Page 7 of Reclaimed

Our families grew up together, so to say us Powells are used to the Stone siblings is an understatement. We were practically inseparable all throughout high school, and those friendships continue to span decades.

“Sounds riveting.”

“I have a night off tomorrow. We should meet at The Rocks. See if Corjan can join us for a drink.”

I eye him suspiciously, as if I can judge the authenticity of the invitation. The idea of sitting in a bar making small talk feels draining. Even this conversation feels draining.

“Maybe another time.”

“Been hearing a lot of that from you lately.” Silas rocks back on his heels. His usually charismatic smirk falls flat.

The waitress deposits my fresh drink on the table between us. I toss back a hefty sip, letting the alcohol replace the guilt coursing through my system, before letting the glass connect back against the wood with a harshthunk.

“Haven’t been feeling up to the company.”

Sutton steps up beside his brother, and one look has Silas dropping the entire conversation. “Hey, Aiden.”

“Sutton,” I tip my chin. “Police business all the way out here?”

The side of his mouth quirks. “Police business everywhere.”

“Let me know when you do,” Silas draws the conversation back around to my last statement and knocks his knuckles once against my table.

“I will,” I answer, shifting my eyes over the brothers before locking them on the stage. The lights dim as the brunette leaves.

They depart with a crackle of their radios, muttering together and offering a couple of distracted waves.

Leaning back in my booth, I fixate my eyes on the glittering curtain. With the rise of the spotlight, Isla appears. The room breaks out into excited yells as her mere presence commands the crowd.

“Look at the fucking rack on her.”

“Dude, look at her fucking stomach. No thanks.”

“She’s fat, but with the way she moves, I bet she’d be an incredible fuck.”

“Why don’t you try to find out? I bet she’d be desperate for some dick. She doesn’t look like she gets much.”

The bachelor party to my left bursts into howls of laughter.

My fist curls where it rests atop the table and I know my cheeks are red. The flush coursing up my neck burns like a warning. I need to calm the fuck down before I hop over this partition and teach them something about respecting women.

I keep my focus on Isla, staring at the way she contorts herself around the gleaming silver pole. Those fucks don’t know what the hell they’re talking about. She’s damn gorgeous. A goddess wrapped in silver packaging any man would be lucky to unravel.

Despite the money flying onto the stage, the group to my left doesn’t shut the fuck up. Using the precious time I get to see her dance to degrade her because her looks don’t match their preferences. Only weak, insecure men stoop so low. They’re too stupid to realize there’s a reason she has a prime time spot on the roster.

Their wise cracks break through my concentration again, followed by raucous laughter.

“Allow me to pay for a private dance.”

“Dude, no.”

“I’ll throw in an extra fifty bucks for you if you can get her to take her top off.”

“Yeah man. Get a mouthful of those big tits before you’re no longer a single man.”

“I’m not a single man,” one of them laughs. “I’m getting married in the morning.”

“All the more reason to see if she breaks your legs with a lap dance.”

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