handle remedial bouncing, he pretty much left me alone and disappeared from time to time.

Where he went I’d yet to discover, but I would.

I’d noticed a couple of things in that dark bar under the neon glow. First, Hannah was beautiful framed in neon. Second, a big monkey could do my job, and the biggest monkey in the place was Butch. Scratch that. It gave monkeys a bad name.

Butch was a bad man. No question about that. He wasn’t like some of the other men I worked with at Pussy Whipped. They were all doing their jobs, biding their time each day until they could get back to the parts of their lives that mattered. To Butch, this was the part of his life that mattered. Maybe the only part. Except Hannah.

I’d been waiting to see him put the moves on Hannah. I knew it was coming, could smell it even above the stink of the beer-soaked wood and see it through the haze of the pot smoke. The lust poured off of him in waves. His eyes never left her tits or her ass. His nostrils flared every time she walked past and he got a whiff of her perfume—at least I hoped it was her perfume and not her pussy. I rarely got close enough to smell anything about her, but not for lack of trying. Butch, however, stayed close, like a tick on a boar’s ass.

So far, he’d been a good little monkey all week, but like a hungry lion waiting at the feed slot, he’d been prowling around the cage just waiting for an opportunity. Hannah gave him a wide berth, at least as wide as she could when he sometimes helped himself to things behind the bar. As far as I knew, though, he hadn’t helped himself to Hannah.

I’d taken advantage of plenty of opportunities over the years—Charity came to mind—but I’d never foisted myself on an unwilling or uninterested woman. Granted, in my experience, those were hard to find. Women followed me around like I was the Pussy Piped Piper, and that was good for me. I got plenty of pussy, even more blowjobs, and sometimes got to indulge in a three-way when two women insisted they both needed a spin on the old cock rocket. Always happy to oblige a pretty woman, or even an okay one, I gave them a good time and then went out and played the piper again. My life was an endless series of pussy and ass and tits.

But that did not make me a bad man. It made me horny and accommodating. I was nothing if not willing to please—and be pleased. Butch was not that kind of man.

After I’d decked him, I checked on him a couple of times, just to be sure I hadn’t knocked him into next Tuesday and left him for dead, but each time I found him still breathing. The next time he touched my girl he might not be.

I probably had broken his nose, but that bulb of a nose had been broken more times than I could count so his pretty face wouldn’t be more messed up. He would sport some bruises, but I didn’t find any teeth on the moldy old couch so I figured he should count himself lucky.

Me, I wasn’t sure if I’d be lucky or not. I didn’t know how Richie would get his retribution or if he would even try. Butch might have been his right-hand man, and I wasn’t sure how he viewed Butch’s unwelcomed forays into Hannah’s territory, but I had a feeling Richie might side with his sister on this one. Maybe I’d get a bonus. Of course, the only bonus I really wanted was a chance to slide into Hannah’s pussy, and that bonus would be on her to give out. I’d wait like a good boy anticipating my dessert after a dinner of liver.

Hannah made sure to wave goodbye to me when she left at six. The night bartender had arrived, and though Steve and I didn’t say much to each other, we worked well together for the remainder of my shift. Steve was a hardcore barkeep. Everything in the place changed at six from the caliber of dancer to the type of customers to the overall atmosphere.

Hannah lorded over her domain like a benevolent dictator, and the majority of her “girls”—both servers and dancers—were pretty, nice, and relatively decent, just trying to make a living. Steve, with his Mohawk and piercings and tattoo-covered face, ran the place like a loose cannon. I never knew what to expect. It was rowdy, noisier, and a bit more dangerous—to both the working girls and the bouncers.

The bouncers were more hardcore and built like the proverbial brick shithouse, and the girls looked like they’d been around the block a couple dozen times. Although they were all stacked with double DDs and a couple of higher alphabet letters and their pussies drew men like flies to manure, these girls had that vacant look of a well-used whore. They danced, and did it well, but I sensed somewhere inside they’d lost whoever they once had been. I felt sorry for them, but I couldn’t save the world.

Things started revving up around seven, and when the clock hit nine o’clock, the party was getting started. Drugs made an appearance, girls disappeared through the black curtains behind the stage, and neighborhood gangbangers strolled through the place and headed down the hallway. I never saw much because the shift bouncers herded me out as soon as they pushed their way through the front door. I never had to worry about forced overtime. I was still considered day shift, and day shift had to go when nighttime rolled around.

Butch lumbered out of the storage room around six thirty that night, looking like he’d gone a couple of rounds with Ali back in his prime. I smiled to see my handiwork because it looked much more devastating under the flashing lights. I hoped the asshole had a wicked headache. He went behind the bar, poured himself a highball glass full of Wild Turkey, and slumped down on a stool. Occasionally I felt his glare burning a hole through the back of my head, but I kept my gaze moving from the pool of light on the stage and around the perimeter like a good little soldier.

Richie made an appearance around nine thirty, and his first glance at Butch had him signaling toward the back. Butch peeled himself off the barstool, blinked his bleary eyes, and followed his boss. When no one called me back after twenty minutes or so, I figured I was in the clear.

Boy was I wrong.

The boom came down at five after ten when I stepped out into the muggy night air. A couple of guys were hanging outside smoking, and I pushed through the haze, heading toward my car. I’d gotten about two doors down when I heard my name being called. The smart thing would have been to keep going, and usually I do the smart thing. For some reason, I turned around.

Richie stood in front of the door to Pussy Whipped, dressed in a gray pinstripe suit that probably cost more than three of my mortgage payments. Butch, I was delighted to see, had to hold the building up with his gargantuan bulk. Next time maybe he’d think twice about touching an ass that didn’t belong to him.

I sauntered back to accept my punishment, or maybe I’d luck out and get a reward. I’d wanted to be on Richie’s radar, though I’d never thought it would take me stepping in like a white knight to get it.

Even in the heat, Richie managed to look cool. We stood under the glow of the Pussy Whipped sign. It was a blue whip, and every time the neon shifted, the whip seemed to strike and a crack would sound into the night air, along with a burst of red sparks. I actually thought the sign was pretty cool. It was certainly classy for this neighborhood, where most of the signs either advertised beer or had been scrawled in Sharpie and propped in the window. Some of the storeowners in the neighborhood should have pooled their money and sprung for a proofreader.

Richie gestured to the bruises on Butch’s face, a nice kaleidoscope of color under the flickering sign. “You do this?”

“Yep.” I gave Butch a stare-down. Butch stared back through blood-shot eyes. Not sure if that was my handiwork or if he’d had a bit too many highball glasses of booze. “And I’ll do it again if he doesn’t keep his giant shovels to himself.”

“That could be a problem,” Richie said.

I sent him a questioning look. “Why? My job is to keep the hands off the girls. All hands. All girls.”

“No, not all girls. Just the servers and the dancers,” Richie said. “I hired you to be a fucking bouncer, not a champion for workplace harassment.”

I opened my mouth, but Richie snapped his fingers together like a small clamp, so I shut my trap. I didn’t want to be fired for pissing him off personally.

“Hannah takes care of herself.” Richie adjusted his silk tie. “If she won’t—or can’t—she’ll take it up with me, and I’ll handle it.”

“Then handle it,” I snarled. “His prints are all over her ass. And I’ll bet it’s not the first time.”

“This is an employee issue,” Richie said. “How I handle it is none of your concern. Got that?”

That cool veneer had started to crack a bit. I sensed a heat inside of Richie ready to boil to the surface. That small dot of sweat on his forehead indicated something about this situation had gotten to him, maybe for the first time. I could have made an educated guess and said Butch had done this dozens of times—with impunity. What the hell went on between these two, and what did it have to do with Hannah? Or me?

“I got it,” I said, my gaze drifting to Butch, “but I don’t like it.”

“My level of interest concerning what you care about wouldn’t fill your pencil cock. You’ll do your job, you’ll keep your eyes away from the bar, and you’ll do what you’re asked to do. Anything beyond that is outside your jurisdiction. Understood?”

I gave a sharp nod, but Richie wasn’t finished.

“Hannah is a Silvestri. I don’t give a fuck how much you want in her pants or even if she wants into yours.” He pressed his face so close to mine I smelled the peppermint on his breath as he enunciated each word. “It’s never going to happen.”

“Shouldn’t that be up to Hannah?” Sometimes I couldn’t stop myself. Words just fell out of my mouth when personal shit flew.

Richie laughed, the kind of laugh that would make anyone hearing it want to crawl into a hole, anyone but me.

“Hannah’s future is mapped out, and you, I’m sorry to say, are not anywhere on that map.”

Me, I never know when to quit. I needed to push this cocksucker. I needed him to push me. All in all, this evening was working out to my advantage. Hannah seemed to be my way in because, now that I’d shown a bit of interest in his sister, Richie would make sure that never happened.

I rocked back on my heels. “Does Hannah know about this map you’ve drawn out for her? Maybe I should tell her that her future is already pre-ordained.” I shook my head and murmured, “She probably isn’t going to be happy.”

“Shut up,” Butch growled.

Then it hit me. I wasn’t getting a reward, but someone thought he’d be handed one eventually. If Hannah had any idea what these two planned, she’d puke out her guts and her lungs and any other organ she could heave out.

“I see,” I said quietly.

“You don’t see shit,” Butch said, pushing himself away from the building. He took a step toward me, and Richie put his arm out, stopping him in his path.

“What exactly do you see, Mr. O’Shea?” Richie asked curiously.

“For starters, I see a big baboon who waits for any scrap you’ll hurl in his direction.”

Butch lunged, but once again, Richie held him back with ease. A mere touch of this man’s hand could bring Butch to heel.

“I also see a man with power…who might have made promises. Is that true, Butch? Did he make you promises?” When Richie just stared at me, I decided no one was going to join in, so I just kept going. “Easy to keep a dog on a leash, doing your bidding, when you have a big juicy bone waiting at the end of the day. You’re waiting, aren’t you, Butch? Waiting for that day when a pretty little bartender just falls into your lap and becomes yours?”

“I am going to cut off your cock,” Butch said.

I shrugged. “I think Hannah might have something to say about that. She doesn’t seem the kind of woman who just takes orders about who gets to dip his wick into her honey. I think Hannah has…standards.”

“You’re a dead man,” Butch said.

“He’s definitely an interesting one,” Richie said. That anger still simmered beneath the surface—probably always did—but I’d caught Richie’s attention now. I was more than just an out-of-work drifter trying to get to the next town. “I think you and I should have a sit-down, O’Shea. Maybe you have too much talent to be stuck in Hannah’s little day camp.”

The way he said made me want to hang a fist right into his gut and just pound away until his guts poured out of his ass. But that wouldn’t get me into the inner circle, which is exactly where I needed to be.

“Am I right?” Richie asked. “Are you so bored you have to worry about a couple of stray grabs here and there? So tightly wound you feel the need to pound the face of my most stalwart soldier against my bar?”

I shrugged.

“I like your style, O’Shea. I’m not happy with your choice of punching bags, but we’ll let that slide for the time being.”

“Like hell we will,” Butch growled.

“I said,” Richie ground out, “we’ll let that slide for the time being.”

I had him right where I wanted him, but my time had run out.

Richie drew in a breath and huffed it out. “I have business to attend to.”

I followed his gaze to a couple of low-life scum coming around the corner. I recognized them. I’d studied this section of town and all its denizens for weeks before I hooked up with Archie Dee. These two were dealers who handled distribution a few neighborhoods over, not nickel and dime crap, but higher volumes. I doubted Richie had drugs on the premises, but deals were definitely going down. I needed on this shift.

The dealers pushed open the door to the club and vanished, leaving behind a wave of pulsing rhythm.

“So, Richie, about my shift.” I’d opened the door. All he had to do was walk through.

“Finish up tomorrow on days. Next week, show up at eight. Steve will get you set up and show you the ropes.”

“Sure you’re up for it?” Butch asked, narrowing his eyes.

“I took your ass down for the count, didn’t I?”

He didn’t move, but his fists clenched. So score one for me.

“The pissing contest ends here,” Richie said. “Need I say more?”

“Nope. Got it,” I said.

“Butch?” Richie kept his eyes on me.

“Got it.”

“Get out of my face, O’Shea. Don’t make me regret this.”

I turned and headed to my car.

Chapter Eleven: Richie

“You know the rule. No money, no product.” I flung open my desk drawer, pulled out the ledger, and flipped through the pages. “You’re still on the books for thirty-two-grand.” I snapped the book closed and stared at Dickie and Carlos. “So, where is it?”

Carlos shot a glance at Dickie. Dickie got real interested in the snot residue on his finger.

“Horace said next week, boss,” Carlos said. “Ran into some trouble and had to bail out a couple of runners.”

“How is that my problem?” I asked. “Does he want me to wipe his ass too? I don’t deal on consignment. I want my goddamn money.”

“We’ll get it,” Carlos said and swallowed hard. “Next week.”

I leaned back in my chair. “And you want me to front you the coke before I get the money for the last batch. Is that it?”

Dickie nodded, but Carlos seemed to get the picture a bit clearer. He took a couple of steps away from the desk. Wise man because, before Dickie could move a muscle, I grabbed the Glock from my drawer, lunged across the desk, and whipped it across Dickie’s cheek.

A scream exploded as Dickie stumbled back and a stream of blood splattered across my desk. Carlos drew in a horrified gasp and stared as Dickie lost his balance and fell on his scrawny ass. Tears broke and streamed down Dickie’s face as he cupped his split cheek with his hand and more blood seeped through his fingers.

“Carlos, you have one minute to get him out of this fucking office,” I said. “When I’m done counting, if you’re still here, I’m coming after you too.”

Carlos dropped to his knees and gathered Dickie against him. He shifted clumsily to his feet and half dragged a sniffling Dickie toward the door. Butch opened it.

“Carlos.”

Carlos turned slowly to look at me. “Boss?”

“You have until Tuesday. After Tuesday, that split cheek is going to look like a love tap.” Carlos nodded. “Fifty-six, fifty-seven…”

Carlos bolted out the door, dragging Dickie by the throat. Butch closed the door.

“What the fuck is wrong with these people? Do I look like a loan officer?”

Butch chuckled.

“Get a rag and get this mess cleaned up. God knows what kind of diseases that worthless shit has.”

Butch got a rag and spray bottle from the closet and cleaned up the blood splatter.

I poured myself drink and decided to pour one for Butch. He settled in the seat opposite me and downed it in one swallow.

“You do know that’s Macallan?” I asked.

Butch looked at his empty glass. “Whatever it is, it’s good.” He held out the empty glass.

I threw my head back against the chair. Why did I even try? I poured him another one. “Savor it, Butch. It’s three hundred dollars a bottle.”

Butch stared at the amber in the glass then swished it around. “It all tastes the same to me.”

Fuck it. I tossed the contents of my glass in a gulp and poured myself another one too. “So what’s going on between Hannah and O’Shea?”

Wrong question. Butch’s nostrils flared, and his eyes blazed, the red rims making them appear demonic.

“How the fuck would I know? I’m running all over this town doing your business.” He leapt to his feet and started pacing erratically around the room, throwing his arms up, his voice rising with each word. “I can’t keep my eyes on her every damn minute of every damn day. For all I know he’s banging her behind the bar the entire time I’m gone. Maybe she’s giving him blowjobs in the back room. Maybe they’re fucking in the back alley. Maybe he’s reading her goddamn sonnets and massaging her in baby oil. Jesus, Richie, I don’t know. It’s driving me insane, and there’s not a goddamn thing I can do about because”—he slammed his hands on my desk and leaned forward—“I’m your fucking errand boy.”

I took a sip of my drink. “Are you finished?”

“Yeah.” He slumped back into the chair and heaved a sigh. “Motherfucker.”

“So, basically, you don’t like him. Is that it?”

Butch’s eyes bugged out of his head. “Is that all you got from that?” He ran a hand over his bald head. “Jesus.”

He was so easy to toy with. Such fun.

“What do you really think is happening?”

“Probably nothing,” Butch muttered. “Yet.”

“Do you think she’s interested in him?”

Butch nodded miserably.

I straightened up in my chair and slapped my hands on the desk. “Well, we can’t have that. Doesn’t work for any of my plans.” I’d been feeling Hannah slipping from my grasp lately. Something wasn’t adding up. She usually just did her job, had her dinner, and went upstairs to…

I had no real idea what she did up there. She’d always had an attitude and got too mouthy for her own good, but lately it had seemed more than that. I saw a spark she’d never had before.

She’d actually brought her little ass down into my domain, after hours, just last week. I couldn’t have her snooping around my real business. The club was supposed to keep her occupied, give her some spending money and possibly a bit of self-worth. I let her boss around a couple of employees and treat her customers like pets and she was supposed to be grateful. Something had changed, though I couldn’t put my finger on it.

I couldn’t let her think she could find that self-worth anywhere but through my generosity. I certainly wasn’t going to let her cozy up to some drifter who might be more than that. I hadn’t decided yet how far to trust O’Shea, but I’d put him to the test soon enough.

“Has Hannah ever punched you before when you touched her?”

Butch cut a glance toward the wall.

“Jesus, Butch, don’t deny you’ve touched her. I know how you feel about her. Has she ever slapped you before when you touched her?”

“No, she usually just brushes me away and finds something else to do.”

“And today she hit you like a prize fighter. You don’t think that’s odd?”

Butch furrowed his brow. “Yeah, I guess so.

“She’s changing, Butch. Right under my nose. Maybe I’ve been too busy, maybe I’ve let too much out on the reins, maybe she thinks she actually has some freedom. Not sure, but she needs an attitude adjustment.”

“Like how?” Butch said.

“I’m not sure yet because I don’t know the reason for her sudden defiance or her late-night excursions.”

Butch gave me a puzzled look.

“The night you saw her in the hallway.”

That dense look just got more puzzled.

I scrubbed my hands over my face. “In her bathrobe.”

“Oh right. Yeah. That was strange.”

“Strange enough,” I said, “to warrant investigation. I want you to get Archie to check out her apartment. See if he finds anything unusual.”

“Like what?”

“If I knew that,” I snapped, “I wouldn’t want him to check it out. Tell him to look for letters, papers, check her computer, look through her books, check her calendars, ransack her drawers and cupboards. I don’t know. Something has changed her lately.”

“She has new locks, boss. She changes them like every month.”

“Huh. See what I mean?”

Butch nodded, but he didn’t have a clue what I was talking about.

“I can handle that. You get up on the fire escape tonight and break that AC unit.” Butch opened his mouth. “Don’t ask me how. Do I look like a fucking HVAC tech? You figure it out, but do it quietly.” I pulled a pad from my desk drawer. “I’ll leave a work order here, and tomorrow you have Carmen go fix it when Hannah complains.”

Butch opened his mouth, but I put up my hand.

“Believe me, she’ll complain. When he comes back down, tell him to give you the keys. You book down to the hardware store and make a set.”

“Carmen won’t like that.”

“Carmen can’t support five kids from El Salvador. You tell him they’re my orders, and he’ll do what he’s told. Call Archie tonight and set things up. Now get out of here. I need to think.”