Page 3 of Maverick

There is a deep well of love and protectiveness there.

Plus, I really want chicken wings.

Pulling up to my club,The Escapea little jolt of pride hits me. It's the first thing I've owned that's all mine. Everything else, every other business and commercial development we’re into, is something we own together.

But this club? All mine. It was a spur of the moment thing, and yeah it's added work onto my already full plate, but I don't regret it. I don't get to see the tangible benefits of my work at Brash. It's contracts and phone calls and negotiations.

But here? I make the decisions on health care, benefits, and what the uniforms look like. I chose the carpet and the lighting, and I know right away if I made the right decision.

It's not that Brash doesn't matter. It does. It's our legacy, it's our family, but in many ways, it's Ransom's vision we're driving toward. And yeah, it's a fucking awesome vision, so I'm all in.

But it's nice to have something that's just mine.

“You guys are going in there?” John asks.

“Yeah,” Nick says, nearly bouncing on his toes. “Come on. This is just what you need.”

“What I need? Why the fuck do you think you know what I need?” John's ornery voice makes me smile. Shouldn't the man be happy to come to a place like this? Women? Check. Booze? Check. What's not to love?

Dean, looking sharp in his custom suit, nods at the guys as they walk in, then tips his chin at me with a low "Boss." I give him a fist bump as I pass, and a ghost of a smile appears before he reverts back to Serious Bouncer. He's amazing at his job, not just at keeping the crowds in line, but at making sure the women feel safe. He's the only security staff I kept when I bought this place, and he's proven it was a smart move over and over. Adown on his luck former Army Ranger, he was way too qualified for the job. Now, he's the head of security for the club and seems to be thriving.

Ahead of us, Colton's high-fiving Trixie, asking after her kid. Smiling up at him as she talks about her son, she leads us to our table near the back. It's a VIP booth, and the businessman in me should want to leave it free for some other well-paying customers, but the billionaire in me doesn't give a fuck. My brothers and I will make sure our waitress ends up with plenty of tips, and that's all that matters. I don’t depend on this place for a paycheck, so as long as the staff are getting paid, I don’t give a fuck if it makes one dollar more.

Trixie hands me a menu with a cheery "Boss," presses a kiss to my cheek then saunters off. I've asked her over and over not to call me that, but she won't stop because she knows I find it embarrassing. Yeah, I own the place, but she's the boss most of the time. She runs the damned place for me. She makes the day to day decisions, and calls me in for anything she considers above her pay grade, which isn't much.

“Boss?” John asks, scowling. “This your place?”

“Yeah. Bought it about a year ago.”

His eyebrows wing up. The scar across his face pulls white. “It’s a nice place. I didn’t know you were into stuff like this. Not that I’m judging. You just don’t seem like the kind of guy that would own a strip club.”

“It’s not a strip club,” Colton yells. I choke back a laugh because fuck, why is he yelling? And right in John's ear like that? He's gonna get punched. “It’s a dance club. They’re dancers.”

“That get naked,” John says, glaring at his brother. I haven't seen the two of them haul off and beat on each other yet, but it'll happen. As much as John might want a peaceful life, I think he's coming around to the idea that he's not going to get it. And honestly, he'd get bored as fuck living that simple life heimagined when he got out. The man spent eighteen years on a razor's edge in prison, being someone that commanded respect. Now he wants to just be left alone? Nah, that's not going to last very long.

“No, not anymore,” I say. Not that I have anything against strip clubs. That would be fucking twisted considering the way I grew up, but everyone keeping their bits covered, opened up the clientele quite a bit. It's a smart business move, and so far, the women are happy with it.

If they're happy, so am I.

“What am I missing?” John asks.

Nick leans forward, putting his menu on the table. “I don’t know why she gives us these. We always order the same thing.” He turns to John, putting his arm on the back of the booth, relaxed. “We came here almost two years ago. It was a weird night that involved a lot of alcohol.”

“On your part," I mutter. I was sober that night. Nick was decidedly not. And when we came in here, it was the last fucking thing I wanted to do.

But sometimes, you gotta go where life takes you.

Or in this case, where your drunk brother screams at you to take him.

“Fair. I was drunk as fuck. And I think we saw this place as we were driving past, and I begged to stop.” He gazes around the room. “It looked nothing like this back then. It was seedy. The floors were sticky. And there was sketchy shit going down.”

John looks at me sideways. “And you thought, wow, what a great investment?”

Grinning, I shake my head. "Nah, there was a little more to it than that."

Nick laughs. “No, that’s not how it went down. We were hanging out, drinking some watered-down whiskey, and a fight broke out. Miss Trixie over there was going toe to toe with theowner. A big ugly motherfucker. Apparently, their paychecks were bouncing at the bank. She was pissed.”

“She has a family to take care of." That little boy and her husband—nice guy, but he got hurt on the job years ago, so a lot of the financial weight has fallen on her. Her manager title with me came with a more than healthy pay bump, so she doesn't have to worry about making ends meet anymore.

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