Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 83167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
“Know the drill, Hawk,” Mo reminded him. But he asked, “Anyone give you anything?”
“It’s a strip club. Every second asshole out there gives off a bad vibe, creeps someone out or says something that’s off.”
Great.
“We’ll get him and we’ll get him quick, Mo,” Hawk assured him.
Mo nodded again.
The music ended, the crowd went wild, and without an order from Hawk, or a word to him, Mo pivoted fully and strode swiftly down the hall.
He met Lottie coming off the stage, shrugging on a robe.
She barely glanced at him before she rushed across the hall to the dancers’ dressing room.
“Man coming in!” she called as she pushed through the door.
He hesitated a beat, two, but that was all he gave it for the girls to get situated before he followed her.
He was fighting a sea of strippers heading the other way as he walked in.
“Got it covered, Mo,” he heard Hawk call.
Mo glanced over his shoulder, lifted his chin at his boss, then looked away before the door closed him in on Lottie.
He’d been in there earlier as she got ready, sitting in front of one of those mirrors with the lights all around that you see in movies, makeup and hair shit scattered all over the shallow counter in front of it. She’d gotten dressed behind a screen, something that had surprised him, considering what she did for a living, but after watching her act the first time, he was grateful for it.
The other dancers had clearly been warned about his presence before they’d showed.
Some of them did the behind-the-screen thing, some of them did their thing right out in the open.
He didn’t watch. He wasn’t there for material to have a yank later.
But he was beginning to understand the difference between life and performance.
This was their space, and for some of them, they needed it safe.
Out there, it was a job for bills only.
Other than that, Mo hadn’t bothered to take much else in because he didn’t give a shit what a stripper’s dressing room looked like.
He didn’t take anything in then because Lottie was on him.
He automatically flexed his body solid when she put her little hands into his chest and shoved with all her might.
He didn’t move an inch.
Before he could ask what the fuck, she was shouting at him.
“Where were you?”
Ah, hell.
He opened his mouth to say something, but she kept shouting.
“I did a turn, looked for you, and you weren’t there!”
Right.
He could smell she was scared.
But now she was showing it.
Big mistake.
He never should have done that to her.
She should not be feeling what she was feeling.
Most of that was not on him.
But he shouldn’t have left her.
No way.
And that was absolutely on him.
The worst part about it, he didn’t feel bad because he freaked her, and he shouldn’t have.
He felt bad because he freaked Lottie, and he didn’t want her to feel that, or more of it.
He’d had so many bodyguard jobs, he couldn’t count them.
He already knew this one was different. But the feeling he was feeling right then knowing he did something to spike her fear, he now knew this one was going to be even more of a challenge than he thought.
“Hawk needed to talk to me,” he told her. “Jorge was on you. Other side of the stage.”
“Could Hawk maybe talk to you after you tell me you have to take off so Hawk can talk to you?” she asked.
“Next time, we’ll do that,” he muttered.
“Jesus!” she yelled.
Then she did it.
Fuck him, his worst fear (for now).
She turned stiltedly, raked a hand through her hair, looked at the floor, started pacing with agitation, and chanted in a whisper, “Jesus, Jesus, Jesus.”
“Lottie.”
She had her back to him, but she lifted an arm his way, straight out, palm up, and ordered, “Give me a sec. I’ll get it together.”
She should come apart. Sometimes people needed to do that so they could put it back together stronger.
But fuck him, his hands actually itched to reach out and pull her to him so she could feel he was a big guy, strong, solid, and he had her.
He couldn’t do that, so he did the only thing he could.
“You know it’s okay to be freaked by this guy,” he educated her. “He’s a freak.”
“I don’t get freaked easily,” she returned.
He could sense that about her.
But this was new territory for her.
Not for him. For Hawk. Jorge. Probably even Smithie.
Fanatics were the worst. It didn’t matter if they were that about the Broncos or their God who would not be down in any way with their behavior, they’d just convinced themselves they were doing righteous work.
If there wasn’t more meaning to your life than football or acting out your twisted version of what you thought God wanted you to do, you had a serious problem.
She turned to him, hands now to the belt on her robe, tugging it tighter.