Yeah, Maverick always covers for me when I’m not around—running Python without him and Strokes would be close to impossible, but I guess she’s not talking strictly about Python.
“Yeah, he’s running the floor. But I have a new batch of girls coming in,” she whispers into the phone, and I can tell that she’s a nervous fucking wreck.
She drowns herself in caffeine whenever we have girls coming in like this, and goes without sleep for days. Strokes’ bold, but she really gets stressed out when it comes to the real work we do at Python. It’s only natural, though—with the amount of risks we’re taking every day, any sane person would be worried out of their minds.
“Alright, don’t worry. I’ll be there,” I try and soothe her, but I know that she won’t calm down until she sees me inside Python. “Has security been warned to be on the watch for the police?”
“Yeah, they know what to do. I just feel more at ease when you’re here to handle this.”
“I’ll be there, Strokes,” I say.
“You better. Now go have fun, we’ll talk later,” she finishes, ending the call.
Fuck, I wasn’t really expecting a new batch of girls for today. Well, it has to be done anyway.
I push the cell phone into my pocket and head out of the room, anxious to get back to Destiny. My call with Strokes lasted for just a few minutes, so I bet I can still there and find her wet and ready to go…
Yeah, I probably should head right back to Python, but I can’t just leave Destiny like this. To leave her without fucking her would be a sin.
I take several breaths. I need to do what any real man would do.
Go inside.
Fuck the living daylights out of that goddess.
Cum all over her fabulous fucking tits.
Go back to work.
Plan.
I’m heading to the stairway that leads to the balcony over the stage when suddenly a loud bang echoes through the floor, drowning out the music.
Someone screams, and I look at the entrance just in time to see the doors being slammed open.
One man in a SWAT uniform steps inside and throws a smoke grenade straight into the middle of the crowd. Immediately after, what looks like the entire fucking NYPD rushes into the club.
Like they’re storming the building in a fucking war.
Fuck.
This can’t be good for business.
Destiny
Fuck!
I should've taken Lester’s threats more seriously.
I should have been ready.
But, no, I let myself go and get lost in some imaginary future, thinking that everything would work out happily in the end.
Lester would do nothing, and he would give up on this Python charade once he saw there was nothing shady going on in there.
But, of course, this was nothing more than a fantasy.
This isn’t a fucking novel, hun.