“This couldn’t wait,” I tell them when we all gather around the table in the back room behind the bar. Most of the lights are out, and it’s quiet in the clubhouse since it’s well after two a.m.
“So, what’s so important?” Nash asks with an annoyed look in his amber eyes.
“We’re throwing cash out every fucking day in garbage bags,” I tell them.
“Huh?” Wirth mutters around a yawn he covers with the back of his tattooed knuckles. “Do you mean that literally or what? I’m too tired to know if you’re being serious or speaking metaphorically.”
“What I mean is that we’re wasting money on bullshit and not bringing enough in,” I explain. “Dev, I want you and Fiasco to hunt down each and every person who owes us a gambling debt, no matter how big or small. If they don’t have the cash to pay up, you start taking their shit – cars, flat screens, iPhones, anything we can sell to show them we mean business.”
“Okay,” Devlin agrees. “But is there a reason this couldn’t wait until tomorrow, boss?”
“Keep your fucking panties on,” I tell him, turning to Fiasco. “And you. Why the fuck did you hire another waitress for weekdays on the boat?”
“Because she’s hot as hell,” he replies with a smirk. “Besides, she was desperate. Also, everyone knows that hot asses bring in repeat customers who think they have a chance of hitting that.”
“She’s an extra expense we didn’t need. And a possible liability if she tries to come at us for harassment or whatever. One look at her and you know she won’t mix with our customers. The girl looks like a goddamn high school virgin!”
“Sounds like I need to see this girl for myself,” Silas grins, making me glare at him.
“She could be a narc or a gold-digger looking for her next jackpot by threatening assault charges on us.”
“Naomi wouldn’t do nothin’ like that, man,” Fiasco says. “Even if she did try to bring up charges, I’m in the clear since I’ve got her on video consenting before she put my dick in her mouth.”
“I fucking knew it!” I exclaim as I slam my palms down on the table. “You and your dick are gonna be the death of us all!”
“It’s just a blowie, boss,” Dev says. “I’ve gotten at least one from every other waitress who’s ever worked for us.”
“Not anymore,” I tell them.
“Huh?” Wirth asks again, apparently the only word he’s capable of in the middle of the night.
“I’m putting my foot down. You all need to keep it in your fucking pants on the job, whether it’s here in the bar, on the boat, or at the chop shop.”
“Ain’t no chicks working at the chop shop,” Fiasco points out.
“You’re not that picky about where you put your dick,” I challenge. “I doubt if Drake or Hudson’s ass is completely out of the question.”
“Whoa. That’s a low blow, prez, even for you,” Silas mutters.
“Look, all I’m saying is that if we want our businesses to keep growing so we can bring in new members and expand to more charters, we need to be more careful with our spending and not make any stupid decisions.”
“Yeah, okay,” Devlin agrees.
“Whatever,” Wirth grumbles.
“Fine by me,” Nash says. “I don’t want any part of the disease-ridden girls who are desperate enough to fuck this bunch of assholes.”
“So, does that mean you’ve been eyeing Drake or Hudson’s ass?” Devlin teases Nash, who flips him both of his middle fingers.
“Fuck you and your pharmacy of STD antibiotics, Dev.”
“Silas, Fiasco, do we have your word that you’ll keep your dicks out of staff and your heads in the game?”
“You’re taking away our easy pussy, man,” Silas argues. “But fine, what the hell. I can get some ass wherever I want it.”
“Fiasco?” I say.
“Can I still fuck them if they’re not on the clock?” he asks.
“Think of all the cash you’ll be saving if you avoid the additional child support, buddy,” Devlin says to Fiasco, who has at least two baby mamas that we know of.
“Yeah. Okay,” he huffs. “Still, it’s fucked up you give us this new rule right after Naomi’s fine ass comes along.”
“You’ll live,” I assure him. Now I just have to convince myself that tonight’s late meeting and my decision isn’t just about the new girl.
Chapter Six
Naomi
The drunk customers on the cruise are such easy targets. So far none have noticed when I slide their cell phones out of their pockets or ‘borrow’ their wallets before returning them with credit card numbers written down. They blame the alcohol on losing their shit, and I’ve been making a killing.
Thanks to my tips, along with the stolen goods and extra cash I’ve been able to siphon off of alcohol sales, I’ve made almost five thousand dollars in just one week working for the Aces. That means I’m getting closer to paying off the twenty thousand I owe Harry; and at the moment, I would literally do anything to get him off my back with his outrageous interest rates.
Oddly enough, Fiasco hasn’t touched me since the night Malcolm made me strip down to serve drinks, even though the blond man still looks at me like he’s thinking dirty thoughts. Actually, I’ve come to realize that’s pretty much Fiasco’s expression whenever he looks at any woman.
And Malcolm? Well, each day he watches me a little longer, a little more closely, making it increasingly more difficult to slip a few extra dollars into my cleavage. Difficult, but not impossible.
“Guess what,” I say when I waltz up to the man in charge on my eighth night.
“What?” he asks, avoiding eye contact with me and preferring to study the room.
“It’s been over a week and I still haven’t quit,” I remark.
“You want me to throw you a party?”
“No,” I reply. “A simple congratulations, I was wrong will do.”
“In your fucking dreams, honey,” he says with a soft chuckle as he pulls out a cigarette and lights it up.
“Speaking of dreams,” I start, leaning my hip against the stool next to his. “What do you dream about, Malcolm? Or should I say whom?”
An arched eyebrow as he sucks on his cancer stick is his silent response, but at least now he’s looking right at me.
“Men or women?” I ask softly, causing him to cough when he starts choking on his smoke.
Ronnie eyes both of us curiously from behind the bar before she fills a glass with water and sets it on the bar for Malcolm. He quickly picks it up and guzzles it down. Once he’s finished the water off, he slams the glass on the bar and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “The fuck did you just ask me?”
“You heard me,” I say. Ronnie is standing too close now for me to repeat it without definitely pissing him off, if I haven’t already.
“Screw it,” Malcolm says, glancing away from me. “I’ll leave that one up to your imagination, honey.”