Chapter 1 - Ozzie

CHAPTER 1 - OZZIE

My father would be the first one to tell you he was a piece of shit. He wasn't a good guy and if anybody was gonna win the Worst Dad of the Year award, it'd be him. He'd be taking home the trophy for Worst Husband Ever too.

But if there was one thing he knew, it was money. And he was right when he said there wasn't a thing on this earth that money couldn't buy.

No friends? Money. No girl? Money. Cops on your ass? Bribe them… with money.

Paper is the universal language. Everybody speaks it; everybody damn sure takes it.

I pull out a wad of cash from a pocket in my cargo pants and shove it into the hands of the bouncer at the entrance of the club.

He's the brawny type, biceps for days that he's squeezed into a crewneck t-shirt two sizes too small. He flicks through the stack of Ben Franks and then motions his head for me to pass.

What was a no twenty seconds ago becomes a yes.

Thanks for the fact of life, Dad. At least you served some purpose.

I cross through the entrance, walking into a short hall that's cloaked in darkness.

The Deja Vu Gentleman's Club is not the nicest accommodations for adult entertainment around. But who's allowed in depends on what activity's planned for the night. If the place is being used as advertised—a club for naked chicks to gyrate for dollar bills—or if it's being used for more nefarious activities.

Tonight happens to be one of those nights for the latter.

I didn't drive five hours from Pulsboro to Houston for nothing. What else was I supposed to do on a weekend where everybody else is either booed up with their old lady or caught up in other personal shit? Who was I supposed to hang out with?

Johnny fucking Flanagan and his grease stains?

I'd eat a cup of nails before I'd ever spend a night at the Steel Saloon dealing with his sourpuss ass.

It just so happened that Asa Boone's infamous underground poker tournament was this weekend. The location happened to be in Houston and I happened to be available for a weekend of gambling, partying, and getting my dick wet.

Why not when I've got the cash to blow and no old lady waiting for me at home?

The club floor opens up before me bathed in neon red light and a sea of tables and chairs. In the center of the room is the stage where girls with some of the most amazing racks I've ever seen writhe to the music blasting from the speakers.

I'm greeted at the door by a chick with a skirt so short, her ass cheeks hang out. She's got lips that look like they've been pumped full of filler and a soft baby voice that's barely audible over the thumping music.

"Hey handsome," she coos. "Can I get you a drink?"

"Only if you come with it."

She giggles, then says, "Go on and have a seat, cutie. I'll be back with a bottle."

She spins around and prances off knowing I'll take a look at her ass.

I do. Without an ounce of shame.

Since the tournament won't be beginning for another hour, I approach one of the empty tables and pull out a chair to sit down.

If some of the other Steel Kings found out what I'm up to, they'd shake their heads. Silver would remind me the last time I got caught up in one of Boone's tournaments it almost didn't end well for me. Mace would call me a dumbass while Cash would point out it's not worth the trouble. Ghost would shrug his shoulders and tell me it's my funeral.

But it doesn't matter what anybody else thinks. Sometimes, you need to self-destruct for a few days.

Besides, Houston's always had some of the hottest fucking women in the country and it's been two months since Hope dumped me. Time to get some ass.

I've already booked a suite at the Fairmont Hotel in downtown Houston and I've got enough room in the jacuzzi to fit at least four.

Five minutes into sitting down, I'm already eyeballing several girls that I wouldn't mind bringing back with me.

My tastes have always varied—women as tall as Amazons to the shorties that are easy to scoop up and throw around. Thin to curvy to big asses or small tits. White, Black, Brown, candy fucking striped. It doesn't matter to me so long as the chick has something that catches my eye.

The ones currently on the stage whip themselves around the pole like it's an Olympic sport. They do all sorts of gymnastics. Side spins, back flips, front splits. Tricks I've never seen before but earn them mountains of dollar bills tossed their way.

My head sways along to the hypnotic beat as I'm glued to the performance on stage. I don't even notice the server who greeted me at the door returns with the bottle she promised.

"Here you go, handsome," she says, setting down a bottle of whiskey and two shot glasses. "Let me know if there's anything else you?—"

"You're not having a drink with me?" I ask, grabbing her by the wrist. I grin and cock a brow at her. "Don't tell me you'll get in trouble. Who do I got to bribe to get you a break?"

She giggles, glancing around as if checking for a manager, then obliges. Sliding into the chair next to mine, she says, "I'm Sugar."

"Where's Spice?" I ask.

Her penciled brows draw close. "Who's that?"

"Uh, never mind." I clear my throat and reach for the bottle and shot glasses. "I'm surprised the place's not more packed. There's usually a bigger crowd for Boone's tournaments."

Her face dims slightly. "Oh. You're here for the tournament?"

"Yeah. That a problem?"

"Um, I don't think I'm supposed to say. Enjoy your drink."

"Hang on, Sugar. You said?—"

"I have customers," she squeaks, popping to her feet. Her ass cheeks bounce under the short flap that's her miniskirt as she strides off.

"Lips and ass shots," I mutter under my breath. I redirect my attention back to the stage, but all the pole tricks in the world can't distract me from what just happened.

Why would Sugar care if I'm asking about Boone's tournament? It's an underground poker ring, but it's hardly a secret if I mentioned it by name…

I uncap the bottle of White Oak and fill both shot glasses with whiskey. Double the fun for me.

Another half hour passes with more girls coming out to dance. I'm still watching the stage, but I've moved onto observing other things too, like how empty the club floor is, and how the manager has stepped out from the back to yell at one of the bouncers.

The same bouncer I bribed for entry.

I sit up in my chair, my fingers still curled around my empty shot glass. I've only had three so far, which is nothing for somebody like me.

The manager jabs his finger into the bouncer's chest, the veins in his temple throbbing. What the fuck's got him with his panties in a bunch?

My spidey senses tingle. I can feel it in the air. Something's off. Something's brewing.

Half rising out of my chair, I debate if I want to hang around and find out. Violence tends to be a fun pastime and I'm never one to turn down a little chaos.

But this feels different. It feels like there's a whole chapter of the story I'm missing.

Before I can make up my mind, my attention's drawn toward the front of the club floor. Up by the stage a giant man in sunglasses and his crew have arrived. It takes me another blink in the neon red lighting to realize who he is.

Asa Boone, entrepreneur in the light of day. Criminal king pin come dark.

He takes his seat front row at the stage. His men shuffle around him and claim the spots on his left and right.

The potential fuckery I've sensed slowly begins to fade. If Boone's here, then that means the tournament's taking place after all.

Apparently, just a smaller crowd this round.

I'm about to sit back down when a server approaches him and his men. But not the server from earlier who had called me handsome and had lips like a baboon's ass.

This server's dressed in the same scantily clad outfit with a tight crop top that shows nipples through the thin fabric and miniskirt that's so short it's nonexistent. Her tall, lean body looks fucking fantastic in the getup as my eyes scan up her long legs and flick up toward the rest of her.

Nice tits that aren't too small but not too big either, stopping at a handful.

Smooth skin that's dark brown and decorated with sparkly body glitter.

Bubble gum pink hair that's eye catching and different but fits the vibe of the strip club.

And a familiar face that I've definitely seen before.

FBI Agent Zoe Strauss?!