Page 67 of Sangre
The fact that he’d never cared when she shook her tits and ass in front of the clientele told him he’d made the right decision in ending their four-month relationship; even seeing her just now, nothing stabbed at him. She still looked damn good, but his dick hadn’t even twitched when she pressed close to him.
An hour later, he went back into the club and joined Eagle and Army at the bar. Soon Rooster and Shotgun walked in and headed toward them.
“What’s going on?” Rooster asked as he plopped on a barstool.
“Not much. I just wanted to go over the books. It looks like the discrepancy was just an error, but I’m gonna keep an eye on it.” Sangre curled his fingers around his beer bottle.
“I’m surprised your ol’ lady let you out to play,” Army said.
Rooster’s pale blue eyes flashed. “Shannon doesn’t tell me what the fuck to do.” He swiveled around, his gaze focused on the stage.
“Shannon’s gonna have your cock if she finds out you were here,” Shotgun said while Sangre, Eagle, and Army chuckled.
“If she’s lucky.” Looking over his shoulder, he motioned to the bartender. “A double Jack.”
“Shit hit the fan at home?” Eagle asked.
“My woman can be a realbitchsometimes. Right now, I got my phone turned off, and I’m gonna enjoy these pretty ladies showing their tits and asses.” Occasionally, Rooster hooked up with the club girls, and his old lady was cool with it as long as he did it once in a while at parties. He respected that, and as far as Sangre knew, he never strayed with any other women but the club girls.
“All women can be real bitches. That’s why I’m single.” Army held his fist in the air as Brutus came over. “You can work the door later,” he said to him. Brutus had just started filling-in at Lust a few weeks before. Steel wanted more members working the strip club, and Brutus had been the first one to volunteer when the topic had come up at church.
As the men talked and drank, Sangre noticed one of the waitresses pushing a guy away from her. He slid off his stool and walked over to see what the problem was. He came up behind her and gently tugged her away from the table.
“Are these guys giving you a hard time, Capri?”
“Only this one.” She pointed to the back of a guy with collar-length brown hair.
Sangre moved in front of the table, his eyes narrowing when he recognized Benz. “The women aren’t here for you to touch. Have some fuckin’ respect.”
Benz and Arsen stared at him, then recognition flickered over their faces. “Working in a strip joint and shoving tits in customers’ faces for bigger tips is hardly respectable.” Benz cocked his head and picked up his drink. “And why the fuck is this your business?”
Sangre knocked the drink out of his hand and the glass went flying, crashing against one of the pillars. He leaned over and grabbed Benz by the shirt. “What did I tell you about respect and keeping your fuckin’ mouth shut around me? No one disrespects the women in our club. I’m giving you a choice to walk outta here or get your ass thrown out.”
“Are you for real?” Benz yanked out of his grip.
Without a word, Sangre grabbed him and began to drag him out; Benz flailed his arms helplessly.
“You sonofabitch!” Benz yelled.
“You need some help with the fucker?” Eagle asked as Sangre dragged the drummer past the bar.
“I’m good.” Sangre glanced at Arsen, who followed behind, his head turned toward the stage. When Sangre reached the front door, Brutus opened it wide, and Sangre threw Benz onto the sidewalk.
The musician jumped up and glared at him as he wiped the dust from his tight black jeans. “You’re so fucking pissed that I’m in Isla’s pussy and you’re not.”
Arsen yanked his friend to him. “Let’s just go, dude. Keep your mouth shut.”
But it was too late. His words were like red to an angry bull. Sangre rushed out and smashed his fist into Benz’s face, knocking him down.
“Don’t ever fuckin’ talk about Isla like that, you goddamn asshole!” He kicked him hard in the stomach with his steel-toed boots, and the man groaned and writhed in pain on the ground, as drops of blood spotted the pavement.
Arsen bent down over his friend then looked up at Sangre. “Enough. Isla won’t be cool if you beat the shit outta our drummer. We have a show next week.”
Breathing heavily, Sangre stood off to the side, clenching and unclenching his fists.The prick’s right. Isla would be livid if I give this ass wipe the beating he deserves.The way she’d acted when he got into a fight with a stranger at Cuervos told him she’d go ballistic over him kicking her fucking boyfriend’s ass.
“Get the hell outta here before I change my mind,” he said, gritting his teeth. Arsen helped Benz to his feet, and with his arm wrapped around the drummer’s shoulder, he guided him to the car. Sangre watched as Benz fell into the passenger seat before Arsen took off.
“What the hell was that all about?” Brutus asked, standing in the doorway.
