Page 9 of The Biker and the Baker
They all disperse, leaving a blood splattered mess behind.
Are the girls mad at me for coddling the person who started this mess to begin with? No. They know me, and this is how I manage them. With “love”, not fear or manipulation. Most would argue that's not the best way to do it, but this approach’s been the most effective for me. I’m not dubbed “The Pussy Manager” for nothing. That’s also why they call me “Daddy.” Women trust me because I’m “nice”, even when I’m pissed as fuck and want to rip their heads off. I use gentleness every time and it works without fail.
The trick, though, is to follow it up by never, ever delivering empty threats. I don’t give second chances. Ever. And as a result, my kindness is never mistaken for weakness.
These twelve women are dancers from Cookie’s Crème, my aunt’s high-class gentleman's club. Since the clientele at Cookie’s Creme is top dollar, the dancersmustbe of the highest caliber, cream of the crop, so my vetting and hiring process for girls is uncompromisingly meticulous. And one of the biggest deal-breakers for me is drugs. Doesn’t matter if it’s pot or molly. No drugs. Period. I’m even strict about alcohol. On the job, they’re cut off after two drinks. Drunk women cause drama, so to minimize that, we keep them just tipsy enough to put on a good show, but never drunk.
The standards for Cookie’s Creme are high, and these girls know it. I’ve got a long list of girls desperate to work there, because our girls arebanking.
This six-bedroom mansion is a rental from Leyana. Not all of the dancers live here, just the newer ones who were struggling financially when I hired them. I generally offer them free housing until they’re able to stand on their own. We rotate girls every six to eight months anyway, so offering them a bills-free life for that period lets them save up their earnings for whatever life plans they might have.
Managing women is what I’m good at, but it’s also exhausting as shit. They’re all pretty little psychos. Every one of them.
“What am I gonna do, Daddy?” Kash asks again.
I don’t give a shit what you do, as long as you get your violent, drug-snorting ass away from my girls.
“You’ll figure it out,” I tell the top of her head in a soft, gentle voice. “You’re a strong, brave, go-getter. It’s what I’ve always admired about you.”
She sniffles and tilts her head back to look at me, her pupils dilated. Still high. “Really?”
Nope. You’ve always been whiny and dependent and annoying as hell. But I kept you on because you’ve got mad pole skills and you’re one of our top client’s favorite.
“Of course, baby girl. You’ll be alright. Trust me.” I kiss the top of her head again. “Go wait with the others. Might help if you tried apologizing to ’em, too.”
Nodding, she wipes her nose with the back of her hand. “Okay.”
Heading back outside, I curse under my breath, “Dammit to hell.”
Outside, Mice leans against one of the giant columns, holding a cloth to the wound on his forearm. He’s so damn tall and lanky that he’s curved over from his shoulders upward, like a coconut tree in the wind. There’s a pool house in the back where I let him live gratis in exchange for looking after the girls and handling the maintenance folks.
He offers me a wan smile. “I don’t know how you do it, boss.” He holds up his wounded arm. “This is what I get when I try.”
Mice might have spent three years on a biker compound around cussing, hell-raising outlaws, but he’s so polite you’d be dumb to trust his ass. No one’s that nice all the damn time. I’ve seen him KO a man with a single punch, so I know he’s no softie. But he’s loyal down to the last L, and loyalty’s hard to find these days. That’s why I keep him around.
“How bad is it?” I ask of his arm.
“Not bad. All flesh. Some cleaning and patching and I should be good.”
“Sure.”
“I’ve had worse, man,” he assures me.
“’Kay. You know who the dealer is? Or how he got to Kash?”
“No, but I got a name. Gilly. Tasha and Krissy said they saw him come in with one of the top regulars a few times, been trying to sell them oxy,” he says. “I’m guessing that’s how he got through to Kash.”
“Hmm.” I scratch my beard. “I’ll talk to Tasha and Krissy later. Find out who the regular is. We can’t have this.” I look up and jerk my chin to the rogue ambulance driving through the gates. “Have Lenny take care of the girls and bill me. As for Kash, she needs to be packed andoutof here by noon. Take her to Perla’s and rent a studio for two weeks on my tab there. Should be enough time for her to find a new job and get her shit straight.”
“Got it, boss.”
I jog down the steps just as the ambulance breaks to a stop in front of the house and Lenny jumps out. Lenny’s a paramedic who’s been on my father’s payroll for as long as I can remember. Don’t know how he manages to go rogue with an entire ambulance when we need him, and I don’t ask. When we call, he shows and that’s all that matters.
“Non-fatal stab wounds,” I tell him. “Three girls, and Mice. Once you’ve treated the girls, give ‘em something that’ll knock ‘em out for a few hours—except for Kash. Goddamn hellions.”
Lenny chuckles and claps me on the shoulder. “I’ve got you covered, young Judge.”
Two other paramedics hop out of the back with first aid kits.
