Page 17 of Creole Kingpin
“Thanks. You too.” She leans back on the stool, pushing her tits damn near out of her bustier as she arches her back.
Paul nearly swallows his tongue, even though he sees plenty of skin in this place. Desiree is just that gorgeous with her blond mane and tip-tilted cat eyes. Poor kid doesn’t stand a chance.
She orders a vodka rocks, and he nearly drops the bottleandthe glass while making it. She shoots him a wink and then shifts her gaze to me. “What’s happening, lady?”
She’s making small talk, but what I have to say isn’t small or fit to be discussed in this room.
“We need privacy.”
Some of the languid grace of her posture dies. “What’s wrong?”
“Privacy,” I repeat. “You have a room for tonight?”
Worry lines her normally porcelain-smooth brow. “Of course.”
“We’ll talk there. Lead the way.” I slide off the bar stool, and when Paul stares after Desiree as she struts away from the bar, I turn back to him for a beat. “Close your mouth, Paul. You’ll drool in the drinks, bud.”
His lips snap shut, and he busies himself with a towel, wiping down the surface of the bar.
With a quiet chuckle, I follow Desiree across the room. A current madam and a former madam heading to a private room at a sex club draw the eyes of everyone in the bar. No doubt the men are picturing us naked and grinding on each other already. I can’t help but roll my eyes.
Less than three minutes later, I shut the door of the elegantly appointed room behind me. Inside is a four-poster bed with red silk cords tied to each corner post. A dark brown leather chair flanks the wall, next to an armoire that I know from experience is filled with a treasure trove of sex toys and implements.
Once we’re alone, Desiree takes off her mask, and I do the same.
“What’s going on, Mags?”
Thankfully, this place is regularly swept for bugs and listening devices, so I’m able to answer honestly. “Feds.”
Desiree’s dark brown eyes go wide. “Where?”
“Watching the house. You gotta lay low for a while. Put the girls on hotel mode. No clients in or out.”
“Fuck.” She huffs out the word before lowering herself into the armchair. When she looks up at me, I read fear on her face. “Why? What’s going on?”
“Alberto Brandon apparently caught their notice, and they’ve been watching him. He led them right to you.”
“Fuck,” she repeats with a shake of her head. “That dirty old bastard barely tips, and now he brings the Feds down on us? As if it wasn’t bad enough that he fell head over heels for Naya and wouldn’t let her take any other clients.” Her jaw works from side to side. “Come to think of it, the timing’s real weird too. She told me she needed time off because she had to go out of town for a little bit. I haven’t seen her in a damn week.”
I tap a nail on the wood of the footboard. “They could have skipped town together if Brandon was worried he was in trouble. The Feds clearly don’t know shit if they’re watching the house.”
“So, what should I do?”
“Cover your own ass and your girls’. Keep the clients away. The Feds will get bored when they don’t see Brandon. Hopefully they’ll move along.”
She sips her vodka and lowers the glass. “What about your girls? You having them do anything different?”
I think about Taylor and the other girls who I’ve put through school so they could learn a trade and get out of the business. “They should be fine. All their appointments are off-site. There’s nothing the Feds could pick them up for. Living in the house while they save money to get their own apartments isn’t a crime.”
“What about you? The house is still technically in your name while I’m paying on it. You think the Feds will come knocking on your door?”
“I guess we’ll find out.”
Desiree shakes her head. “I’m so sorry, Mags. Fuck. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
“No apologies necessary, honey. Shit happens.” I lean against the foot of the bed. “You didn’t bring them down on us. Brandon did. So now we run damage control.”
Desiree jams her hands into her hair. “Ugh. Men are fucking assholes. I could kick him in the balls right now.”
