Broken Heart 09 Only Lycans Need Apply(67)

Speaking of hell . . . I eyed Larsa. “Let’s get this over with.”

Shamhat kissed Amahté, and I saw the worry shadowing his gaze. But he said nothing, and I realized he trusted in the strength and abilities of his wife. It showed me, yet again, the value of having a partner who believed me to be his equal, who had faith that I was smart enough and strong enough to handle anything.

To my surprise, Larsa and Shamhat put their arms around me, and I realized they both needed Ax’s location, which was in my brain.

“Wait,” I said. “Er . . . what day is it?”

“After midnight on a Saturday,” said Larsa. “We are risking much—it’s only a few hours until dawn.”

“Okay,” I said. I thought about Ax, and where he’d be on a Saturday night. That was easy enough to figure out. I squeezed my eyes shut, and felt that awful tingling sensation that occurred right before my atoms got scrambled.

Shit. I really hated this part.

• • •

“At least I don’t want to throw up this time,” I said, swaying in the parking lot of Velvet and Lace: A Gentlemen’s Club. Larsa and Shamhat had let go of me and were currently staring up at the neon-framed sign of gorgeous women with huge, barely covered breasts blowing out kisses to the people zooming down the nearby freeway.

“There is an important ax here?” asked Shamhat suspiciously. “What is this place?”

“It’s called a strip club,” said Larsa. “It’s where women dance around naked and men give them money.”

“These women are like Godswives . . . and the men offer worship and tributes?”

“Close enough,” I said. “Let’s go.”

Velvet and Lace was an extremely popular club. On the weekends the lines were crazy long, and tonight, even after midnight, a bevy of horny men snaked around the building. As we made our way toward the front, I heard the grumbling from the line monkeys, and rolled my eyes.

“Hey, Moira,” said Neal. He was sitting on a barstool, studying the crowd, looking for trouble to nip in the bud. He was a bruiser, as big and solid as an oak tree, with the kind of flat, scarred face that held reminders of more violent days. He opened the velvet rope and motioned to the three of us to come through. We sailed past the college boys who were at the front.

“What the fuck, man?” groused one of them. “We’ve been waiting two hours to see premium pussy.”

I could tell he was drunk, and so were his companions. I stared at him, and he sneered. “You better be the talent, honey.”

“Leave.” Neal stood, rising to his full six-foot, seven-inch height. “Now.”

The idiot looked up at Neal and gave him the finger. Neal reared back and cold-cocked him. The little shit slithered to the ground like a limp noodle, and his friends stared down at him openmouthed.

“I don’t repeat myself,” said Neal.

The dudes gathered up their unconscious friend and left as fast as their Nikes could carry them.

“You could’ve broken his jaw,” said Larsa, sounding impressed. “But you tapped him just right. Nice.”

“Thank you.” Neal assessed her for a moment, obviously liked what he saw, and offered a quicksilver smile. He turned his gaze to me and quirked an eyebrow. “Anyone who breaks the rules doesn’t get inside. One of the rules is that no one insults you. Ever.”

I grinned. “Thanks, Neal. Ax at the bar?”

“Where else?”

The booming beat of the music greeted us even before we opened the door. Like most strip clubs, it was dark. Squiggles of neon on the wall offered some light, as did the muted stage lighting on the three girls performing on three different catwalks. Unlike most strip clubs, it didn’t smell like desperation and cigarettes, and there wasn’t an unidentifiable haze hanging in the air. Ax owned the club, and he ran a clean establishment. The girls had health insurance as well as paid vacation, a 401(k) plan, and child care. The girls had to be free of drugs, could not prostitute themselves, and did not have to put up with one ounce of asshole-ish-ness from the clientele. They also had to have an actual life plan that did not include working at Velvet and Lace past five years. I had yet to meet to a girl that made it to the five-year mark. Nearly all of them used the opportunities provided by Ax to create better lives.

The place was jam-packed. The booming beat of the music was like an excited heartbeat. We weaved through men-laden tables and scantily clad strippers selling fantasies and high-priced drinks until we reached the bar. It was elbow to elbow. I went to the end, flipped up the hinged countertop, and rounded the corner. Ax was one of three bartenders mixing up drinks and handing out cold beers. He looked up, studied me, then the two women behind me, and gestured for me to follow him.