CHAPTER ONE - Reese
“Hot dayum! This is awesome!” Sig Locke says when I lead our little party through the doors of Exotique, one of several high-end dance clubs that I own.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Hemi, my younger brother, is speaking to his girlfriend, Sloane.
She smiles up into his face. “Babe, this is for Sig. I want to make his first trip to Chicago a memorable one. I already told you that. Besides,” she says, leaning up to bite his chin, “maybe I can learn some moves.”
Hemi’s smile is slow, but I know what he’s thinking. He’s already picturing her working a pole in a private show that’s just for him.
“Oh, God!” Sig says, covering his ears with his hands. “I do not need to hear this shit!”
I chuckle and shake my head, stopping for a second to look around.
I’m always filled with a mixture of pride and arousal when I walk into one of my clubs. I’ve built an empire of very classy, very high-end exotic dance clubs that spans the United States and several other countries. And although I don’t get to visit all of them more than once or twice a year at most, I always get a charge out of walking into one.
Everything is exactly as I left it when I was here thirteen months ago. The black marble floors are buffed to a shine, the chrome bar sits under a bank of soft overhead lights and all the gorgeous cocktail waitresses are dressed in sleeveless, tuxedo dresses that bear a shitload of cle**age and stop at the top of their thighs. Classy. Sexy. Mine.
I know I could walk up to any one of them and, within ten minutes, leave with them. I wouldn’t even have to tell them who I am. It’s just one of the many gifts I possess. I’m not arrogant about it. It’s just fact. I have something they want. And they have something I want. For the night anyway.
But now’s not the time for that. Tonight, I’m here for my little brother, Hemi. I told him he and his girlfriend, Sloane could sail with me on one of my luxury yachts to Hawaii where we’d drop them off for a two-week vacation that I’ve arranged for them. Her brother was a surprise, but… whatever. It’s the least I could do for Hemi since he found and brought to justice the dirty cop whose actions led to the death of our youngest brother, Ollie.
“Come on,” I tell our group, “this way.”
When Hemi told me they wanted to come out here tonight, I called and had the manager hold open one of the VIP seating areas for us. It sits slightly to the left of the stage, close enough to smell the dancers’ perfume. If my brother’s innocent little girlfriend wants to learn some moves, I’ll give her the best seat in the house.
I recognize a few of the girls we pass. I’m surprised they’re still here. I don’t remember their names, but I do remember something distinct about each one.
Blonde waitress—screamer.
Red-headed bartender—likes it rough.
Another blonde waitress—clingy. Seeing her glare at me as I walk by reminds me of how unpleasant things got when she finally realized that I meant what I said. Don’t get attached. I’m not interested in a relationship.
She found out the hard way.
Once we’re seated, a nice-looking brunette with mile-long legs and tits that sit up under her chin comes to take our order. The smile she gives me is very… interested. Whether she knows who I am or not, I’d bet anybody a thousand dollars I could get her to sneak into the bathroom with me. Something quick and hot. Something meaningless. But with my current company, I can’t really do anything like that tonight.
Pity, I think as I appraise her surgically-enhanced figure once more.
“I’m sorry, what did you say your name was again? Or should I just call you ‘mine’?” I tease with a wink.
I’m not surprised by the reaction I get. She leans down closer to me, giving me a bird’s eye view of her assets, and whispers huskily, “Pandora, but you can call me anything you want, including yours.”
I arch my brow and give her a half smile. “How about we start with a round of shots first? Patron. On me. Start a tab. Keep ‘em coming.”
Her eyes are gleaming with attraction. I know it when I see it. I’ve seen it a lot. “And your name, sir?” she asks, her tongue sneaking out to wet one corner of her full lips.
“Reese Spencer.”
Her eyes round almost imperceptibly.
Almost.
She knows who I am. It’s not easy to find out that I own this club, but word gets around occasionally. And word must’ve gotten around to her.
“Yes, sir. I’ll be right back with those shots.”
I nod my thanks and turn my attention to the stage as the house lights dim and the spotlight flicks on. The music changes and all eyes turn to see the gorgeous platinum blonde strut out onto the T-shaped runway that leads from the back and the dressing rooms to the stage.
I watch with muted enthusiasm. I enjoy watching the dancers and I’m glad the club is running smoothly and that things are in order, but more than anything, I just want the night to be over so that I can go and get some rest before tomorrow. I have a funeral to attend.
I drink while my brother and his girlfriend tease each other. I would find their easy love enviable, if I cared anything about having that kind of relationship. But I don’t, so I barely pay them any attention.
I look away from them, ignoring their gushing and public displays of affection in favor of Sloane’s older brother, Sig. He seems to be a pretty nice guy, and he’s enjoying the hell out of my club.
“Good god! She needs to bring that ass right down here and sit it in my lap,” he says when another pretty blonde with more pronounced curves comes out onto the stage.
He laughs and howls, throwing back another shot and chasing it with his Southern Comfort and Sprite. He catches me eyeing him and howls even louder, giving me a playful punch in the arm.
“Drink up, man! I need somebody to get drunk with. Something about being at a club like this with my sister is flipping my shit!” He laughs a little harder than what is probably warranted.
“I think you’re doing just fine on your own,” I tell him, making note of it when he loses his balance and nearly falls out of his chair.
I’m thinking of making my excuses and leaving when the music changes yet again, stopping me. The sexy thump of Madonna’s Justify My Love strikes me as an interesting yet odd choice for a dance, and it draws my attention back to the platform.
From the left side of back stage, a girl emerges. She walks slowly along the runway. The spotlight follows her and I see that she’s wearing a man’s dress shirt and tie. And nothing else.