Brayden (EVIL DEAD MC: SECOND GENERATION #5) by Nicole James EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Nicole James
- Language: English
- Genre: contemporary romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
SONNY’S
Brayden—
The sound of breaking glass has me straightening from the doorjamb.
TJ is leaned over the desk of the manager, and twists his head, his gaze
connecting with mine. “Go check on that.”
“On it.” I move down the hall of Sonny’s gentleman’s club out to the
main room. The bar is on the left as I come into view. To my right is the
main stage and tables and booths.
The girl bartending points to a booth in the corner. Tiny, our security
guy, is already over there trying to break up a fight. It’s not between the
customers, it’s between two of our dancers.
Fucking hell.
I weave through the tables and get to him just as he separates them.
They’re trying to scratch each other’s eyes out with their long nails, and
poor Tiny is caught in the middle, getting the worst of it.
At the table sits a scared-looking guy with wide eyes, who looks like
he’ll be traumatized forever. This is probably the only time and place two
women would ever fight over this guy. Sometimes the girls get desperate
for customers, especially on a slow night like tonight with the place half
empty.
I hook my arms around one of the girls from behind and lift her clear
off her acrylic platform heels. Making my way toward the bar, I lug her
down the hallway to the dressing room.
The DJ ups the vibe in the room with a new song and introduces two
dancers to the main stage, drawing the meager crowd’s attention.
Entering the dressing room, I drop Tiffany to her feet, and she stumbles
back.
“It wasn’t my fault, Brayden. I swear. That new chick is batshit crazy.”
She looks down at her arms and chest. She’s covered with long red
scratches—the kind only a long set of acrylics can make. Some of them are
bleeding. “Look at me. That bitch.”
“Sit. Let me see.” I grab a tissue from a box on the long counter in front
of the makeup mirror that stretches a good ten feet into the room, and
Tiffany plops on a stool. Dropping to one knee, I wipe the blood away. “She
got you good. These are going to welt up. Not sure makeup will cover
them.”
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