Page 1

Kenna

Working at The Black Cat meant I spent almost every shift surrounded by sex, women who oozed it, and men who sought it. On the floor, with the dancers mostly nude and drawing attention, I was wrapped in the illusion of sex.

But when I worked upstairs, in the VIP rooms, it was all about the real thing. Though there were often private performances and prime viewing of the stages downstairs, up here the escorts ruled. Ky Soletsky learned very quickly that I was discreet, disinterested, and not easily shocked.

A girl raised by a junkie didn’t spend most of her life surrounded by outlaw bikers and end up a prude.

Besides, I’d seen the seedier sides of life already—experienced them firsthand. A Korean business man getting a blow job behind curtain one was a cakewalk.

Were the Soletsky’s recording for blackmail? None of my business. But I knew of one room that didn’t have cameras.

Working the upper level kept me from looking over my shoulder for my ex-boyfriend or stepdad to walk in the door.

From up here, I had an escape route mapped out.

A way to scramble toward the dressing room, so I could prepare myself to deal with them, or to hide until they left. Was I avoiding the entire MC? Probably.

Facing any of the Kings, since that night after Desert Lights, made my stomach tumble and something heavy lodge in my chest. No matter how screwed up my life had been, only once had a fight with a shitty boyfriend led me to getting drugged and almost date raped by a bunch of fraternity pricks.

After a lifetime of friendship and several years as his girlfriend, I didn’t even speak to Ghost anymore.

That was over, dead and buried. He made me someone I didn’t want to be.

Even though I lived there, avoiding my stepdad David was easy now too, since he’d hooked up with a washed-up patch bunny and she’d moved in.

But the guys in my life, especially the overbearing, leather wearing type, always had opinions on what they thought I should do.

I wasn’t dancing and even if I was, I wouldn’t be ashamed of it.

No, I’d humiliated myself in worse ways.

Which was why I was avoiding them, all of them, but one in particular.

Puck Kelly always had something to say about everything I did.

If I was being honest, I’d say that his opinion mattered even when it shouldn’t.

Because it shouldn’t . I wasn’t sleeping with him, he’d never even tried.

We were just friends . Even if I wanted more, that night after Desert Lights had blown that chance.

Thankfully, he wasn’t one of the Kings that frequented The Black Cat. I’d mostly only had to avoid Merc, since he seemed to work for the Soletskys.

With a quick sidestep, I avoided a customer’s smack to my ass with a wink and turned his drink orders in at the upstairs bar. I made more money slinging cocktails in the VIP section at the strip club than I’d ever made with powder dips at the nail salon.

It was a busy night. The crowd, the music, the strobing lights, and the grabby older man at table twenty had distracted me enough I didn’t pay attention to the Soletskys and their private entrance.

But Dani, the upstairs bartender, pushed a tray at me and pointed toward the purple room. Dimi Soletsky often held court in there. One of the older two Soletskys, he was probably the easiest to deal with. Symon was creepy and Val was scary—in that super sexy, stay the fuck on his good side, way.

I clutched the tray in two hands and glanced down at the fizzy dark soda swirling in a glass beside a familiar, dark bottled import beer. The shimmering purple and velvet curtain swished behind me, leaving chills across my skin. I’d seen this combo before, poured the soda myself a time or two.

My hair was different, darker, curling at the ends where it was dyed a bright purple, very similar to the plush, quilted couches strewn across the room. I hoped it was camouflage enough and shook it in my face, keeping my head down as my heartbeat kicked up faster than the booming bass from the DJ.

Because two Desert Kings were in that room, men I knew far too well. And one I didn’t want to see at all.

The tall, tattooed, flirtatious Jester Vaughn and Puck.

They’d come in the Soletsky’s private entrance, MC business.

None of mine, that was for damn sure. A blond woman in a slinky blue dress kneeled between Jester’s legs, her head bobbing up and down.

The tall fighter’s light hair was pulled up on the back of his head and the muscles in neck worked, making the Royal Flush of Hearts tattoo flutter.

I still remembered the night he got that tattoo…it was the hand Dylan Merrick beat him with in strip poker. She’d chosen where to put the tattoo and everything. I’d been maybe eighteen but had never forgotten the way his lips had twisted when she showed her hand or the pride on her face.

My best friend. I missed her, too. Avoiding the Kings meant avoiding Dylan.

Focusing on those things kept me from watching the woman suck his dick. Not that it bothered me, I’d seen as much before. I wanted to watch. Hell, there was a time I wouldn’t have minded being that woman. Jester was gorgeous, kinky, and dangerous.

Knowing their habits, I set the bottle down on his side of the table and slid the soda toward Puck’s side.

If Jester was gorgeous, Puck was a giant wall of concrete sex appeal.

Standing this close, I couldn’t help but tremble a little.

I told myself it was from the cool air coming from the vents in the ceiling.

My cheeks warmed and that heat spread all the way between my thighs.

I didn’t dare look up at him for fear he’d see me.

The room was dark enough, my makeup heavy enough, that I could slide out and send someone else next time.

Instead, I focused on his boots and the two feminine legs that hung between his—an escort in his lap.

The flare of jealousy burned uncomfortable but familiar. I’d looked enough to know that while she was petting all over him, he wasn’t interested in the same treatment Jester was receiving. That didn’t stop me from wanting to be in his lap, hands all over the thick wall of muscle that was his chest.

It made me happy, which was stupid. I had no reason to care if Puck was banging Val’s girls. Not my problem—not my man. I snatched the tip from the table and slid out of there before either of them noticed me.

Especially him .

The music up here was muted slightly, the speakers beneath us facing out into the club.

“Give someone else the purple room,” I said to Dani.

She was more than a bartender. Up here, she ran the show.

Tiny, smaller than me even, covered in tattoos with her bee-stung lips, she got almost as much attention as any of the dancers.

“Okay,” the Soletsky’s always tipped us more than anyone else—even in their own club. Everyone wanted the purple room. Not me. Not tonight.

“Gold room.” She shoved two whiskeys in short glasses at me.

“This where you’ve been hiding?” A deep, all too familiar voice rumbled behind me, the calloused tips of blunt fingers brushing against the tip of my hip. The tiny shorts and bra I wore left my back bare.

The tattoo.

Of course, Puck would recognize me not by my face, but by the pink and silver Chinese dragon that swirled up from my hip—it was his work. Tendrils of wicked heat slipped up from his touch and turned to nervous swirls in my stomach and lower.

The ice in the dark liquor clattered as I froze with my hand wrapped around the short glass. I managed to not slosh any over the edge as I jerkily placed it on my tray.

Better to rip the bandage off quick. Drinks steady, I balanced the platter on my shoulder and turned to face the one man I hadn’t wanted to see.

Adam Kelly. Better known to Dry Valley, Nevada as Puck. Sergeant at Arms for the Desert Kings Motorcycle Club.

Quite literally the man of my dreams. Or had been until…

I swallowed and plastered the biggest fake smile on my face. “Mostly. Miss me?” My words were all bravado.

And he knew it. A big man, a wall of tatted muscle that seemed to block out everything else, he leaned down on his elbow on the bar. His gray eyes were searching.

My stomach twisted and tightened. I tried my best to ignore the sensation. Puck had been pretty clear we would only ever be friends well before that night. After he’d been forced to get me out of a big mess, pretty sure he’d doubled down on that one.

“I need to get back to it. Good to see you.”

And despite my better judgment, I stretched on my tiptoes and kissed his cheek. Because he was a good guy. Because I’d missed him. That close, I could inhale his intoxicating scent. His cologne was a favorite of mine, all sandalwood and bergamot and on him smelled even better than from the bottle.

His long fingers wrapped around my wrist before I could walk away. “Kenna, you don’t have to do this .” And there it was, the incredulous judgment I’d been expecting.

Fighting back emotion, I shook out of his hold and jerked my arm to my side. I owed him so much for the trouble he’d gotten me out of. For fixing the problem I’d caused myself. That didn’t mean I was going to stand there and take his shit.

With a glare, I turned back to my actual job. No use hiding from them now. Better to show that I actually enjoyed what I was doing.

The gold and silver rooms weren’t actual rooms, but rather open VIP areas that overlooked the stages. An up close and personal view, accentuated by the dancers who gave private dances that were more scandalous than the main floor.

My stupid act of self-sabotage at that frat party had cost me a lot. But it had cost others so much more. Shaking a little as I remembered, I splashed a fake smile on my face. The Black Cat was the best distraction from all the things I’d done wrong and the things I could have done differently.