“Who cares?” Rav yells. “The good shit is inside. You know that, right?”
“Yes, Captain Perv.” I gesture toward the large metal door that Dex is busy propping open. “If the place looks nicer on the outside,” I say in a slow, deliberate voice, “maybe we’ll get more customers. More customers will mean new, pretty girls will want to get naked here. Does that dumb it down enough?”
“Whatever,” Rav scoffs.
“You should’ve been at Deadbranch with us,” Wrath says to me. “Their club is something else.”
Dex snorts. “It looks like a cokehead’s version of a whorehouse.”
“It’s got a gothic, bordello theme going,” Wrath agrees.
I side-eye him. “That sounds like something Trinity would say.”
“No shit.” Wrath shakes his head. “But as soon as she said it,” he snaps his fingers, “it clicked.”
“Their security is shit, though,” I say. “Isn’t that where someone took pictures of Shelby and splashed them all over the internet?”
“They suck, for sure,” Wrath says. “But I think with Steer down there things will improve.”
“If you’re done critiquing our place, can we get to work?” Dex asks.
Another bike pulls into the lot and stops at the end of our row.
“That better be Remy parking next to us.” Wrath squints at the rider.
“It’s Remy.” Dex shoos us inside. “I’ll talk to him.”
If Dex wants responsibility for our support club, I’m not arguing.
“The inside is definitely better,” I say to Wrath. “Z did good with the remodel.”
Wrath slides his gaze over the larger stage with three poles instead of the one it used to have. “You’re right. The exterior should reflect what’s inside.”
The next hour is a slow build to chaos. Willow arrives first and preps the bar. Then Malik pulls into the back parking lot with a mini-van full of strippers. A mini-van.
“This is weird,” I say to Wrath in a low voice. “We sure they’re all here willingly?”
He studies the girls as they get out of the van clown-car style, one after the other. They’re talking and laughing with each other. None of the cattiness our regular girls usually display.
“Malik’s a straight shooter,” Wrath says, narrowing his eyes. “Protective over the girls. Doesn’t tolerate anyone messing with them. I can’t see him trafficking strippers. Even at Loco’s direction.”
“All right.” I nod and move away from the dressing room. That’s the last place I want to be once the girls pile in. Listening to them fight over lockers, vanity tables, makeup, stage time, shoes, and mirrors gets ridiculous. They’re almost worse than bikers when it comes to fighting over territory.
For a while, I stay out of the way by helping Willow behind the bar. Girls come out and do some practice twirls on the poles. The DJ tests a few tracks that make my temples throb.
Rav leans over the bar, his gaze landing on Willow’s ass.
I slap his arm to break the spell. “Knock it off.”
“What?”
Malik trudges toward us, stopping next to Rav.
“What’s good, brother?” Malik slaps Rav’s open palm, then reaches over the bar to tap mine.
“Not bad.” For one of our prospects, we see very little of Malik. Guy is always working here, Loco’s place, or at his pawn shop in downtown Ironworks. “You ever get to take a day off, Malik?”
He holds out his hands. “And do what?” He glances over his shoulder. “Got access to as much free pussy as a man needs. A roof over my head. Hit up the diner when I need to eat. Life is good, money man.”