We didn’t even know if he was alive or dead.
So, Cris and I had hatched a plan in the middle of the night. I’d gathered Mom, Gia, and Roxy on the phone to work out all the necessary details. I loved my brother, but wedding planning was where I drew the line on how far I’d go for him.
“Hey, in all seriousness,” Luka addressed Cris, “we’re all happy for you, man. And not just because you’re lucky that Jaz even stuck around after you pulled all that stalker shit on her.”
He grinned when Cris glowered, while Bryce choked on his beer.
“So, not to get too sentimental,”—Luka raised his beer at Cris—“but here’s to you and Jaz.”
We all followed suit, raising our glasses, and muttered our own cheers.
“That was pretty, dude,” Rome deadpanned. “I didn’t know you wrote poetry.”
“I practice in front of the mirror at home,” Luka quipped. He chugged down the rest of his beer, stood up, and waggled his eyebrows. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I’ve got a girl to find and a lap to get danced up on. Then we can leave.”
As soon as he walked off, Bryce turned to the rest of us. “You guys know he’s going to keep humping everything in sight until you get him fixed.”
I snorted.
Ace made a noise of frustration, drawing my attention. He was scowling down at his phone, looking wholly pissed off. “What’s wrong?” I asked him. “Has Rox not responded to your winky face text yet?”
His jaw hardened. “No. The girls just made it to the club.”
“Fucking great,” Kade grumbled.
I threw my arm over the back of the sectional couch. “So what? They’re out dancing at a club. Big deal. At least they’re in a group.”
And my wife carries a gun.
Surely, Lexi wouldn’t have taken her gun to a club, though. Would she?
If I was being completely honest, though, I didn’t like the idea of her going out without me—without a ring on her finger. And I really didn’t like the idea of other men thinking she was available. Fucking hated it, actually. No one would even believe that we were married, for Christ’s sake, because she didn’t wear my ring.
Because you never gave her one.
I hadn’t exactly had one stashed in my pocket when I’d flown off to Moscow, had I?
But you’ve had plenty of time to pick one out since then.
Cris blew out an annoyed breath. “Blame it on Luka. Because Jaz made it very clear that there was going to be a quid pro quo if we decided to go to a strip club.” He glared at the empty seat next to Rome where Luka had been sitting. “Thanks again, dick.”
“No shit,” Ace replied curtly. “Roxy and I made a deal, though. No touching on either end. Although I’m not too happy about her even looking.”
I frowned, confused. “What the hell are you guys talking about?”
The three of them looked at me, brows drawn.
“You don’t know?” Kade asked.
“Know what?”
“The girls are at a male strip club,” Cris answered haughtily. “Said if we were going to one, so could they.”
I shot to my feet, knocking over my glass in the process. “What? Are you fucking kidding me? And you guys are okay with this?”
“We didn’t exactly have a choice in the matter,” Cris said slowly. “You try reasoning with Gia. It was her goddamn idea.”
Rage.
It was the sole emotion that existed in my world at that moment.
Having heard enough, I swiped my jacket off the back of the couch. “Someone go pull Luka’s face out of that girl’s tits. We’re going to that fucking strip club right now.”
Because so help me God, the only naked body Lexi would be ogling tonight was her husband’s.
“Toasts!” Gia shouted over the raucous of the male strip club I couldn’t believe we were at.
Having seen Cris and Ace with their women—how possessive and protective they were—I was honestly surprised they hadn’t already crashed and subsequently broken up this party. It made me wonder if all the Rossetti brothers were like that deep down.
Would Nico care that a bunch of muscular men were going to be stripping down and shaking their junk in front of me?
He’d certainly acted all kinds of possessive the other night in the pool. Not to mention, at the club in Rovinj when I’d danced with that guy, and that was before anything sexual had happened between us. I couldn’t deny it rankled my nerves that he would be staring at a bunch of gorgeous, mostly naked women all night.
Okay, it irritated the hell out of me.
But what could I do about it? Getting all dramatic would clue him in to how much I actually did care and how much power I didn’t want him to know he had over me. Admitting my jealousy would give him the upper hand. Something I didn’t surrender easily.
He told you he was going to make you scream tonight.
Me. Not some stripper.
I just hoped those plans didn’t get derailed after all the jiggling breasts and G-strings.
Sam, Jasmine’s best friend and maid of honor, who’d flown in from Atlanta to be here, raised her glass of water. “So, Jasmine was telling me the other day that there’s still so much about Cris she doesn’t know. For example, did you know that one of his hobbies is meteorology?”
Everyone frowned at that, looking confused.
Sam nodded. “Yeah, it’s true. He was predicting the forecast for the night of the wedding and mentioned there was going to be a chance of snow.” She turned to the bride. “Isn’t that right, Jaz? Wasn’t Cris saying something about seven inches coming your way…?”
It took a moment for that to sink in.
Then we all burst into hysterical laughter.
Jasmine, clad in her penis tiara, complete with short veil, slapped her leg. “More like ten!”
That brought a round of whistles and catcalls from the group as we all clinked our glasses together. Except for Gia. She just pretended to wretch.
I’d stumbled upon the dress I’d chosen for tonight after my fitting room text-capade with Nico that afternoon. It was a transparent, glittery silver number with flared long sleeves. Super short, so it showed off my legs. A lacy black bralette and short black skirt was all I wore underneath it, which were completely visible through the transparent material.
Really, I’d worn it for Nico.
I couldn’t wait to see his reaction when he saw me in it.
Gia raised her glass next. “Let us all remember… Wine is fine. Brandy makes you randy. Whiskey gets you frisky. But a nice stiff Johnny Walker will get you pregnant!”
We all whooped and cheered and drank some more.
Then they all looked to me. “You’re up, Lex.”
My eyes widened. My turn? Yikes. I was never good at toasts or limericks. I wracked my brain for something funny, even a dirty joke. Anything that wouldn’t be completely lame.
Something I’d heard once before suddenly popped into my head. I quickly worked out the translation from Russian to English, knowing that messing up one word could change the whole meaning. I just hoped I got it right.
I raised my glass. “When God made women, he made them out of lace. He didn’t have enough so he left a little space. When God made men, he made them out of string. He had some left over”—I pointed my index finger out from between my legs, mimicking a penis—“so he left a little thing. For that, we thank you, God, and here’s to string!”
Everyone burst into applause. Gia and Roxy laughed so hard they nearly fell out of their chairs. Relieved, I sipped from my vodka cranberry as Roxy and Giselle, Jasmine’s agent, finished their toasts.
By the time our male server came to check on our table, my glass was empty. Dressed like every other server in the joint, he wore nothing but a black bowtie around his neck, white shirt cuffs around his wrists, and black spandex shorts. His abs were ripped to the bone and, of course, his face was just as beautiful as the rest of him. Square jaw, clean-shaven, straight white
teeth, blue eyes, and black hair slicked back off his face.
I lifted my glass when his attention shifted to me. I’d noticed his Russian accent before, so I asked him in Russian what other labels of vodka they offered.
His eyebrows went up. “Ty russkaya?” You are Russian?
I nodded. “Da.”
His eyes darkened as he eased closer to my chair. “Priyatnyy syurpriz.” A pleasant surprise.
He was undoubtedly trained to flirt with all the customers. Bigger smiles, bigger tips. But this felt like more than the standard. He certainly wasn’t looking at any of the other girls like that.
He listed off all the vodka they kept behind the bar. Not the best selections, but not the worst I’d ever heard. I chose the only one made by Kozlov Industries, to which the Russian server nodded in approval.
I almost laughed. If he only knew who I was…
“The show’s about to start, ladies,” he announced to the whole table. “Make sure you have your singles out.” As he turned away, he tossed a wink at me over his shoulder.
“Oooo, Lexi has an admirer!” Roxy giggled.
I blushed.
Gia stared at the server’s ass as he walked away. “I really need to learn Russian.”
When the house lights dimmed moments later and the pumping music number started, it was met with deafening applause from the enthusiastic audience. The velvet curtains slowly opened to reveal a group of male dancers who were all dressed in their outfit of choice—a soldier, a cowboy, a biker, a football player, a construction worker, and a suit-wearing, corporate-looking type holding a briefcase rounded out the pack.
When they all simultaneously turned around, I realized our server was the one in the suit.
And his eyes immediately found me in the crowd.
I squirmed in my chair, a little uncomfortable with his unwavering attention. Determined to avoid any further eye contact, I kept my gaze averted to either the other dancers, to my cheering cohorts, or to my drink.
Then the show really got started.
The dancers left the stage and made their way around to all the tables. There were at least two other bachelorette parties here tonight, each of which got a special show from one of the dancers, especially the brides.
I wasn’t surprised when my Russian admirer zoned in on our table.
Jasmine politely waved him off, laughing. She and Roxy had mentioned they’d made a no-touching rule with Cris and Ace. This, however, gave our server the perfect opportunity to prance around the table and focus on me. He didn’t waste any time diving right in to his striptease either. When he ripped the tearaway suit from his body, he did it facing me, so I got the full-frontal angle.
This left him in nothing but his tiny silver Speedo.
Although, that obscenely large bulge in said Speedo was not at all tiny.
I wonder if it’s real.
He might have pumped it up before taking the stage.
Bigger tip, bigger tips.
And yeah, he was nice to look at. Lean and muscular without a single hair on his body. His oiled-up physique gyrated in my face, very suggestively. He seemed to be putting a little extra roll in his hips every time he thrust them in my direction. Everyone at my table, as well as the women at surrounding tables, cheered me on, yelling things like, “Smack it, girl!” and “Make him work for it!”
I laughed and smiled good-naturedly through it all, but I felt inexplicably uneasy about any naked man who wasn’t Nico getting this close to me. Which was absurd. I hadn’t even seen him without clothes on. Something felt unjustly wrong about this stripper taking it off for me before my own—fake—husband did.
So, I decided to pretend it was Nico in front of me.
Dancing for me.
Shaking it for me.
I imagined it was his olive-skinned, tattooed torso being shoved in my face. His six-pack, his broad chest that had a little bit of hair between his sculpted pecs and just below his navel. Nico’s V-framed hips swerving from side to side. Nico’s tight arse twitching with his every move. And whether it was from the vodka or the mental imagery accompanying this show, I felt my insides go molten.
Where was my bullet when I needed it?
Or the man himself.
When the Russian server suddenly lifted me in his arms and turned for the stage, I was so shocked and unprepared I didn’t even think to protest. He guided my legs around his waist, prompting my hands to automatically grip his shoulders for balance.
Everything moved so fast, the room having erupted into pandemonium, I could barely process what was happening. As he climbed the stage and deposited me into a waiting chair, he kept his mouth right at my ear, whispering Russian endearments.
The crowd was going nuts, while I sat frozen.
Realizing that I was the only woman getting a free lap dance onstage, I felt my face go beet red. I didn’t have any idea what to do as he got down on his knees and basically humped the floor, offering me an unobstructed view of his undulating arse as he drove into the imaginary woman beneath him.
That has to classify as some type of porn.
But I played it up as best I could.
I didn’t want to encourage him—on the off chance that he wanted to give me a tip backstage—but the man was just doing his job. After all, the people paid for a show.
I didn’t return his heated eye contact or respond to his dance moves with anything more than friendly smiles and obligatory clapping, but it seemed enough for the crowd, who cheered even louder when he flashed them a winning grin.
Somehow, even over the blaring music and applause, I heard a commotion coming from the entrance to the club. When I looked in that direction, I couldn’t believe what I saw.
Nico.
Wearing a savage, killing expression.
Storming toward the stage.
Glaring at the Russian server with death gleaming in his eyes.
I thought he was a mirage at first. Something my confused libido conjured up. But as he drew closer to the stage and started garnering attention from the audience, I knew that he was very, very real.
And this poor, innocent stripper had no idea what he’d just coaxed to life.
He kept right on dancing, oblivious to the two hundred-pound angry man train steaming toward him. In fact, he didn’t even notice Nico until he was stomping up the steps of the stage and barreling down on us.
My body jerked forward in the chair, ready to intercede should Nico decide to pull out one of his favorite daggers. The music kept blasting through the speakers, though the energy in the room had noticeably quieted. The crowd seemed to be vibrating with anticipation, wondering what the hell was about to happen. Was this part of the show, or were they about to get more than their money’s worth?
Nico loomed over the server, who was still on his knees. He stared down at him for long, drawn out moments. The Russian looked petrified as he scooted back, away from me. Fists clenching at his sides, Nico looked near to pummeling the stripper’s face with them.
I’d seen Nico in action before.
And if he unleashed on this poor guy’s face, the man would have to quit his job. I couldn’t let Nico take away his career prospects like that.
“That’s my fucking wife,” Nico barked at the server.
Dismissing the other man, Nico wheeled around to me, flaming gaze scorching me from head to toe. With his hand cupping my jaw roughly, he pulled me to my feet and crushed my mouth under his.
The entire place exploded.
My ears were ringing, but not from the piercing whistles or shrill screams. It was from my pulse, which was pounding so loudly that my ear drums were shaking. When our tongues tangled, I felt more than heard his resounding groan against my lips. His trimmed beard scraped my chin, and I wanted to feel that scratch all over me.
I wanted every inch of my body to be covered in Nico’s beard rash.
He lifted me like I weighed nothing. My legs instinctively circled his waist and tightened.
/> Then he started walking.
He started walking, and I didn’t know where the hell he was going. Didn’t know, didn’t care, because I trusted him. I just banded my arms around his neck and held on for the ride while keeping my mouth sealed over his.
Once we left the stage, the noise receded and the sounds of our ragged breathing filled the void. He took us down a dark hallway with black painted walls and doors on both sides.
He stumbled/shoved me against the wall. “What. The. Fuck, legs,” he growled against my kiss-bruised lips. “Why was some half-naked motherfucker wagging his dick in your face? Why did he touch you?”
He slanted his mouth over mine again, preventing an immediate answer.
“He touched me for five seconds,” I panted after he ripped his mouth away. “Nothing happened. It was part of the show. That’s how they make their money.”
“You think I give a flying fuck how he makes his goddamn money?” he snapped, pinching my chin in his fingers. “All I care about was that he had his hands on you. Another man’s bare skin was touching my wife. Do you have any idea how close I came to killing him? Do you even know how easy it would have been for me to snap that fucker’s neck?”
His face was partially cast in shadow, making him look all the more dangerous. His amber eyes were glowing with lethal rage, his teeth bared in a display of animalistic aggression.
Then he pulled us away from the wall and carried me down another dark hallway. Pushed me up against another black painted wall.
“Your body belongs to me.” His hands ran purposely down my sides, my thighs, then back up to my breasts. “All of this is mine. Even if I didn’t have a damn marriage license that said so, it would still be mine. And do you know why?”
My lungs forgot how to function. “Wh-why?”
He drove his hips into me, thrusting his steel erection against my most sensitive area. My moan was unabashedly loud. Even if anyone could hear us back here over the music from the stage, I didn’t care if we got caught. Didn’t give a bloody rat’s arse if someone stumbled upon us rutting against the wall like beasts in the night.
Booze and Bullets (Brooklyn Brothers #3) Page 21