Page 63 of Striker
“Guess if I pass out from the heat I won’t need this anyway,” he said, pulling the knife from its sheath and popping it into the glove box.
“You’ve got your earpiece. We’ll be on standby. If you get caught with a weapon, you’ll have every eye on you.”
“I know, I know.”
Rogue shifted into drive and turned out of the parking lot. They cruised from the industrial district to the bustling neighborhood of Marbella. People milled around in the streets, some gathering, others smoking.
Neon signs advertised nightclub specials and more than one gentleman’s club. They pulled into a parking lot across the street from Pretty Splits Gentleman’s House.
Pink floodlights lit the black building. “Pretty Splits? For real?”
Rogue shrugged. Viper passed him a black hoodie. He fit the thick material over his head. Viper was at least one size larger than him, so thankfully the sweatshirt wasn’t too snug.
“Keep your head down and find Cinnamon,” Rogue said.
Viper, Havoc, and Reaper hooted with laughter.
Rolling his eyes, Atlas climbed out of the vehicle. He was beginning to think his friends were just doing this to piss him off. Then again, the stakes were too high right now. Everyone wanted Rex found yesterday.
He crossed the street and ambled up the sidewalk to the front entrance. Dipping his hand in his pocket, he found some cash for the cover. He paid the fee and went through the metal detector.
A bouncer with a shaved, tattooed head and weird-ass contact lenses that made his irises an unnatural white barely gave him a second glance.
A wall of smelly heat struck him in the face the minute he entered the joint. Strobe lights blinked from the ceiling and a black light illuminated the rest of the club. Music blared from the speakers, vibrating his feet.
Servers with skirts so short they left little to the imagination sauntered around with trays on their hips.
“Need a table, hot stuff?” A woman with glasses, bright-blue hair, and a rose tattoo on her cheekbone sidled up to him. She smiled, smacking a wad of gum between her teeth.
“Uh, sure.” He couldn’t exactly walk in off the street and demand to speak to one of their strippers. He had to blend in a bit first.
She peeked over the top of her large black frames that were surely for show. She looked to be playing a part—probably like most people here tonight.
“Follow me.” She grinned and sashayed past him close enough to grind the side of her ass against his thigh.
He bunched his hands into fists but followed her to a table near the front of the bar. When she left, he took the seat, cringing. He was close enough to the stage to get pinkeye if he wasn’t careful.
A server approached. “What can I get you? We’ve got delicious wings.”
“Tequila and water, please.”
“Sure thing.” She turned on her five-inch heels and walked all too well across the floor.
A rock song came on and the DJ shouted, “Give it up for Candy!”
The crowd catcalled and a woman with long dark hair swinging past her ass strode out in a lime-green G-string and not much else. Atlas kept his gaze down. He might have to be here for work, but he sure as hell wouldn’t let his eye wander.
It’d been years since he was in a strip club, but he was still a hot-blooded male, so the fact that Candy or Blue Hair didn’t stir an iota of interest told him more than he needed to know about how strong his feelings were for Molly.
Blue Hair returned with his drink. “How about those wings?” she said, over the scream of an electric guitar.
“No, thanks. Is Cinnamon here?”
She popped her hip, new interest blazing across her face. “Why? I’ve never seen you here before.”
He dragged his thumb over the sweat on his glass. “I’m an old friend. Just stopped by to say hi.”
“She expecting you?”
