Page 4 of Maverick

None of the women here do.

“Yep. She does," Nick says. "So she’s going off on this guy, and he shoves her out of his way. He’s big, and she is not. She went flying. And Mav here lost his shit.”

“You?” John asks, brows raised. “I haven’t seen you lose your shit. Is that a regular occurrence?”

“No. It’s not. It just pushed some buttons.”

“What buttons?”

I lean back and study John. I've known him for a long time, so it's easy to forget he hasn't heard all our stories. “My mom was a stripper. I spent a lot of time in places like this,” I turn to the stage, imagining another stage, in a seedy club across town. It's still there, still operating, but I doubt anyone I know is still there. And after that night full of screaming and blood, I never went back. "The old version of this, when I was little. I don’t like seeing women being taken advantage of.”

His gaze is level serious. “I didn’t know that man.”

I shrug. “No reason for you to know.” I'm not ashamed of where I came from or of my mom. She did the best she could for me, despite the shitty hand life dealt her. But I know all too well what can happen to a woman in a place like this was.

“So you went postal on the guy, and what? Beat the shit out of him and took his club?”

“Basically,” I mutter. Not my finest moment, but I don't regret the end result. It was satisfying as fuck to knock that asshole out.

“Yeah,” Nick says, grinning. “We’ll just skip the part about a drug ring operating out of here, and Declan hacking the books, and Jonas tracking the money. The dude went to jail, and Mav scooped it up.”

Okay, that part was satisfying too. Yeah, hitting someone gives you that immediate gratification, but knowing he's lost everything and is behind bars now? That's even better.

“I guess you guys weren’t kidding when you said you do criminal shit sometimes.”

“The end justifies the means,” Jonas says, pushing his glasses up his nose.

“As long as the end is whatever suits you?”

Declan leans forward, frowning. “Technically, yeah, but everyone in here is way better off with Mav owning it. Look around you. This place is expensive. And it’s not a typical club.”

John gazes around the club, then his lips tighten. “Do your women know you come here?”

Kade chuckles and points at the table of women right at the front of the stage. The staff puts women there because it's got the best view, but also because it's easier for security to keep an eye on them. Women bring laughter, their friends…and wherever the women go, men follow. “Becca came here with some of the girls a few weeks ago and sat right there. Almost gave herself a concussion trying to spin on the pole.”

Micah grins. “Chicken wings.” He's still a man of few words. Yeah, he's able to speak longer sentences than he has in the past, but he doesn't need them to get his point across.

“Yep,” Zach says, leaning back. “The wings are pretty epic too. All the women have been here a time or two, and they all know we come here. If we’re not here, we’re at Cara’s club. And when they want a ladies night, they come here or go to Cara’s. It’s nice to go to the same places, so we don’t have to deal with any bullshit.”

Jonas nods, looking somewhere behind me. “The security here is tight. The women are safe here. Hi Cadence.”

“Well, if it isn’t the Brash dudes. Hey! Nice to see you.”

The bright, warm voice coming from beside me hits me like a truck, making every muscle in my body seize up. Something about it is achingly familiar.

“Cady? What are you doing here?” Nick asks, brow furrowed.

Her scent hits me first, fresh and earthy at the same time. Next, I take in the hair, a wild mane of blonde that almost looks like it's standing up on its own, waves and curls all tumbling together.

After that?

The curves.

So many curves.

I let the staff pick the uniforms for the servers. I figured if they were happy with them, there would be fewer complaints. They all agreed that the minimal coverage of the vest and booty shorts would mean better tips, and I had no problem with it.

But holy fuck, I'm rethinking that. Because this woman is going to give someone a heart attack. They're going to keel over right in the middle of my club, and that would be a serious mood killer. I can picture it now, some fifty-year-old suit, flat on his back, a dazed look on his face, and a fucking woody standing straight up in his pants.

---