Page 2 of Bad Boy Next Door
“While you’re down there”—I nodded toward the asshole zipping his dick into his khakis—“maybe you can suck your friend’s cock.”
He looked up at me with terror in his eyes.
I kicked him onto his ass. “Get the fuck out of here. Now.”
The four men scrambled down the alley, the one who’d tried to punch me limping, and when they got close to the street, the blond bro turned back. “You’re going to be sorry, you piece of scum. So will the owner of this piece-of-shit strip club. Our lawyer will be in touch.”
Good luck with that, I thought. I’d heard plenty of threats over the years, threats more credible than that one. Men like Bro would never follow through, avoiding shame worth a million times more than whatever damages they thought they were owed.
Angel stroked my chest. “Nick to the rescue.”
“What the fuck, Angel?” I helped her walk toward the door on her shaky heels. “Going into the alley with four drunk customers? You got a death wish?”
I immediately wanted to eat my words. Some of these girls actually did have death wishes, at least subconsciously. But I was no shrink. Wasn’t my job to fix these girls, just keep them safe. At least that’s how I saw my job.
To Stan it was more like: make sure the customers paid and the girls didn’t take any of what he saw as his cash on the side.
“I need the money,” Angel mumbled as I helped her up the stairs. “And besides, I took some E. I’m horny.” She rubbed up against me. “How ‘bout you fuck me, Nick?” She grabbed my package. “My way of saying thanks.”
“Cut it out.” I pulled her hand off me. “It’s the Ecstasy talking.”
“No, it’s not. Come on.” She ground her ass against me. “Let me have a taste of that famous big dick.”
I banged on the steel door, and she took the opportunity to grab my hardening cock. After two years, you’d think I’d be immune to the dancers. My brain was, mostly, but my dick couldn’t get with the program.
Melodie opened the door a crack. “Thank god, Angel. You okay?”
“Get her bag,” I told Melodie, who quickly disappeared into the dressing room.
“At least let me suck you off.” Angel slid down my body.
I bent to lift her back up. “Not a chance.”
“Why?” she whined. “I know you want it. You’re already hard.” She kept rubbing me. “Let me take care of you, Nick. Don’t you like me? What’s wrong with me?”
“You’re high.”
“So what?” She fondled her barely covered tits, pressing them together. “I’m a better lay when I’m high.” She went for my fly, and I grabbed both her wrists in one hand.
Melodie showed up at the door and tossed me Angel’s shit. I draped her coat over her shoulders and started to walk her down the alley toward the street. Holding her under one arm, I ordered an Uber.
“We going to your place?” she asked. “I’ll treat you real good, Nick, I promise. You can even fuck my ass.”
I helped her shove her arms into her coat as we waited for the car to arrive. As soon as it did, I tucked her inside, then made sure the driver had her address. I had all the dancers’ addresses set up on my account for times like this. Stan wouldn’t reimburse me, but I didn’t give a shit.
“Aren’t you coming?” She leaned across the seat toward me.
“Sleep it off,” I said. “And clean up those knees or they’ll get infected.”
I passed a fifty to the driver.
“Already paid,” he said in a thick accent. “Your account?” He pointed to his phone.
“I know. Just make sure she gets home, okay? Safe—and alone. If I find out you followed her inside…” I glared at the man.
“Okay, boss. No problem.” The driver took the bill, and I closed the door. Angel slumped against the other side, looking about fourteen years old, even though I knew she was a decade older, at least—probably older than me. Shit, this job could be depressing. But at least it was legit.
I headed back into the club. My brothers had scoffed when I’d told them I wanted to go straight. And my da…
I wasn’t the one to tell the old man. One of my brothers had ratted me out—most likely Shane—and Da tore a strip off me last time I visited San Quentin. Old man knew the right buttons to push.
Patrick Downey raised us five boys to believe the so-called family business was what we were born to, all we were good for, but he was wrong. At least that’s what I kept telling myself, because there was no way I was going to end up spending my life in prison like my old man.
