Killing the ignition on my truck, I glance out the window at the flashing neon sign and notice the line that wraps around the building. Dressed in their most provocative clothing, women from all over stand in heels they can’t walk in, hoping they’ve brought enough singles with them to live out their fantasies. Some are here to celebrate a bride-to-be, others are here because the ink has dried on their divorce papers and they’re looking to jump back in the saddle. And let’s not forget the unspoken law of girl code that states every woman deserves at least one lap dance in her life. If it’s her birthday, maybe she’ll get two. Then there are a few who come just for a night out.

Whatever the excuse, they’ve traveled to the strip because the men of SIX put on one hell of a fucking show and when they leave, when the show is over and they’re panting for more, they stop at the drugstore to stock up on condoms or sometimes a value pack of batteries.

Reaching into the backseat, I pull my duffel back out and sling it over my shoulder as I climb out of my truck. Lowering the brim of my Yankee hat, I pull my hood over my head and cross the parking lot. They call out, screaming my name—Gio! Take it off! Gio, it’s my last night single! Take me home with you!

Rolling my eyes, I pull open the door and dip inside. My phone rings in my pocket and I pause, pulling it from my jeans. I forget to breathe and swallow the lump in my throat just as I do every time my sister’s number flashes across the screen. Drawing in a deep breath, I swipe my thumb across the screen accepting the call and lift the phone to my ear.

“Hello?”

“Hey, I’m sorry to bother you, I know you worked all day,” Francesca says.

“Is everything okay?” I ask instantly. “Matteo he’s good?”

“Yes, but he wanted me to call you,” she replies. “I told him you’d be here in the morning—”

“Put him on the phone, Frankie,” I interrupt, adjusting the phone to my ear. She hesitates for a second, huffing out a breath but, a moment later I hear the strained voice of my five-year-old nephew.

“Uncle G,” he greets between breaths.

“How’s my favorite boy doing?”

“Okay,” he replies. The two syllables sound strangled coming from him, a sure sign he isn’t that okay at all. “Mommy said you were coming to see me tomorrow.”

“I sure am, and I’ve got a surprise for you,” I tell him, swallowing hard. Have you ever wished you could switch places with someone else? If I could I’d be the one lying in a hospital bed fighting for my life, not him.

“I bet I know what it is,” he says.

A smile creeps across my face as I lean against the wall.

“We’ll see,” I tell him. “I’ll be there bright and early so why don’t you get some rest.”

“Okay, Uncle G.”

“I love you, kid,” I add hoarsely.

“Love you too,” he whispers before I hear him hand the phone back to my sister. We say our goodbyes and I end the call. Quietly, I stand there staring at my phone. I touch the camera roll and swipe through my photos, pausing at the first one of Matteo that I come across. If I ever needed a reminder as to why I grind as hard as I do all I gotta do is look at his face. That boy is my why.

Exhaling, I lift my bag higher onto my shoulder and make my way through the hallway, following the sound of Betty’s raspy voice. Muttering a curse, I glance down at the watch on my wrist and realize the flamboyant bitch is going to tie my balls in a knot because I’m ten minutes. A strike I don’t need right now. Blowing a billow of smoke out of her mouth, she coughs and tries to continue her pre-show lecture. Setting my duffel bag down, I cross my arms against my chest as her eyes slice to me.

“Nice of you to show up, beefcake,” she sneers.

There is no use in giving the modern-day Blanche Devereaux an apology she’ll only tell me to bend over. Dismissing the others, she orders them to continue to dress before turning to Jag and informing him he goes on in five minutes. Turning away, I start to pull the tacky policeman uniform from my bag. It’s wrinkled as fuck but I could give a shit less. I’m dead tired and to say I don’t want to be here, dry humping a bunch of horny bitches is the understatement of the year.

I unzip my hoodie and shrug it off my shoulders when I get a whiff of Betty. She’s got a distinct scent made up of moth balls, cigarettes and some cheap drugstore perfume.

“Beefy,” she calls from behind me.

Jesus fuck.

“Name is Gio, Betty,” I mutter as I pull my t-shirt over my head.

“Like that matters,” she retorts, her eyes traveling the length of my chest. “You could use a waxing,” she points out and I resist the urge to tell her maybe we can get a two for one deal. Instead, I kick off my work boots and reach for the waistband of my sweats.

“I’ll be sure to add it to my list of things I need to do,” I grunt, drawing the pants down my legs.

“You are pretty though,” she observes as I pull the pants from my ankles and rise to my full height. At six feet three inches I tower over the broad.

“Listen, Betty, I was hoping I could talk to you after the show,” I say, deciding it’s best to just cut to the chase. The truth is, as much as I despise the woman, I need her help. My nephew needs her help.

Two months ago, Matteo was on the little league field, running the bases when he collapsed. Frankie and I rushed him to the hospital and he was admitted into the pediatric intensive care unit. I remember it as if it was just yesterday, the way my heart clenched when they started slinging words around like, hypertrophic cardiomyopathy, heart transplant and the word that scared the living fuck out of me...fatal. They say he needs a new heart in order to survive but, they won’t put him on the wait list until Frankie comes up with fifty grand.

On top of that, she just got a new job and doesn’t have insurance yet. When it does finally kick in, they won’t cover a transplant and so, we need to come up with over two hundred and fifty grand for Matteo to live. I put myself into the equation because since Frankie’s husband died in a car accident three years ago, my sister and her son have become my responsibility.

“I thought I made it clear when I hired you, I don’t sleep with my employees,” she says, pulling a cigarette out of her bra.

“Gio, you’re up after Jag you better get your ass in gear,” August calls from behind me. Betty runs a hand down my arm. Grabbing a hold of her wrist, I glance over my shoulder.

“I’ll be ready,” I tell August before turning my attention back to Betty. She puffs her smoke in my face and I wave it away with my free hand. “I’m not propositioning you for sex, Betty.”

“Well then what could you possibly want from me?”

Lowering my voice, my eyes dart around the dressing room before I swallow my pride and look her straight in the eye.

Matteo’s face flashes before me.

Frankie’s cries echo in my ears.

“A loan,” I rasp. “I need a loan.”