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“I still think you should report it to the police.”

“There’s no point. He didn’t get what he was after.”

“But he’ll do it to someone else.”

“No, he won’t.”

Jett’s eyebrows twitched. “Yeah, he will, it’s what people like that do. Who’s to say when I walk out of here later, I won’t get started on by him.”

Aaron curled his hand into a fist. His throbbing knuckles were tight, and he could see the skin darkening from the approaching bruise. If anyone cornered Jett, anyone hurt him in any way, Aaron wouldn’t use his gun. He’d use his hands, no matter how sore and bruised they were.

“Did you know there’s a link between men’s dancing skill, and their fighting skill?”

Aaron tore his gaze from Jett and looked out of the window, to the dance floor. A group of men were shuffling about, generally looking awkward. Aaron turned back to the bar and looked down at the icepack on his knuckles.

“Are you trying to irritate me?”

Jett laughed, “No, no. I’m only saying. I saw it on a documentary.”

“So it must be true.”

Jett smiled, Aaron stared at his lips, his cherry red lips. Aaron imagined them stretched wider, so much they got thin and lost their color. His cock throbbed, and he was so glad Jett couldn’t see it from where he was standing.

“It said dancing is like mock fighting.”

Aaron picked up his glass with his undamaged hand and knocked it back.

“Explain.”

“So potential partners observe a man dancing to see if he’d be good at protecting them and their offspring without them actually hurting themselves.”

“That’s the biggest load of bullshit I’ve ever heard. What you’re saying is the better you dance, the better your fighting skill?”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m saying.”

“I can’t dance for shit, but I can fight.”

“Your messed-up hand says otherwise.”

Aaron raised his eyebrows. “You should’ve seen the other guy.”

Jett rolled his eyes, then moved away to refill Aaron’s glass. While he was facing the other way, Aaron snorted. “The other guy” was dead in the sewers somewhere, and Aaron was very glad Jett hadn’t seen him. He doubted they’d be chatting if he knew the truth about him. Jett would recoil, Jett would be afraid, and that crushed Aaron’s heart and soured his stomach until he was nauseous.

“Okay, let me prove my point,” Jett said, turning around. “Who would win in a fight between Mary-Sue, and those bunch of guys on the dance floor?”

Aaron looked over to Mary-Sue, wrapped around a pole, holding her weight up with only her crossed ankles. Her red stilettos shone in the light, her stomach was taut, and her athletic body put the group of men salivating in front of her to shame.

“Mary-Sue.”

“Exactly. Dancing skill, fighting skill.”

“Remind me again why I let you run my club?”

Jett tipped his head back laughing. Aaron liked seeing Jett smile. The sight was almost cleansing, therapeutic.

“Because she’s your baby, and you trust me with your baby.”

That wasn’t it; that wasn’t it at all. The Junction wasn’t his only club, not that Jett knew it. It was one of four in Aaron’s empire of property. The only club that wasn’t dodgy, the only club that was run by the books, like an actual business, not a hiding place, or a disposable center, or a hangout for the people that worked for him. It was pure, honest, much like the man Aaron was talking to.