Chapter 11

Liam

12:05 PM THURSDAY

I walk into the club, sticking to the darkness so I’m not seen. It pays to check on things without being seen. I know the dark won’t hide me for a long, but for the little while it does, I fucking take advantage of it.

There are a few buzzing women mingling about, and some of my male employees are chatting among the patrons. For a Thursday lunch, it’s pretty standard business—not dead quiet, but not packed, either. The real crowds will come a little later.

James has got the music playing a little softer right now than he does at night. It allows for conversation. At night, we play it full blast. I mean, let’s face it—if you come to a fucking male stripper club at night, you’re not here to chit chat.

Bruce behind the bar is as professional as ever and is engaging in small talk. He’s got a bunch of girls eating out of the palm of his hands.

Literally. He’s got them diving for peanuts and licking the salt off of his palms.

I shake my head.

I’ve tried to entice Bruce to become one of our strippers ever since he knocked on my door a couple of years ago. Back then, he was down on his luck. The minute I spoke to him, I realized he was the real deal. Instantly, he was hired.

And I’ve never ever regretted my decision since.

He’d make us both so much money, we wouldn’t know what to do with all of it. But every time I ask him if he’s changed his mind, he shakes his head and grins.

“I’m not much of a dancing man, boss. I’ll stick with what I know.”

And boy, does he fucking know his business.

He can mix the most complicated of cocktails in record time. His Shirley Temple is to die for. And boy, does he know how to keep the broads buying.

The wave from Bruce lets me know I’ve been spotted. Another tick of his. I know no one else will have seen me but Bruce. Bruce is always alert and on the ball.

I think he practices some form of martial arts. According to his principles, you never let your fucking guard down. You need to have a roaming eye. And his roaming eye has found me.

For a few more minutes, I ponder Bruce and his missed career move as one of my male strippers. Even I, as another bloke, think he’s fucking attractive. The girls practically drool when he flexes his bicep to pour a drink.

If he performed his form—that’s his martial art fundamental training technique—he would rake in the dollars. I’ve seen him do it, clothed and naked.

Someone walks up to me.

“Hey, Liam,” she purrs, and I smile. It’s business time.

“How are you today, Dolly?”

The blonde wraps her arm around my waist and bites into my ear lobe.

For the first time in my life, this behavior disgusts me. In the past, it’s never bothered me, but today, for some inexplicable reason, I feel bile rise in the back of my throat.

“What about one of your special solo dances?”

I can feel her breath on my skin, and a shiver runs down my spine. Dolly reeks of alcohol. They call me a bad boy, but as a rule, I don’t prey on drunken women.

And now, after Becky Brookes came crashing into my life…I don’t know that I have much interest in sober women, either.

“Not today, I’m afraid,” I say firmly and untangle myself from her embrace.

She pouts. “I’d make it worth your while.”

I don’t fucking think so, but I smile politely.

“I’ll get Antonio for you,” I promise her and keep walking to the bar.

Bruce is shoving a long black toward me before I’m even there.

“Hey, boss,” he smiles and gives me a high five.

“Anything to report?”

Bruce is my eyes and ears. The beauty about a fucking barman is no one suspects he reports to the boss.

“Nope.” He’s also straight to the fucking point, which I appreciate.

“Hey, Liam,” James appears out of nowhere and sits down next to me.

I suspect he’s been sitting in the office out the back working on staff rosters and booking schedules. James might be my right hand man, but he’s one to stay behind closed doors.

“So, how are things today?” he asks.

He signals Bruce, who’s attending to three blondes. Their bodies are barely covered, and from what I can see, they’re practically begging Bruce for some action.

Professionally and firmly, he palms them off to a couple of male strippers on duty.

Those here today are dressed in tight, black suit pants, no top, and a bow tie around their necks. It takes no time at all to pull them off. The pants are breakaways. The bow ties stay on. Hot naked six packs glistening in the dim lights.

When James has his coffee, he looks at me. “Your lady called.”

My lady.

If that’s not Becky Brooks, then I don’t know who else it could possibly be.

I sip on my cup and enjoy the caffeine. If there’s one thing I love and need, it’s a fucking strong cup of coffee. I don’t go for any of that fancy stuff, the lattes, the frozen mochas or the cappuccinos. And I can’t understand why people bother with instant shit, decaf, or half-strength.

When I do something, I do it completely.

Like Becky Brooks, for example.

“Did she, now?”

My eyes are roaming the club, but my head is stuck on Becky. Becky, riding my lap, grinding on me to forget her fuckwit of an ex. Becky, kissing my lips and telling me over and over again those words that I’ll never get tired of hearing.

“Fuck Dan,” she told me. “Fuck Dan, I choose you.”

“I don’t think she remembers being here,” James says, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I don’t suppose she does,” I say. Crushes my bloody heart every time I have to admit it to myself, but there it is.

The best night of my fucking life, and the woman I spent it with doesn’t even remember it.

Our conversation is interrupted by the appearance of two women. They’re long-legged, wearing tight black skirts and white crop tops, leaving very little to the imagination.

“Hey, Liam,” Barbi tickles my chin, and Silvia kisses me on the cheek. “We’re wondering if, since you’re here…you might be working?”

James catches my eye, as does Bruce.

“Not today,” I shift in my chair to put a little distance between us.

It was a stupid fucking idea to begin with, dancing at my own club. Part of the enjoyment was the shock and awe of it all. Having all eyes on me and letting my gaze wander to whoever I fucking fancied for the evening.

I’ve had Silvia and Barbi both, truth be told. Separately—and at once—and in ways that they wouldn’t exactly want their Sunday school teachers to know about.

But last night changed me. Becky fucking Brooks changed me, and now I can’t even stand the thought of these other woman laying eyes on me.

Silvia is a little more persistent. “Come on, Liam, I could give you the best fucking blowjob anyone has ever given you.”

I cringe at her words. She’s already been outclassed for eternity, and she doesn’t even realize it yet.

Becky’s hot body comes to mind yet again, and I recall how her gorgeous lips were wrapped around my fucking cock. No one will be able to top her performance.

That’s why I married her, after all.

“Here come the lads.” I take Silvia’s hands off my shoulders. “You can look after them.”

James chuckles. “Popular today.”

“Piss off.” I’m not in the mood for jokes.

“Anyway, like I said. Your lady called, the one you came in here with last night.”

That reminder makes a strange little darkness inside me purr. Becky called the Post Office. My fucking strip club. Yet another part of my empire.

She’s retracing her steps. Recovering what she lost last night.

And every fucking memory she reclaims leads her right back to me.

“What did she say?”

I try to sound cool, calm, and collected. I don’t want James to think I’m hanging on every fucking word he’s about to say…even though I bloody fucking am.

James shrugs. “Asked lots of questions. I told her she should stop by if she wants answers. Seemed like the easiest thing to do.”

I take a few seconds to think about this before shooing him away. James takes the hint.

Becky Brooks, walking into my club all over again.

This could be dangerous for me.

Or it could be the best thing for her.

Either way…I have no doubt it will be fun.

I know Dan doesn’t deserve a girl like Becky. I’m not sure that I do either, truth be told. In a way, I was only doing what Dan the Man told me to do: make sure she’s taken care of.

It’s just that when he told me to smooth things over with Becky, I didn’t imagine he thought I would do it to his disadvantage.

Fucking prick.

But if Becky doesn’t remember me, she must not remember Dan’s little transgressions either.

I’ll need to tread carefully with her. She’s headstrong, I can tell. She won’t just take my fucking word for it.

She needs to retrace her steps. Reclaim her memories.

And when she does, I’ll be waiting for her with a shot of tequila and open arms.

What’s going to be critical is that Becky will have to think she reached the decision by herself, with no help from anyone. If I go up and tell her not to marry the prick Dan, she’ll run a fucking mile and then some.

Last night was insane, even by my standards. My concern for this woman is more than just my dislike of Dan. There’s something about Becky. She touched me like no other woman has before. She’s got under my skin in a good way.

Like no other woman ever has.

I finish my coffee and decide to stick around.

Becky and those friends of hers are trouble in the best way…and I intend to see them through this little journey safe.

After all, a man ought to take care of his wife.