Page 31 of Rev

My earpiece crackles. “Rev.” It’s Sol, at the main doors. “We just let in that sexy blonde piece you had in your room last week. She’s looking for you.”

Shit, shit,shit.

“And your dumbass let her in?” I snap.

“Well yeah,” Sol says. “Waited in line two and a half hours. No reason to not let her in.”

“Goddammit,” I sigh. “Fine. Where is she?”

“Dunno what your dumbfuck problem is,” Kane says. “If a girl as hot and sweet and funny as that was lookin’ for me, I’d sure as fuck be easy to find.”

“Easy to find?” This is Saxon, the youngest of the three brothers. “She wouldn’t even have to look, son. I’d be all up in that shit, all night, all day. Have to peel my dick off her.”

“You’re a crass son of a bitch, Sax,” Kane says. “That chick is pure as the driven snow, brother. Filthy fucks like us, hands as dirty as ours? Nah, bro. No chance.”

“Cut the cross chatter, gentlemen.” This is Inez, with that rattlesnake voice; I ain’t afraid of man or beast, but that woman gives me the heebie-fuckin-jeebies. “Rev, you have a job to do. See that you do it without distractions.”

“You ever catch me napping, Inez?” I grumble.

“Indeed not,” she rasps. “And let’s not start tonight. And I’ll remind you, your employer is not running a home for wayward women, nor are your private quarters meant for liaisons. If you must see to your biological needs, it will not be done on the premises, and you assume the risks that go with leaving this building. That goes for all of you.”

I hiss in frustration. “She was passed out, Inez, what the hell was I supposed to do? That wasn’t about getting off, all right?”

“See to your work, Rev. There’s a situation at 1-H-White which requires your attention.”

“Fine, fuck.”

I haul ass through the service corridors, to the back stairs, down to the main floor, and work my way through the maze of middle passages between dance floors to bar H-White, meaning the south side of the bar, in the middle, section White.

When I get there, I see the situation immediately. Two chubby football linemen, three sheets and scrumming for a fight. Pushing at each other, shouting insults, neither one ready to throw the first punch yet.

I get between them. Put my face in one of theirs—he’s my height but running near four hundred pounds, solid and fit despite the jiggle to his meat. He’s red-faced and livid, bleary-eyed.

“Listen up, Chunks,” I snarl at him. “We got two rules, and I know you know them.”

“Fuck you.”

“What are the rules, Thunder Butt?” I bark this at him, my eyes drilling holes in his. “Tell me the fuckin’ rules.”

“Fuck you. I’ll kick your ass, fucker.”

I grin. It’s not a good thing, for him. “Fine, I’ll tell you. Rule one, no means no. That don’t apply, so let’s move on.” I step into him, so we’re almost nose to nose. “Rule two, no fighting.”

He lifts his chin. “I said…” He shoves me, hard, with the practiced force of a man who shoves big men like himself for a living. “Fuck…you.”

I only budge a half step, and I see a flicker of worry cross his eyes, there and gone, drowned in the bluster of booze and the false sense of security of a big man.

My grin widens. “Know what happens when you start a fight? You get a fight. With me. In the ring.” I tap my earpiece. “We got ourselves a live one, boys. Someone wants to play rough.”

A buddy taps my new opponent on the shoulder. “Uh, Jeff? I really think you should back down.”

“Fuck that. I can take this little bitch.” He lifts his chin, not backing down.

“I don’t think you can, Jeff. Look at him.” A note of worry. “I’m tellin’ you, man, this is a bad idea. Real bad.”

“Shut the fuck up, Bryan,” Jeff says. “You got my back or not?”

I let them hash that out and turn to the other part of the fight; he’s the same size, just about, but Black, and not as drunk. “What about you? You good, or you wanna start shit too?”