Shooting Dirty

by Jill Sorenson

  “I don’t have—”

  “Shut up,” he said, pointing a thick finger at her. “I stuck my neck out for you the other night when I asked them to leave. You think I want guys like that coming after me?”

  “You let them in!”

  He leaned back in his chair. “I can’t refuse service to customers based on personal conflicts. That’s why I tell my girls to keep their boyfriends out of the club. It’s not professional.”

  What a hypocrite. He’d been getting a blowjob behind his desk earlier this week. “You’re not professional,” she muttered under her breath.

  “Excuse me?”

  She didn’t repeat herself.

  “If those MC guys come back, I won’t deny them entry. As long as they’re not wearing vests or gang colors, they’re allowed to be here.”

  Her jaw dropped. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I’m dead serious.”

  “They busted up the place, and you don’t have the balls to turn them away?”

  “The damage could have been avoided,” he said, his mouth thin. “You’re lucky I’m not taking it out of your paycheck.”

  She couldn’t believe what he was saying.

  Could not. Fucking. Believe it.

  “They threatened me with gang rape, Kevin.”

  “Then call the cops,” he said in a flat voice. “Maybe the one you just showed your tits to will file a report.”

  She jumped to her feet, ready to fly across the table. “You motherfucker,” she said, hopping with fury. “You cheap, low-down, dirty motherfucker! Desiree is about to faint from blood loss and you’re making her work. You exploit women and cheat on your wife and steal from your brother. Everyone knows you skim the profits, you spineless prick.”

  “Get the fuck out,” Kevin said, his neck flushed. “You’re fired.”

  “You can’t fire me because I quit!”

  Her shrill words seemed to reverberate through the office walls, rising above the thumping baseline coming from the main floor. She could never take them back. She’d just called her boss a litany of bad names. His face looked like a cherry tomato, ready to pop. She stormed out of the office, trying not to panic. Her heart was racing and she couldn’t seem to catch her breath.

  What had she done?

  Tiffany was on the pole, twirling in a metallic bikini. Janelle went backstage and collected her things. She had so much stuff in her locker. Makeup, outfits, baby wipes, hairspray, double-stick tape, tampons. Bandage strips for the thousands of blisters she’d suffered from wearing six-inch heels. She shoved all of the stripper gear into her bag.

  The other girls were watching her with undisguised interest. They knew she’d gotten busted for something. As soon as Janelle looked up, they pretended to be busy, minding their own affairs.

  Tiffany joined her a minute later, still topless, her skin dewy with perspiration. “Who died?”

  “I got fired,” Janelle said.

  “For what?”

  “Cussing out Kevin.”

  Tiffany gaped at her in admiration. “Damn, girl! I wish I’d seen that.”

  Janelle changed into her street clothes, feeling numb. “Heads up on my last customer. He was a cop.”

  “The tall, dark one? You’ve got to be kidding. He asked me for a handjob in the parking lot six months ago.”

  “Did you do it?”

  “No, but I thought about it. He’s pretty hot for a repeat offender.”

  Repeat offenders were recurring visitors, often sex addicts, who tried to get extras. They were good customers because they needed a lot of TLC, spent money like gamblers and kept coming back for more.

  “I have to go.”

  “Wait for me,” Tiffany said. “I’ll come with you.”

  “Kevin won’t like it.”

  “Fuck Kevin. We’ve been covering for his hooker all night.”

  While Tiffany got dressed, Janelle called Ace to warn him about Vargas. Her hands were still shaking too much for her to send a text message. She was prepared to leave a voicemail but he picked up.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s Janelle.”

  “What do you need?”

  She moved into a private corner, her thoughts reeling. “Someone named Investigator Vargas just came in.”

  “Tell me what he said.”

  She told him.

  “It’s okay,” he said, sounding calm. “He doesn’t know anything.”

  “He knows we’re seeing each other.”

  “We’re not seeing each other.”

  Her throat tightened and tears filled her eyes again. “What if he’s been following us?”

  “He hasn’t. I’ve been paying attention.”

  She hoped that was true. If Vargas had photos of Ace at her trailer, she couldn’t feign innocence.

  “You don’t have to lie for me.”

  “You’d rather I told the truth?”

  “No,” he said, honest as ever. “But I wouldn’t blame you.”

  She couldn’t stay on the line. It was too painful. Hearing his voice made her feel things she didn’t want to feel.

  “Janelle—”

  She hung up on him.

  Taking a deep breath, she stuffed her phone in her purse. A few of her coworkers came forward to hug her goodbye. That didn’t help her contain her emotions. By the time she left with Tiffany, Janelle was struggling not to break down.

  They went to Tiffany’s apartment to talk—and drink. Tiffany bought a six-pack of Janelle’s favorite beer on the way.

  Janelle sat on the couch with her friend, drowning her sorrows. Tiffany wanted to know all about her hookups with Ace. Janelle filled her in without getting too specific. Talking about how good he’d been was depressing.

  “How big was he?” Tiffany asked.

  Janelle finished her beer. “Big.”

  “Like that bottle?”

  “Not quite.”

  Tiffany stroked the neck of her own bottle absently. “It’s a shame he’s not steady boyfriend material. The way he looked at you...it was the same way Cole looked at Mia. Like he wanted to fuck her forever.”

  “You have a wild imagination. Ace doesn’t even make expressions.”

  “He’s pretty stone-faced,” she said, taking another sip of beer. “But he’s got it bad for you. I can tell. If he’s staying away, it’s only because shit’s about to go down, and he doesn’t want you to get hurt.”

  She covered her eyes with one hand. “I’m too old for this.”

  “You’re not even thirty.”

  “Thirty is like, forty-five in stripper years.”

  Tiffany giggled at the joke. Every working girl knew that the flesh business aged women at a faster rate.

  “What was I thinking?”

  “You were thinking he was fucking hot, with a big dick. If a guy eyeballed me like I was his wet dream come to life—”

  “They do. Every night.”

  Tiffany put up her palm. “I wasn’t finished. If a guy eyeballed me like I was his wet dream come to life and an actual person with thoughts and feelings, someone he was interested in listening to, I’d fall for him in a heartbeat.” She set her bottle aside and removed a tin container from under the couch. “You know the guys at the club don’t care about our brains. They hardly even look at our faces.”

  Janelle watched her friend roll a joint. She’d often wondered if Tiffany smoked pot because it was too difficult to be smart and self-aware inside that bombshell package. “You should try to get out,” she said. “Go to college.”

  Tiffany’s eyes narrowed in warning.

  Janelle dropped the subject. Tiffany hated it when Janelle lectured her, and Janelle hadn’t come here to judge her fri
end. She’d come to drown her troubles. An hour later, she had a pleasant buzz going, and they were almost out of beer.

  “I can’t believe I got fired,” Janelle said.

  “Kevin’s an asshole.”

  “What am I going to do?”

  “You’ll be fine, J. You’re the strongest woman I know.”

  Janelle gave her a tipsy hug. Tiffany hugged her back, squeezing her arm. When they broke apart, Tiffany brushed a strand of hair from Janelle’s cheek. Then she leaned forward and brought their lips together.

  This was different from the goodbye kiss in front of Ace. That had been provocative, and for his benefit. This kiss was just for them. It was soft and sensual and...strange. Janelle pulled away in confusion.

  “Sorry,” Tiffany said, flushing. “That was stupid.”

  “No, it wasn’t.”

  Tiffany rose from the couch and started gathering empty beer bottles.

  Janelle’s heart went out to her. Tiffany wanted a real connection with someone, but men treated her like a sex object. Her ex-husband had been abusive, and she’d made a lot of bad choices since she left him. Instead of continuing her self-destructive pattern, she’d turned to Janelle, her best friend, who truly loved her.

  It wasn’t the worst idea in the world. If Janelle wasn’t hung up on Ace, she might have gone for it.

  She picked up two bottles and followed Tiffany to the kitchen. It was awkward for a few minutes, but they’d been friends for too long to let a little kiss come between them. Janelle didn’t think it meant anything. Tiffany was an impulsive, sexually adventurous person. That was part of her charm. They raided the fridge and watched a movie. Then Janelle hugged Tiffany goodbye, promising to text her when she got home.

  Janelle headed to her trailer in Salton City first. She’d left the toys in the bedroom, forgotten after her fight with Ace, and she didn’t want anyone to find them. Her landlord had agreed to take the furniture. Janelle had promised to leave the keys under the mat, too.

  She parked outside and went in, planning to make it quick. But as soon as she came through the door, a figure burst from the shadows. He locked an arm around her waist and clapped his hand over her mouth before she could draw breath to scream.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Ace turned the tiny bottle of liquid over and over in his hands.

  He’d been sitting in the parking lot at King’s Castle for three hours. He had the poison and he had his Colt, cleaned and tested and ready to blow someone’s brains out. Neither option appealed to him, despite his hatred for his targets.

  He wanted to kill Jester for threatening Janelle. He wanted to kill Bill for years of lies and manipulations. But what mattered most to him wasn’t vengeance; it was his daughter. Without Skye, he had nothing.

  Ace didn’t like his odds of survival. Poisoning Bill wouldn’t be easy, and getting away with it would be damned near impossible. Killing Jester was an equal challenge. The White Lightning president was protected by his crew at all times, and Ace couldn’t gun down his entire entourage. Ace wasn’t invincible. Even if he managed to pull off another hit, he’d still have to deal with Vargas.

  It wasn’t worth the risk of going to prison for life.

  Or dying.

  He figured that was the likelier outcome. He didn’t trust Jester or Bill to let him walk away. Talking to the police wasn’t an option. He could try to make a deal, but he’d do hard time no matter what, and White Lightning had allies in the Aryan Brotherhood. The notorious prison gang would get to him inside.

  Running away was his only hope. He could hide for a few years, lay low. He wanted to do what was best for Skye, and to protect Janelle from his enemies.

  He stared at the bottle, wondering if he could solve his problems by downing it. No one would hurt Janelle to get even with Ace if he was dead. But Skye wasn’t safe with a criminal overlord as a guardian, especially as she got older. Ace couldn’t bear to leave his daughter in that toxic environment.

  He knocked his fist against his head with a growl of frustration. He’d been up all night, trying to think of a way out. If only he could get Bill and Jester in the same place together. Then they could kill each other, like Gonzo Lowe and Jester’s brother had. Ace wouldn’t mind staging a shootout between Bill and Jester.

  While he sat there, contemplating suicide and double murder and going on the lam, his cell phone chimed with a message. His heart leapt at the sound. Janelle had hung up on him earlier, before he got a chance to make a fool of himself.

  “Fuck,” he breathed when he saw the screen. It was a picture of a woman in the bed of a pickup truck, her face covered with a pillowcase. A man in a skeleton mask had her in a chokehold. She was wearing a black tank top with a jean skirt and cowboy boots. He knew without a doubt that it was Janelle.

  The accompanying message said: Just a little insurance.

  Ace understood the threat. Jester would keep Janelle until Ace finished the job. If he was lucky, she’d be released unharmed.

  The problem was, his luck had run out.

  He pocketed the poison and locked his truck, texting Bill as he strode toward the casino. I need to see you immediately.

  Jokers Wild, Bill texted back.

  Ace didn’t want to meet in public, but he didn’t have much choice. He entered Jokers Wild and was directed toward a billiards room. Bill was inside, playing pool. As soon as Ace crossed the threshold, he was stopped by security.

  “I’m carrying,” he said to the guard, raising his hands. “I have a Colt 1911 in my waistband and a bottle of poison in my front pocket. You can have both for now, but I want my gun back after we’re done.”

  Bill waved his permission, as if these details were unremarkable. Then he took another shot, sinking the eight ball. Ace’s pulse pounded with trepidation as the guard disarmed him. Bill grabbed a tumbler and a lit cigar before he took a seat at a small table. He gestured for Ace to join him. Other than his guard, they were alone in the room.

  “Poison?” Bill said, taking a pull on his cigar.

  “It was for you.”

  “How thoughtful.”

  Ace showed Bill the image on his phone.

  “Who’s that?”

  “A woman I’m seeing. Jester wants me to kill you in exchange for her.”

  Bill smoked his cigar, silent.

  Ace knew what he had to do. It was one of the hardest things he’d ever done, and he struggled to form the words. “I need help,” he said finally.

  “You’re asking your target for help?”

  “He’s my target, not you.”

  “Only because you can’t get me.”

  “I could get you.”

  Bill arched a brow at this assertion, as if he didn’t believe it. “I’m not going to fall down and foam at the mouth to fool him.”

  “I wouldn’t ask you to,” Ace said. He didn’t trust Jester to let Janelle go, anyway. She wasn’t just insurance. She was bait. Jester wanted Ace to poison Bill and come looking for Janelle. Then Jester would kill him. He’d probably kill her, too.

  “So what’s your plan?”

  “To find her,” he said, leaning forward. “You know the club and its members. Who has her? Where would they take her?”

  Bill studied the screen again. “Jester’s got two young guys with him most of the time. One is a fucking idiot, and the other is too new for a high-stakes job. My money’s on the idiot being involved. That might be him in the mask. Jester would choose a second with brains and experience, someone like Chum. He’d want to keep it quiet.”

  “Would he go along?”

  “Too risky,” Bill said. “If he was smart, he’d stay away and keep his hands off her, but he won’t be able to resist taunting you. He’ll wait until they have her in a secure location. Not the clubhouse or
anywhere obvious.”

  Ace estimated that he had a very narrow window of time before Jester attacked Janelle. He had to act now. “Do you have addresses for these guys?”

  “You going to knock on their doors?”

  “I’m going to knock on their fucking heads.”

  Bill shrugged, motioning for his guard. “Bring me a laptop.”

  The guard returned with the item less than a minute later. Bill logged on and opened a file that looked like something from the FBI’s Most Wanted. There were photos, addresses and background information for every member of White Lightning.

  Bill didn’t fuck around.

  Ace entered the addresses of the two most likely suspects in his phone. He recognized one as the man he’d disarmed in Jester’s office. His club name was Pigpen. Chum was a bald ex-con in his forties. He had two daughters.

  Motherfucker.

  “Good luck,” Bill said.

  “Really?”

  “Sure. I’m a betting man.”

  Ace didn’t ask Bill who he’d put his money on. The odds were stacked in Jester’s favor, but Ace made a formidable opponent. He was a cold-blooded killer, he wouldn’t quit until Janelle was safe and he wasn’t afraid to die.

  * * *

  Janelle couldn’t move. She could hardly even breathe.

  After being dragged out of her trailer, kicking and biting the hand of her assailant, she was pulled backward, into the bed of a pickup truck. A second man slammed the tailgate and climbed behind the wheel. She tried to fight, but the man holding her was stronger. She tried to scream, but he kept her mouth covered.

  They drove a short distance and pulled over on a deserted road. The man removed his hand from her mouth. She looked over her shoulder at him, tasting blood on her lips. He was wearing a skeleton mask, the kind motorcycle riders used.

  It was scary as hell.

  Janelle started screaming and kicking again, pummeling the arm locked around her waist. There was an aluminum ladder in the back of the truck next to them. She connected with it, hard. Then she caught her attacker on the shin. He grunted and made a fist in her hair, giving her a warning shake. When that didn’t stop her, he pushed her down on her belly and got on top of her, crushing her under his weight.