Page 93 of The Heir
“Yeah.” I nodded, thinking he meant the wedding.
I glanced down at my ringless finger and decided I should probably do something about that.
“Not even twenty-five and already buying your way into your first business.” He whistled.
“Oh, that.” I nodded.
He laughed, “Yeah, that. It’s Mak’s baby. I can’t believe he agreed to split it with you.”
He looked back at Mak who saluted him with his chin.
“It’s his fuckin’ birthright. If something happened to me, I’d hope one of you bastards would look out for mine.”
“Goes without saying,” Easy told him.
“You ready, partner?” Mak asked, giving me a thorough once over.
“I don’t know, am I up to the dress code?” I teased, having never been looked over by another dude that closely.
Easy laughed and shook his head, “I need to find Trista, I’ll catch up with you fuckers later.”
We followed him out and Mak waved at the bikes, “We can ride them over, so we don’t have to walk back.”
I glanced across the parking lot, it was the size of a football field, but it wasn’t that far.
“O-kay.”
“I’m old and grumpy, don’t fuck with me, Blaze. I’ll forget you make my daughter smile and leave you crying with your dick in the dirt.”
I snorted and fired up my bike, slowly rolling across the gravel to park in front of the strip club beside him. He had a funny walk about him for such a little guy. Mak walked with his arms out, taking up as much room as he possibly could without looking dramatic about it. He plucked the front door open like he was mad at it and waved all extravagant like.
I walked in and smiled at the gal behind the hostess counter. It was the same one that had been there the night of my arrest.
“Blaze, this is Sonya. Sonya handles the door and the payroll for the girls,” Mak rattled before walking past the woman. I followed him down a ramp that led into the showroom, or whatever they called it.
An extended bar lined the wall and there were tables with long, black cloths draped over them sprinkled about the room. Three stages decorated the front of the club, and a DJ booth was rigged near the bar.
It was just now getting to be dinner time, so the place was relatively empty. A few older dudes were sitting in the shadows watching a girl strut in a circle around the pole. She looked like she was conflicted between wanting to cover her chest and thrusting her hip out at each turn in a way that demanded notice.
“Heather. She’s new. Still kind of bashful. The shy ones, the new ones, the ones that don’t command attention so well, they go on the dayshift schedule. Money makers are put on the stage at night. The really good ones are saved for Friday and Saturday evenings,” Mak rattled matter-of-factly.
“Makes sense,” I mused.
He gave me a slow tour of the showroom, the champagne room, and then we ended up in a large office that had no windows, and a whole lot of nasty artwork on the walls.
“Is that Marilyn?” I asked, staring at a sprawled-out redhead in an expensive frame. She was stretched longways without a stitch. You really couldn’t see anything but the shape of her ass and the side of her tit, but it was nice and definitely looked like the famous icon.
“Fuckin’ right it is. Your father paid a thousand dollars for that thing at an auction. It’s an original, taken before she started in with all that blonde hair dye and the look that made her famous.”
“That’s awesome.” I stood there admiring it for a minute.
“What are you carrying?”
“Huh?” I looked over my shoulder and his eyes snapped toward mine.
“Do you have a gun?” He spoke slowly, keeping his voice down.
“Yeah– back at the house.”