Page 1 of Dealing Dirty
Prologue
Las Vegas
Juliana
“Don’t forget a condom!” My voice carries over the electric music pulsing through the Vegas nightclub I’ve dragged us all to.
Cassidy’s long blonde hair sways as Jack leads my best friend away from the bar toward what’s sure to be the best night of her life.
“Good luck, buddy,” I murmur over the rim of my ice water. The liquid slides down my parched throat, cooling me from the inside out, and I smack my lips with a refreshingahh.
Strangers grind their sweaty bodies against one another in time to the steady thumping bass. White lights flash sporadically around the room, and the rumble coming from the speakers tickles my feet.
Cassidy and I haven’t gone dancing in far too long. I’ve forgotten how liberating it can be to welcome the buzzing energy that mingles with the flowing music. It’s a high I’ll never tire of and a welcome distraction from the reason we’re here tonight.
Jack’s brother, Ben, is missing. Come to find out, the sneaky bastard owes some dangerous men an insane amount of money, and a cool seventy-five thousand doesn’t just fall into someone’s lap.
Well, unless that someone convinces her friends to try their luck in Vegas.
Beads of sweat gather at the nape of my neck, and I roll my thick hair into a tight rope before draping the locks over my shoulder. After sliding my empty glass toward the bartender, I pull a five-dollar bill out of my bra and slap it on the counter. I can cringe about him touching the sweat-soaked money later. Right now, I’m wondering what exactly is going on between Jack and my best friend. He’s been especially grumpy ever since we left Caesar’s Palace, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say she’s been purposely torturing him all night.
A wide smile stretches my lips.That’s my girl.
I pluck the salt-rimmed tequila shots I’d ordered off the counter and pivot between two gorgeous women in short sparkly dresses. Time to find a perfect people-watching spot to sip on these bad boys.
Looks like it’s Juliana, party of one, tonight.
“Oh!” I start, smacking right into a hard male chest. Despite the irritation of spilling a bit of the clear liquid, an all-too familiar sensation prickles down my spine. The alcohol cools my heated skin, the scent stinging my nostrils as I rake him with a greedy gaze.
Derrick Johnson.
He’s a tall order of smooth, tan, and sexy. There’s got to be some sort of steroid in the water at The Pound, because every guy working there is a hot piece of ass.
A tight gray T-shirt hugs the curves of mouth-watering traps, and my gaze lingers a touch too long over his chest. He’s built like a basketball player—all lean muscle and height. I’m assaulted with invasive images of me climbing him like a monkey.
“Watch where you’re going,cariño,” he purrs, teasing me with the endearment. Raised brows hover over warm brown eyes, which sparkle with amusement.
It’s become a game, giving me pet names in Spanish to make me blush. Annoying as it is, I’ll be damned if it doesn’t have the desired effect.
Shifting uncomfortably, I inhale cedarwood and smoke. His very essence wraps around us and crooks an imaginary finger, beckoning me closer.
I never understood why Cassidy insisted on working at The Pound, but I’m slowly beginning to. Not only are these guys fiercely protective of the people they consider their own, but they’ve got a certain magnetic pull about them making it difficult to ignore.
Jostling bodies rushing the bar have me blinking to clear my head.
“Looks like we’re stuck together.” I glance past him toward the exit of the club. “I was sure Jack would spontaneously combust if Cassidy waited a minute longer.”
That little dimple of his peeks out from his left cheek. I salute him, topping the gesture with a smile of my own before throwing back my shot the way myhermanostaught me. The Ramirez boys aren’t known for being soft, and over their dead bodies would the three of them let theirnenatake a shot like a sissy.
Derrick studies my throat as the liquid burns its way down. My reaction to his perusal tucks behind a perfect poker face. He’s got a way of ruffling my feathers, and I’m not sure that I like it.
I gesture for him to take the other one, but wrinkles mar his brow as he eyes the liquid in question. I shrug.More for me, I guess. Tongue swiping along the rim, I take my time savoring the salt before inviting the shot to the tequila party in my stomach.
The music changes to an even faster tempo. I’m eager to run back into the fray, losing myself in the beautiful madness, but a painful throbbing radiating up my legs snuffs out the desire to dance. I roll each ankle with a wince.
“Do your feet hurt?” Derrick asks, staring at the high-heeled culprits. His shaggy blond hair falls partly over his eyes, giving me an opportunity to hide my fluttering lashes.
What is it about that Texas twang that turns me to mush?
