Chapter 7: Ryker

My meeting with my parole office had been status quo. I had answered his questions, peed in a cup, and made an appointment for the following month. I couldn't wait to be out from under that fucking requirement. It was like having a damn babysitter. Each one left me pissed off, and afterward, I always went back to work to take out my frustration on an automobile instead of in the streets. Yesterday had been no different. I'd gone back to the shop. By the time I had finished the car I worked on, it was late, and I was beat. It never failed. My monthly meetings with a PO ignited a flame of irritation and anger that stayed with me late into the night. Jeff wasn't a bad guy; I just resented being forced to meet with him, and the drug tests were a joke. I'd never done drugs-despite what people believed based on my appearance-and I never would. I'd merely been at the wrong place at the wrong time, and I would pay the price for the rest of my life. Maybe that was what infuriated me so badly. Either way, it was best that I steered clear of people in general the first Monday of every month.

Today had proven to be a better day, although that had little to do with the actual quality and more to do with the blonde gem that I hoped to see tonight. I'd taken the time to go home, shower, shave, and change clothes before I got on the bike. Not that the chicks at Swank cared if I reeked of motor oil and my hands were stained. Hell, they'd pretend they enjoyed it if they thought I might buy a lap dance or get a private room. I shouldn't have cared what she thought since I knew nothing about her. Even if she were underage, it wasn't my problem. I wasn't a knight in shining armor, and I sure as hell wasn't a snitch. Which meant, my motivation wasn't pure or humble.

The chick was hot as fuck, but more than that, she didn't give one shit about anyone in that audience. Even on her first night, she had put the other girls to shame. Her confidence rivaled veterans, and she could have owned the floor had she bothered to step foot on it. If I didn't play my cards right, some regular would get his claws into her before I even knew her real name. Hence the reason I was about to step into Swank for the third time in less than a week. I prayed the stench of indecency didn't root itself into my skin and ooze from my pours. There were few things I hated more than this club and the people who attended it. I never cared to be associated with Swank or identified as a regular.

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I held when I opened the door and didn't see Hank on the stool. Trevor and I went back to grade school. We weren't close, but we were friendly. He was on the phone and didn't appear all that happy when he waved me through with nothing more than a nod of his head. I dreaded anyone being on the receiving end of a pissed off U21 member, but as long as it wasn't me, they could fight their own battles.

Smoke filled my lungs with each breath I took. I didn't have a clue how people could stand to be cooped up in a hotbox of cancer just to look at tits and ass, nor did I understand why the city hadn't outlawed cigarettes in clubs. Instead of watching, waiting, and wasting time, I didn't land in one spot. There wasn't much of a crowd on a Tuesday at ten o'clock, so it didn't take long to check out the tables.

Raid-a nickname he'd acquired after being caught in several of them-stopped me outside the hall to the private rooms. "Sorry, Ryker. You know the rules. Unless you're with a girl, you don't go back."

I knew the rule; I also didn't care. I had zero desire to see anyone else in this club half naked, much less watch her rubbing her ass on some grimy geezer who should be at home with his wife. "No worries." Playing it cool seemed a better option than forcing him out of the way and then daring him to lay a hand on me. "Diamond back there?"

His face contorted with confusion. "Who's that?"

Shit. He hadn't been here Friday, and apparently, she hadn't been here since. "Blonde, new, young-too young."

"Haven't met her. Sorry, man. I'd help if I could." He resumed the stance he'd dropped and crossed his arms over his chest. Raid jerked his head back the direction I'd come. "Check at the bar. One of the girls should have the schedule."

I hadn't asked when she worked again, although Raid clearly got the hint. If I weren't more careful, people might actually believe I hung out here or had an interest in doing so. Getting caught up with one of these women was the equivalent of three to five in the federal pen. Every detail I reminded myself of should have driven the curiosity away; however, it only served to ignite the desperation to find her further. Even though, I'd yet to determine what the hell I'd say when I hunted her down. And she had become my prey.

I clapped Raid on the shoulder and took his advice. With only a few customers at the bar, getting information wouldn't be hard, but I'd have to pay for it. I could either do that buying a dance or with a hefty tip after ordering a drink. The second option outweighed the first hands down.

When the bartender met my stare, her expression made me want to bathe with a toaster...plugged in. Her come-hither glance and the curl of her upper lip were less than enticing yet intended to be appealing.

Before she could utter a word or attempt to seduce me, I ordered. "Macallan." I didn't think it was sanitary for her tits to touch the bar top but decided against mentioning it. The health department certainly wouldn't make a surprise visit, so my opinion meant nothing. "Please."

She returned with my drink, and I slipped her a twenty-dollar tip. It was steep, but I didn't want to be here any longer than I absolutely had to. Feeding her a few bucks at a time would only prolong the agony. The bartender picked up the cash, and after she rang up the drink, she realized what she still had in her hand. Turning toward me, she stared quizzically. "What are you looking for?"

"Just a little information."

She put the money in a jar next to the register and then gave me her attention. "Shoot."

There wasn't any reason to mince words. "When's Diamond back on stage?"

The girl appeared disappointed as she moved down the length of the bar. She leaned over, grabbed a piece of paper, and returned. "Friday and Saturday."

"Full shifts?"

Her tongue ran across her bottom lip, and she arched an overplucked brow. She had to be kidding if she thought I would give her more for that.

"What's your name?"

"Nevaeh."

Figured. Heaven spelled backward explained the fire-engine-red bikini bottoms and the silly headband with horns. I wondered if she had a pitchfork that she used for a prop when she danced and if "Highway to Hell" was her top-paying performance number. "Nevaeh, that's pretty." It wasn't.

She held out her hand, palm up, waiting for me to grease it.

I rolled my eyes and reached into my back pocket for my wallet. Another ten in her hand, and she closed her fingers around the paper.

"Yes."

Ten bucks for three letters was highway robbery, but it got me what I wanted.