“Look, I know we’re just fun and easy,” she said, her voice cracking. “I get it. That doesn’t mean that I don’t care about you, Michael.”
Hesitating, I pulled in a breath. The car felt stifling hot, despite the fact I’d just turned off the air-conditioning and the engine.
“Mike,” I said, correcting her, then jabbed her with my elbow and winked. “Big Mike, baby.”
Of course I was intentionally killing the moment. Marta was trying to be real and sentimental at the same time, but I couldn’t do it. Especially when she called me Michael.
“Come on, darling, let’s go have some fun. Yeah?” As if either of us has a choice at this point.
She sucked back her unshed tears and took a deep breath. “Totally.”
When she threw open her door and unfolded her long, lean stripper legs out of the vehicle, I noticed the guys were taking her in. They knew I didn’t fuck my girls. Or at least, I didn’t when I lived in Vegas. So, in their twisted minds, Marta was a free agent.
Alex approached. “Hey, Mike.” When I tossed him the keys with a chin nod, he asked, “Want it up front?”
“Yeah, for now. We’re checking in, so I’ll be in and out for a few days.”
Tossing my arm around Marta, I led her into the hotel. Fuck them if they thought they were going to even look at my lady.
As we stepped inside, not only did the sound of slot machines dinging slap me in the face, but so did the irony, and the realization of what a fucking prick I was.
Why the fuck did Asher have to be right?
LYNX OPENED the door to her apartment, smiling as she beckoned her visitor inside.
“Hello, Ms. Lincoln. I here for treatment today,” the woman said in broken English.
“Yes, Sari, come in,” Lynx said, closing the heavy door behind her.
“We go to your room.” Sari headed toward the back of the apartment, lugging a folded table behind her.
“Let me help you,” Lynx offered.
“No! You must not. This not your job,” Sari said firmly, shaking her head.
Resigned, Lynx led the woman to her bedroom, decorated in varying shades of pink and gold. Small candelabra lights were lit above her bed, casting a soft glow on the satiny rose-colored bedspread and the deep cranberry fabric-covered walls.
Sari plugged in the canister of already warm wax, reheating it quickly while setting up the table. The tiny brown-skinned woman spread a long blue blanket on top of the table and plugged that in also so the sterile surface would be more comfortable for Lynx.
One long window was open a crack, allowing a hint of the sea breeze to waft inside, reminding Lynx of other happier oceans. She inhaled deeply, the salty tang calming her as she undressed with no shame. She didn’t wear a bra, so she slipped off her red thong and climbed onto the semi-warm table.
She lay on her stomach first, baring her new tattoo, a series of purple-tinted waves cresting across her lower back. It had only been a few weeks since she’d had it done overseas, but thankfully, it wasn’t tender anymore. With Sari’s visit, she knew she’d have no room to complain in the coming days.
“Interesting,” Sari said, running a finger along the tat. “Has Mr. Zayid seen this?”
The woman might be small, but she wasn’t stupid.
“Yes, he sent the men with me when I had it done.”
There was nothing to hide, except for the inscription hidden deep within the rolling water. Inside the finely detailed design on her darker skin were the words CASH OUT. So small, most likely unable to be seen by the naked eye, the tattoo artist had to use a magnifying glass when he inserted them.
“Okay, hold your cheeks, spread them,” Sari instructed.
Lynx reached back and grabbed her own ass cheeks, opening them so the woman could coat her lower lips and ass crack with an apricot-scented hard wax. Lynx preferred the sea smell to the fruity scent, and her nose searched for the tranquility of the ocean air she so desperately needed.
Then she felt Sari fanning her ass, hastening the drying of the wax before pulling it off with no mercy. A few more tugs and pulls and she heard, “Turn over.”
And she did, automatically bending her knees to the side and letting them fall flat, leaving her spread wide open. Sari didn’t talk anymore, just diligently cleaned up Lynx’s crotch, ripping the patches of hair that had grown in and plucking any loose hairs left behind until she was as smooth as the day she was born.
The scent of lavender filled the room as Sari wiped a soothing antiseptic over Lynx’s now well-groomed most intimate parts, ready for visitors. Grabbing her hands, the little brown woman ran the same healing tonic over Lynx’s palms, privy to the damage Lynx had inflicted there.
Closing her eyes and willing herself to relax, Lynx continued to lie still, her only movement straightening her legs. She knew what was coming last, but not least. Her thoughts went back to her tattoo as she felt a quick pinch in her arm. After two deep breaths, the sting of her birth-control injection faded. Sari lifted her other arm, tying the tourniquet tight above her elbow. Another prick, and Lynx felt the blood drain from her vein into the small glass vial.
She was required to stay clean, especially if she wanted to ever follow the words now inscribed on her skin. The simple words had come to mean so much to her. She was trying to cash out. But she couldn’t just yet.
It wasn’t just the insane access to money she’d grown accustomed to—she needed to do what she set out to do and find what she came for. Sadly, she hadn’t done it yet.
“Okay, all done,” Sari said, breaking Lynx from her thoughts.
Scooting off the table, Lynx wandered into the bathroom to clean up, and didn’t come out until the other woman was long gone.
Not the right time to cash out yet.
SINCE I’D left Vegas, I’d never really hit the Strip until this trip. Without daring to look back, I’d locked my piece up in Asher’s safe before heading to Florida. With a firm bro hug and a kick on the ass with his motorcycle boot, Asher had sent me on my way two years ago.
Thank fuck.
After an hour of playing Mr. Lucky and in Love in Vegas with Marta and a week of being the big man in charge of Asher’s empire, I wanted nothing more than a break. Some peace and fucking quiet.
And I desperately craved my window looking out onto the South Beach drag.
Showing Marta around should have been fun. But what started as a little nagging in my gut grew into a giant gaping abscess. I was stringing her along, and she knew it. Asher knew it. And it only took twenty-four months for me to know it.
The first night she was there was a disaster that ended in an even more noxious fucking.
After the scene at the valet station, we settled into an enormous suite at the Luxious. And for a moment, it appeared Marta forgot about her emotional outburst in the car. The room was the most outrageous place she’d ever seen.
Before we left to grab some dinner, she’d run around the place, smoothing her hand along the back of the silk sofa and sniffing at the votive candles filled with pomegranate-scented wax. I only knew the damn fucking smell because it was the signature scent in all of my dad’s joints, compliments of his second wife.
Then Marta filled the Jacuzzi tub with bubbles and recreated the scene from Pretty Woman where Julia Roberts went from cheap streetwalker to kept woman in Richard Gere’s penthouse suite. Watching her from the doorway to the bathroom—her ear buds in, swaying to music, most likely Matchbox 20 or something similar, with her eyes closed and her feet up on the ledge—my heart sank.
What the hell had happened to me?
I was chasing a hooker—one that I believed I was hopelessly in love with—and I was sleeping with my employee, who was a stripper. And I thought I’d hit rock bottom when Rochelle left me for my dad.
Locking my thoughts down tight, I took Marta out on the town. We ate sushi while overlooking the Strip, rode the elevator to the top of the fake Eiffel Tower, kissing at the top. That’s where it got
really fucked up. Because she grabbed my cock at the top, and I’m a dude, so I reacted.
It had been days since I’d unloaded myself. I certainly couldn’t jerk off in Asher’s office.
So, with half an erection, I took Marta back to the hotel and screwed her brains out before going to check on the Tunnel—leaving her behind to her Pretty Woman fantasies.
Before you get all judgy, I don’t need any more guilt.
At first, I was lonely. Starting up with Marta was not only a dick move but also a kind of rescue fantasy. Now, I had no freaking clue what the fuck was up other than my heart belonged elsewhere. I needed to cut ties, even if it meant being alone for the rest of my life.
It wasn’t until the next morning when my phone rang while I was passed out on Asher’s sofa, that I realized the enormity of my stupidity.
I had forgotten to go back to Marta at the hotel. Instead, I’d spent the wee hours of the night with a lowball glass and a bottle of JD.
With nowhere to turn or hide, I rushed back to the hotel with my tail between my legs and room service on the way. When I walked into the room, Marta gave me a kiss with a tight smile.
“I’m sorry I pushed you yesterday in the car,” she said while sipping her orange juice.
The sweet citrus smell mixed with the scents of bacon and sausage, and when added to the generous helping of regret I’d walked in with, made my stomach and head spin like a giant industrial washing machine.
“It’s got nothing to do with that, Marta. You know I’m fucked up in the head over her. And now I’m fucked up even more because of you.”
A lone tear slid down her cheek, splashing onto her plate. I ran my hand along her face, slipping a few stray hairs behind her ear, and she closed her eyes. “I care for you, sweetie. I do. And you know in the last few years we’ve been together, I haven’t strayed. Physically. Mentally, I could’ve never fully been yours.”
“I know,” she whispered. “I hoped and wished. Tried to keep it light and fun. But I still prayed you’d move on.” She ducked her head, avoiding my eyes.
“I should’ve known. Paid better attention. I’m so stupid. I really thought you wanted fun. But then you knew how I took my eggs and showed up here, and I finally clued in.” I raised her chin with my finger and cupped my hand on her cheek, taking in her sheer beauty. I was a fucking idiot, but I couldn’t love her. Not like that.
“It’s okay, Mike. I’ve known about Lynx since we first met. Not just the part about you looking endlessly for her and you cared for her, but that she was so much, much more to you. Remember she was there that first time you had me come by the club? She was up in your office when I arrived. I’d been there a few minutes. You’d been arguing, and I heard her screaming ‘Never, no fucking way am I quitting.’ When I heard you choking out ‘I love you’ through tears, my heart broke for you.”
Breakfast long forgotten, Marta stood and went to look out the panoramic window. The reflection of her curves and her long eyelashes in the glass was stunning. Any man would be a downright fool to let that go.
And I was a fool. This gorgeous, caring woman would willingly walk through fire or do anything for me.
“I didn’t know you heard us. But, yes, I remember her storming out as you walked in. It was one of a million fights we had, but it was the big one. The one where she totally dropped me, cut me off completely.”
“I thought you were kind of adorable and sweet the first time I met you,” Marta said, “but I could see in your eyes you were taken even back then. When I heard Lynx screaming in your office, I was a little happy. I thought maybe I could make you mine.” A sob escaped Marta’s throat as she leaned her forehead against the mirrored glass.
I came up behind her and ran my hand up and down her back, my rough fingers catching on her lace nightgown. “Shhh. Another time, another place, baby, and it would’ve happened. But I’ve been fucked up a long time over this, and I should’ve never started with you. You were irresistible,” I said, placing a chaste kiss on the back of her neck.
She shook her head. “You were the irresistible one. And the one to get me off the streets, give me a good job, a decent one where I’m watched and protected. And I make amazing money.”
Whiskey quietly seeped back up my throat like a slow-burning blaze. Why couldn’t I convince Lynx to do that?
Marta turned and nodded once, not meeting my eyes. “I’m gonna go back home. This was a mistake, and I get it. It was all me. Don’t you put this on yourself for a minute.”
“Don’t say that.” I wrapped my arms around her, holding her tight—her back pressed into my front.
She broke free from my hold. “I hope you slay your dragons, Mike. I do. You deserve it.” On her tiptoes, she reached up and kissed me on the cheek before walking to the bathroom and turning on the shower.
An hour later, I dropped Marta off at the airport and finished my time at the Tunnel.
I’D BEEN back in Miami a week and the Wave was bumping. We were packed, just like we were every Saturday night. Rap alternated with heavy metal, pulsing through the rooms, and alcohol flowed freely at the bars. Our girls bared themselves freely, gyrating on the stage and on laps, making men and women alike very happy campers.
I’d just stepped out onto the floor after hiding in my office most of the night, but not from Marta. She was doing her thing, hanging upside down from a pole, her ankles twisted around the top, her tits mushed into the sleek silver metal, drawing the eyes of many men.
Thank Jesus she didn’t bring our personal baggage into work.
I was hiding from my own shadow and what I might or might not do. My nerves were as frayed as the bottom of my running shoes. Although, I’d told Asher I could handle it all, the truth was I couldn’t.
Not if I didn’t find Lynx.
I was back to staying at Asher’s old mansion where I could get lost in one of the cavernous rooms while I drank and cried myself into a stupor. The only one who would look for me there was Lynx. She knew the place from when Natalie was living in Miami with Quinn, and Asher came to stake his claim. He’d originally rented the joint, thinking he needed to set up camp permanently in Florida to be near his son. But after he made a life in Vegas with his family, he bought the property as a vacation rental.
A while later, he gave it to me to use, and now I wouldn’t let him rent it. It remained a vacant beacon of hope, hopefully guiding Lynx back to me, just like my place in Vegas.
I’d just turned away from Marta’s section and was heading to look in on the back of the bar when Sampson, my head bouncer, called me over the radio. He asked me to check on something at the main door for him.
“Be right there.” I headed toward the front, passing turquoise leather banquettes set against lilac walls and rows of white snakeskin club chairs. Lila had picked out the decor, softening the signature navy and deep purple of the Electric brand with a more tropical vibe.
Hard to imagine she’d been a dancer once. Best there ever was after reinventing herself, narrowly escaping a brutal and violent marriage to some religious freak. Now she ran the most successful franchise of strip clubs with her best friend, Asher, and me.
And she was a mom.
Lila had been pregnant when decorating the Wave, and none of us were going to argue with a knocked-up ex-stripper. Turned out she knew what she was doing. This club had taken Miami by storm, and its popularity didn’t seem to be letting up.
Good, because I needed the money to compensate Carson’s guys when they came up with more information about Lynx.
“What the fuck?” I yelled when I finally reached the main entrance and took in the scene unfolding in front of me.
“We didn’t know what to do, boss,” Jovi said. In a lower voice, he added, “You always say no hookers.”
“Get the hell out of my way, Jovi, can’t you see this woman’s hurt? Use your fucking brain instead of your ass!” Shoving him out of the way, I wrapped my arm around the high-priced call girl and walked her into the
club. “Baby, what happened?”
Chantilly leaned her skinny frame into me. I could feel her shaking, tremors running through her entire body.
“Mikey, baby, they got me good,” she said as I settled her on the couch in my office.
I took in her messy hair and torn skirt. What the fuck?
“Who?” I roared. “Who did this?”
Trying to force myself to calm down, I grabbed some ice from my bar and wrapped it in a soft towel. “Put it on your eye.”
God, she’s going to have one hell of a shiner.
“I don’t want you doing anything stupid.” She held the cold pack to her left eye as she shimmied out of her leather coat, revealing a huge bruise on her arm.
“Jesus Christ, Chantilly, just tell me who the hell did this!” I paced the small room, my Air Jordans pounding into the area rug, marking my path.
The hand holding the ice pack trembled. “I don’t really know.”
Taking a seat next to her, I took over holding the ice on her eye while taking one of her hands in mine. Running my thumb over hers, I said, “Shhh, I’m sorry. I’m trying to calm down. You need to take a deep breath and try to tell me as much as you remember.”
Her chest rose and fell through a few deep breaths before she spoke. “Earlier today, I got a call from Bruno. He said there was a bigwig client rolling into town who was looking for a few new girls to entertain him and his friends. He told me they like kink, and a lot of it. Said they wanted two or three girls, a no-questions-asked kinda thing, but big money. Triple the usual rate.” A shudder ran through her whole body.
I removed the ice and wrapped one arm tightly around her. “Shhh, you’re doing good. Keep going.”
Once she’d calmed herself somewhat, her words came again. “I got a daughter, Mike. I keep her dressed and fed. We go to the doctor and the dentist. Her dad’s a deadbeat nobody and gives me shit. So, you gotta understand, I do what I do for her.”
“Honey, I know. You don’t have to justify anything to me,” I said, smoothing my hand down her back and up again.
Tinged (The Electric Tunnel Book 3) Page 4
