Tough Guy: A Hero Club Novel

by Jamie K. Schmidt

  I gawked at her for a moment. “Your sister’s a dancer?”

  Jackie bit her lip and my eyes riveted on her full mouth before I forced myself to look back into her pretty green eyes. I had to concentrate on what she was saying instead of being distracted by her. On any other night, I’d take her into my office and we’d talk over drinks. If I was lucky, drinks would turn to dinner and other intimate matters and then breakfast. But lately with the fights and Ginny selling drugs out of my club, I was ready to crawl out of my skin. I had a bad feeling there was something going on here and whoever was behind it was just waiting for me to drop my guard before dumping the real shit all over Dalton’s.

  She handed me a picture and, for the life of me, I couldn’t place her sister. I slowly shook my head. “Her face doesn’t ring a bell. Do you have a body shot of her?” That was probably the wrong thing to say, because Jackie looked stunned but then she recovered.

  “I can access her portfolio from my phone. Do you have Wi-Fi?”

  “What kind of exotic dancer has a portfolio?” I asked before I could stop myself.

  “One that used to dance on Broadway,” Jackie said tartly.

  That was familiar. “Broadway. That was her stage name. Yeah, now I remember.”

  Jackie’s shoulders eased in relief. “Is she here?”

  “Broadway? No, she quit after a week. She danced a few times and then never showed up to work again.”

  “When was that?”

  I blew out a sigh and stared out at the stage, not seeing the current dancer while I tried to remember the last time Broadway had worked. “I don’t know. About a month ago, maybe less.”

  The nibbling on her lower lip began again and I was again transfixed. What was it about this chick and her mouth?

  “Can you give me her home address?”

  “I’m going to need some proof that you are who you say you are, and a damn good reason why I should violate your sister’s privacy before I do that.”

  “Can we talk in private?” Jackie put her hand on my arm.

  Pure lust flooded me, and I was surprised by the force of it. I’ve had full lap dances with tits in my face that didn’t get me as hard as her full pink lips and the light touch on my skin just had.

  “Come with me.” Because my dick seemed to be in charge of my brains, I led her into a VIP booth instead of my office.

  Chapter Four

  Jackie Mitchell

  “Do I have to pay you a hundred bucks and buy a two-drink minimum?” I followed him to a room with a stripper pole and a couch. The space was small and he filled it up. Try not to make a fool of yourself and drool all over him. But every hormone I had woke up and screamed, “Hell yeah!” each time his eyes met mine.

  “Depends,” he drawled, swinging a circle around the pole with more grace than a man of his bulk should have been able to do. “Do you want me to dance?”

  The answer should have been no. I was here for my sister. But this was Vegas, right? I was also here to have a good time. And Miles Carvello looked like Good Time was his middle name. After all, I’d missed Chance Bateman gyrating in his boxers. I deserved a little eye candy. I was taking too long to answer and Miles’s dark brown eyes got even darker. If he pulled off his shirt, I was a goner. Swallowing hard, I tried to take my eyes off his muscles and the outline of tattoos peeking over his tight white T-shirt. I had a thing for tough guys, what could I say?

  Focus, Jackie. Business first. Pleasure hopefully later.

  “Do you want to see my ID?” I asked as he took a step closer to me.

  He stopped dead in his tracks. “You’re not twenty-one?”

  “Thanks for that. I meant to convince you I’m legit so you can give me Lisa’s information.” I fumbled in my purse for my driver’s license and business card.

  “Lisa who? Oh, right. Broadway.”

  My head was spinning. Why would Lisa leave a career in New York to dance in a second-rate club for dollar bills stuffed into her underwear? I knew she had medical bills, but she was on a payment plan. “Do exotic dancers make a lot of money?” I sat down on the couch, sinking into it slightly. It was surprisingly comfortable. I wanted to kick off my sandals and relax. The rum and Coke I’d had at the Spearmint Rhino mellowed me out more than I had expected.

  “Depends,” Miles drawled.

  “On what?”

  “How good of a salesperson they are.” Instead of joining me on the couch, Miles pulled up a chair. Turning it backwards, he straddled the seat and folded his arms on top.

  That was not the answer I was expecting. He must have sensed my confusion because he elaborated.

  “My best dancer was a Harvard MBA.”

  “Oh, come on,” I scoffed.

  “I find the nice, quiet college girls are the wildest.” His grin was full of sin and his knowing once-over made me wonder if he had been in the crowd watching me go wild on my twenty-first birthday.

  I cleared my throat. “Why was she the best stripper? Was she a classically trained dancer?”

  Shaking his head, Miles said, “Because she could do math.”

  “I hate math.”

  “Most people do. But if you do four VIP sessions in an hour, how much do you make?”

  “Four hundred dollars.”

  “I take half.”

  “Half? That’s bullshit.” I only took fifteen percent of my client’s salary. Fifty percent was ridiculous.

  He smirked. “My building. My booze. My protection.”

  I admired his large arms and broad chest. I wouldn’t want to get into a fight with him. “Okay, fine. I’ll give you that.”

  “So, you wind up making two hundred dollars an hour. For a six-hour shift, the most you can make is twelve hundred dollars—and that’s only if you book back-to-back sessions, which most girls don’t.”

  “What about tips?”

  “That’s the name of the game. If they’re not in the VIP room, they can still make money doing twenty-dollar lap dances.”

  “Do they do forty-two-hour work weeks?” That would be every day. Seven days straight of dancing was tough.

  “If they want. But most of them work four days on and four days off.”

  It hurt, but I did the math in my head. Maybe that drink hadn’t been so watered down after all. “I guess someone who was driven could think she could walk away with twenty-five thousand dollars after a month.” Was that why Lisa decided to stop being a bartender? By the end of the year, she could have paid off her medical bills.

  “That’s a high goal. Like I said, that’s only if you’re booked solid. No one here has ever been booked solid. The real money comes in tips. I don’t take a penny of the dancers’ tips. That’s 100% free and clear. So when they get the customer into the VIP room, they have to give them an experience that they’re not getting on the floor.”

  “What kind of experience?” I asked warily.

  “Not what you’re thinking. Out there,” I jerked my thumb behind me. “The clients can’t touch the girls and they move on after one song unless the guy pays for another lap dance. In here, it’s a more intimate one-on-one show.”

  I took in a sharp breath.

  He held up a hand. “I’m not running a whorehouse. I’m legit. But most guys will tip Jacksons to have a beautiful woman give him one hundred percent of her attention for fifteen minutes. Believe it or not most of the guys just want to talk to a naked woman while she’s dancing. That’s it.”

  “No funny stuff?” I asked, fascinated despite myself.

  He smirked. “Guys don’t want a girl to make them laugh.”

  Rolling my eyes, I said, “I mean what about touchy feelies?” I made groping motions with my hands.

  “Legally, you can’t do anything lewd. There’s a line not to cross.”

  “What’s the line?”

  “A little grinding is okay. Maybe a kiss or a nuzzle. The key is to make the guy feel special. Harvard knew that. She could make a grand in the time it took the other danc
ers to earn a hundred.”

  “What did she do that made her so popular?”

  “Anything the client wanted that she was willing to do.”

  Crossing my arms in front of me, I said, “I thought you said you weren’t running a whorehouse.”

  He lifted his hand in mock surrender. “I get undercover cops in here all the time and I’ve never had a solicitation violation. Besides, there are cathouses a quick taxi ride from here where it’s all legitimate and you get what you pay for.”

  “Yeah, you’re a perfect angel.”

  “Not even close.”

  Damn. I blew out a shaky sigh. I had to stop enjoying talking to him so much. I was on a mission. “I can’t see Lisa letting strange men grope her.”

  “It doesn’t have to be groping. It can be sweet talking and pushing drinks. It can be entrancing them with their bodies, teasing as an art form.”

  “There’s got to be guys that take it too far,” I said shakily.

  “Mav,” Miles barked.

  I flinched at his tone and the couch sucked me in deeper.

  About ten seconds later, the door got kicked open and a giant man stood there glaring into the room with a telescoping baton in his hand. His gaze skated over me and I almost peed in terror. I saw a slight frown cross his brow as he realized it was just me and Miles in the room.

  “You need help subduing this one, boss?” he drawled.

  “We’re good, Mav,” Miles said, without turning around to look at him. His dark eyes on mine were amused.

  “You sure? Because she looks like she could be trouble.”

  “Fuck off.”

  “You called me,” Mav grumbled, storming out of the room.

  “Close it behind you,” Miles said.

  The door slammed.

  “He was listening in the whole time?” I asked.

  “No. Our system responds to keywords. Calling his name or mine triggers an emergency signal that tells security what room and what dancer needs us.”

  “What happens then?”

  His smile turned darker. “I earn my fifty percent.”

  Well, that explained why Mav came in like a freight train. “I see.”

  “I take the safety of my staff very seriously. The dancers are in total control in this room. If a customer tries to assault one of my dancers, they get arrested and banned from my establishment—after I bang them against the wall a few times. If you think Broadway met a dark end, it didn’t happen in this bar.”

  “I’m pretty sure she didn’t.” I told him the story of Lisa’s accident. I left out the part about the pills, but played up how worried my parents were. “She shouldn’t have been dancing at all.”

  He smirked. “Vegas turns saints into sinners.”

  “Don’t I know it.” I almost choked when he turned interested eyes on me. “But that’s not what I meant. Yeah, my mom would shit a brick sideways if she knew her precious ballerina was stripping. But I don’t give a shit. Frankly, I’m surprised she unclenched enough to dance to “top forty.” I did air quotes on the last two words and said them in Lisa’s snottiest tone.

  Miles smirked. “She did dance to All that Jazz.”

  I made a face. “That wouldn’t be my first choice.”

  “What would be?”

  I pictured it for a moment and was scandalized that the thought of shedding my clothes and dancing was turning me on. “Um. There are a lot of sexy Broadway songs.” I needed to focus. This conversation was getting out of hand. “But that’s not the point. Lisa could destroy her knee entirely and not be able to walk again. Standing up for an eight-hour shift as a bartender would’ve been hard enough for her. I’m wondering if the promise of easy money made her get up on the stage.”

  “It’s not easy money. Only the girls who can skate the line of sex and string the mark along with promises and sweet talk are the moneymakers. It’s not for everyone and there’s a high burnout rate for those who can’t separate the fantasy of the job from the reality of it.”

  I tried not to dwell on the sound of the word sex coming out of his mouth. “Was Lisa a moneymaker?”

  “Broadway?” He snorted. “No.”

  I nodded. “Then it’s possible she tried stripping as a lark and when she didn’t make any money, she moved on to something else.”

  Miles nodded. “Happens all the time.”

  That made me feel a little better. “That doesn’t leave me any closer to finding her, though. Is there anything you can do to help?”

  “Normally, I don’t do this,” he said. “But let me make a few inquiries and if your story checks out, I’ll give you the address she gave me on her employment application.”

  “Thanks.” I sagged back into the couch in relief. “Do you mind if I ask some of the dancers if they know where she is?”

  “As long as you pay for their time.”

  “Can I have seltzer instead of booze for the drink minimum?” I asked. “I’m a little buzzed from the last rum and Coke I had at the Spearmint Rhino.”

  Miles stretched up from the chair. My eyes riveted on the strip of abs that flashed when he stood up. Wow. I swallowed hard.

  “As long as you don’t mind spending fifteen bucks a glass for it.”

  I winced. It was Lisa and my mother’s dime, but the expense account was going to look fishy. “I might as well go for it then.”

  “I’ll send Kikki in with a rum and Coke,” he said. “She was in charge of training Broadway.”

  I was also on vacation and I didn’t have to drive anywhere. “Thanks.” I unashamedly watched his chiseled ass as he strode out of the room. The quick Google search I did in the parking lot had not prepared me for the sheer force of Miles Carvello in real life. I wouldn’t want to piss him off. Apparently, his black belts had black belts. I thought he’d be a thug. I hadn’t expected him to be drop-dead sexy.

  Kikki sauntered in wearing just a thong and heart-shaped pasties over her nipples. She handed me my drink. I passed her a hundred and twenty and told her to keep the change.

  She tucked them expertly into her thong and undulated around the pole. “So, Miles said you wanted to talk to me about Broadway.”

  “You don’t have to dance,” I said, kicking my sandals off.

  “I want to stay limber,” Kikki said, climbing up the pole with lazy circles, using her arm and leg muscles. She made it look easy.

  If she thought she was going to shock me, she was in for a big surprise. No one in theater was shy about their bodies. There were too many quick costume changes to worry about things like that.

  “So you’re Broadway’s sister?”

  “Yeah.” I sipped on the drink. It was slightly stronger than the one from the Spearmint Rhino and had a refreshing twist of lime.

  “She didn’t talk about her family. She didn’t really talk to us at all. I got the feeling she thought she was too good for us.”

  At least Lisa was consistent. “When was the last time you saw Lisa—Broadway?”

  “About three weeks ago.” Kikki gripped the bar with the side of her foot and reached down the length of the pole, posing with her arm and leg in an elegant curve.

  “Damn, that takes strength,” I blurted.

  “Thanks,” Kikki breathed out, the only sign of strain she gave. She switched positions and straddled the pole. Wrapping her legs around it, Kikki leaned back until she was almost upside down. “Broadway wasn’t a pole dancer.”

  I nodded. After surgery, Lisa wouldn’t have had the muscle strength in her leg. I flexed my calves. I wonder if I did?

  “She did a good bump and grind, but she wasn’t friendly with the customers and acted like she was doing them a favor by dancing on the stage.”

  That didn’t surprise me either.

  “Do you know why she wanted to strip?” I asked.

  “Money?” Kikki lifted herself up and whirled herself around the pole, kicking her feet. “Don’t get me wrong. Some guys like the untouchable ice bitch routine. But not enoug
h that she was in demand.”

  “She left suddenly without notice. Was it because she wasn’t making enough money?”

  “Why are you hunting her down, anyway? Are you trying to rescue her from Sin City?” Kikki sneered.

  “No, I just want to make sure she’s okay and to have her call our mother so she gets off my back.”

  “That’s oddly sweet.” Kikki landed with a flourish and took the drink out of my hand and tanked it. That was probably for the best. I needed to keep my head on straight, no matter how much the rest of me wanted to cut loose.

  “Do you want a lap dance? You paid for one.”

  “I’m good, thanks. Take a load off. That was some workout and you made it seem effortless.”

  Kikki looked surprised. “Most people don’t get that.”

  “Most people didn’t take dance lessons for their entire life.” When I turned sixteen, I got a job at a convenience store so I could continue my lessons. My mother had thought it was a waste of money, but my dad had convinced her to let me do what I wanted with my meager salary.

  “Broadway said she danced professionally. On stage, the real stuff, not just taking off her clothes for money.”

  “She did. She was really good.”

  Kikki scowled. “Not that good. She was always icing her leg after a fifteen-minute routine.”

  “Do you think that’s why she stopped stripping?”

  “Like I said, we weren’t close. When she was here, she did the minimum required and took up space. I was glad to see her go.”

  “Was there anyone she talked to or got friendly with?”

  Kikki got a calculating look in her eye. “I think Mina can help you out.”

  “Let me guess,” I said dryly. “A hundred dollars and a two-drink minimum.”

  She winked at me and put a lot of jiggle in her wiggle when she walked out.

  “Bacardi and Diet Cokes,” I called out. Might as well get comfortable. I loosened the belt on my wrap dress and tucked my feet under me on the couch. This could take a while.

  Chapter Five

  Miles Carvello

  Jackie Mitchell’s story checked out, although it took longer than expected. I had Grier run a background search on her and her family. He bitched about it until I told him that I had some pills for him in the safe and another lead in the form of Ginny selling drugs out of Dalton’s.