Talk about no bullshit. “I guess when you put it that way.”
“I’ll be working the door.” Malik lifts his chin. “Night’s about to get started.”
A few hours later I’m reconsidering all my life choices that landed me in this poorly lit nightmare with the horrible soundtrack.
Rav has mostly been behaving himself. He and I are standing in the back corner of the club where we have a good view of the floor.
“Who’s that?” Rav nudges Malik’s shoulder.
Christ, what now?
I follow his line of sight to a pretty Black girl with long braids, spinning around the pole. Flashes of blue and green from her costume catch the light with every rotation.
Rav’s practically drooling on himself.
For fuck’s sake. “Don’t you dare harass the dancers,” I warn.
Malik smirks at me as if that’s a lost cause where Rav’s concerned. “She’s one of Loco’s girls. Off-limits.”
“Christ, Malik, you might as well have laid down a challenge,” I mutter.
“That’s Desna.” Malik casts a smirk at Rav. “She’ll chew your skinny white ass up.”
I reach out and slap Rav’s cheek. “Close your mouth.”
“Look at that ass…those thighs,” Rav mumbles. “I wanna wear ’em like a scarf.”
“That’s…weird.” I flick my gaze to Malik, but he’s now focused on one of the customers sitting at a table next to the stage.
“Excuse me,” he says without throwing us a glance. He storms over to the guy, wrapping one big meaty hand around the man’s wrist. With the pulsing music, I can’t make out the conversation.
“We’re supposed to be here to control the crowd,” I say to Rav. “Stop eye-fucking the dancers.”
He jerks his head toward the stage. “She can’t even see me all the way back here.”
“Thank fuck for small favors.” I shift my gaze to Malik, confirming he has his situation handled. Should I go back him up? Or will he be insulted?
“Stand here and look scary” isn’t always the most helpful job description.
While Malik twists the guy’s arm behind his back and frog-marches him to the exit, I catch another customer grabbing a girl’s ass cheek as she walks by him.
“Motherfucker,” I grumble, pushing toward the handsy asshole.
“Let’s fuck him up,” Rav shouts behind me.
The music drowns out most of what he said but a few customers scramble to get out of our way.
I catch up to the girl. Even in her stripper heels, she barely reaches my chest. “You all right?”
She nods quickly then scowls. “He almost knocked me on my ass.”
“Go on. I’ll take care of him.”
“Thanks.” She saunters to the next table. The suited man eyes me before acknowledging her presence with a polite nod.
Good. Keep your fuckin’ hands to yourself.
Now to deliver that message to the groper.