Page 4 of The Smoke Hour

“I wish they would try to pull me out this bitch. We’re about to have fun on my girl’s last weekend as a single woman,” Tamara stated before she flagged a waitress down and placed an order for us.

The woman looked too happy to serve us. Our drinks had just been served before we noticed a security guard enter the room. Thankfully, the lights were dim, so he didn’t spot us right away.

“He’s about to kick our asses out of here,” Tamara whispered.

“So mortifying,” Christina remarked.

“This is my shit, and if we’re going out, we might as well go out in a blaze,” I whispered when the beginning notes ofSummer Walker’s “Girls Need Love” came on, and the guard made his way toward the rear on the opposite side of the room.

“The hell are you about to do with your crazy ass?” Tamara asked.

“If I get pulled out, make sure y’all grab my shoes. These bitches cost a pretty penny. They were a gift from Terry.”

“Kaifiya Michelle Simmons!” Christina hissed.

I sped to the stage and rushed up the few steps. There were two dancers on the rear poles and one woman on the main pole. She looked at me in confusion and with lots of attitude as I strutted toward her, twisting the hell out of my hips and ass.

She kept twirling around the pole and thrusting her ass out as I drew closer.

“The fuck you doing up here?” she hissed when I neared the pole.

I placed my hands above hers and moved behind her as we circled the pole.

“I’ve been wanting to do this shit for a while. I just want to test my classes out and see if they’re legit.”

“This ain’t no game, baby.”

“Not saying it is. You got mad skills, and I respect your shit. I’m about to marry a man that I don’t love, and his ass ain’t even cute or fine. I want one last night of fun before I do this shit.”

“I’m not getting off this stage.”

“Don’t want you to. We can do this shit together.”

“Tips are all mine.”

“I don’t even need them, boo.”

“Fine. Let’s see what you’re working with,” the dancer replied as she slid onto the floor and did a dance that had her booty popping.

Colton Joash “Smoke” Socco

“We’ve got a problem, Boss,” Sam declared when he stuck his head into my office.

I looked at my brother, Everett Josiah, whom I had called Jo-Jo since I was a toddler and couldn’t pronounce either of his names. Jo-Jo was five years older than me, and though we both inherited our father’s whiskey distillery, which he’d inherited from his father, Jo-Jo was the CEO.

Of the two of us, he was the more responsible one when it came to overseeing something of that magnitude. I was an entrepreneur in my own right as an illegal arms dealer, which I knew could potentially put our family business in jeopardy.

After I was bought out of the family business, I became a silent investor in the distillery. I opened a West African café in honor of my father’s Nigerian roots. That took hold like a wildfire, and I opened two more. Finally, I opened this place, The Smoke Hour Gentlemen’s Lounge.

Jo-Jo had come to brief me on the board meeting for Socco Distillery that I’d missed earlier this morning.

Jo-Jo nodded at me, and I sighed before pushing my chair back from my desk. Whatever the fuck it was that was important enough to disturb my business with my brother had better be worth it. If not, then Sam and the dumbasses who decided to interrupt my business would catch a bullet to the head.

I pulled my gun out of its holster, checked the chamber, and then left my office.

“Boy, you wild,” Jo-Jo said from behind me.

I left him in my office and followed Sam down the hallway.

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