Still, no matter how new and tasteful the décor is, no matter how hard the cleaning staff works, when I walk into this club, it always feel seedy to me.

“Thank God that delivery came in today or we’d be dealing with a small riot,” I mutter, more to myself.

“By God, you mean Ginger, right?” Nate’s deep laughter is a low rumble. For anyone who doesn’t know the guy, he comes across as one scary-ass dude. The stuff gangster stereotypes are made of. He certainly plays the part perfectly when he needs to.

But I knew Nate when he was the underfed, grubby little neighborhood kid, running through the streets alone at night when a child his age had no business being out in South Central. I saw the angry bruises across his cheeks, earned when Nate didn’t move fast enough to answer his strung-out mother’s demands. I saw his rib cage when he hadn’t eaten anything but a moldy loaf of bread in a week. I saw his tears on the nights when he sat confused on his back porch steps, wondering why his mom still didn’t love him like she said she would after he fetched her a dime bag of crack.

Nate has been a fixture in my life for thirteen years now. I took him under my wing, making sure he was fed, bathed, clothed, and safe. In exchange, he gave me his unwavering trust. The kid idolized me. It was always a rather strange friendship—Nate was five years younger than me, after all—but in him, I found a level of co-dependence that kept me going through those dark years after my family was killed. Taking Nate with me when I left South Central for Miami was an easy decision.

Prince’s “Cream” starts booming over the sound system. That’s Cherry’s signature song and the regular crowd knows it, exploding in a round of cheers as the exotic Asian struts out onto the stage in a silver sequined dress and heels that could gouge a person’s eyes out.

“I made some calls. The guy’s going away for a long time,” Nate says, watching her begin her routine.

I see nothing but smiles and winks as Cherry rolls her hips. “Does she know that we know?”

Nate shakes his head. “Don’t think so. She was in a good mood when she came in today.”

“Good.” Although I’m still bitter that the ass-wipe insinuated that I’m Cherry’s pimp. My eyes drift over the crowd of horny men, each staring hungrily at her as she twists and turns her body to the music with unbelievable agility. That’s her talent.

Extreme flexibility.

And that’s all these guys picture in their heads—their greatest fantasies come alive with Cherry at the helm. What they don’t see is the twenty-four-year-old who got pregnant at fifteen and who’s been struggling to give her son a good upbringing since her very traditional parents booted her out of their home and their lives. Who is so insecure that she ends up with douchebags who use her for sex and get her hooked on drugs.

“Cain . . .” Nate just shakes his head as his eyes drift over the crowd. I know he’s about to say the same thing that he always says. You can’t save everyone. He doesn’t, though, because a small commotion on the floor grabs his attention. Hannah, with a drunk patron’s hand cupping her breast.

No amount of money buys that under my roof.

Nate is talking into his mike in seconds, ordering three bouncers over to remove the guy and his rowdy eight-person bachelor party through the side exit, by their necks if necessary. That’s why I put Nate in charge of security. Aside from being one of the only people I trust, he’s a natural at making fast judgment calls. He gets how important it is to overreact.

How critical it is to take nothing for granted.

I know he still blames himself for the night Penny was killed. But it wasn’t his fault. Hell, he shouldn’t even have been working in a club back then—he was too damn young, despite his size. If Penny’s death was anyone’s fault, it was mine. For waiting too long to tell her that I was in love with her.

For ever telling her.

For having my door locked, for not stopping the murder that happened mere steps away.

A hand slaps me over the shoulder, breaking through my dark thoughts. “I feel like I just had my balls x-rayed! When’d you have those new metal detectors installed?” I turn to find a tanned Ben standing next to me in his black bouncer uniform, fresh off a one-week celebratory vacation after taking the bar exam. Aside from Nate, Ben is the longest-standing bouncer at Penny’s, working here while he put himself through law school.

I’ve always tried to keep a solid line of separation between myself and my employees. It helps maintain a level of respect when it comes to following the rules. It’s worked with most of them. But Ben has managed to weasel his way over the line to become one of my closest friends. He’s an easygoing guy and a fantastic employee, aside from a few rumors of taking late-night blow jobs in the stock room. But I’ve also heard through the grapevine that I enjoyed a threesome with Mercy and Ginger in that same room.

I think I’d remember that.

“Monday,” I answer with a welcoming pat on his back.

Ben frowns. “Where was I?”

“Shit-faced in Mexico?” I offer, earning another one of Nate’s deep chuckles.

A wide grin splits Ben’s face. “Was I ever!” I see his eyes drift off somewhere in thought—likely to the numerous women he nailed while down there—before his attention comes back to me. “Why the beefed-up security?”

“Teasers is closed indefinitely.” Teasers, a popular but sleazy club with a reputation for welcoming shady clientele, got shut down six weeks ago for running a prostitution ring. Now that clientele is looking for a new place to conduct “business” while receiving lap dances and, unfortunately, judging by the rise in men trying to get through my doors with weapons on them, Penny’s seems to be their preferred locale. Frankly, I’m surprised. This isn’t your typical adult entertainment club. We’re only open in the evenings, and I shut the doors by two a.m. I’ve even started closing on Mondays. That, plus my connections to the police force through Dan Ryder—my former dancer Storm’s fiancé—and my outright refusal to associate with any illicit activity, makes Penny’s an unlikely place for them to congregate.

Ben nods in understanding. “Some idiot tried to come in with a samurai sword strapped to his leg two weeks ago.”

Nate and I both shake our heads in dismay as Cherry’s act comes to a close, earning a boisterous cry of approval from the crowd.

“You need to hire more Asian dancers, Cain,” Ben murmurs. “This crowd loves Asians.”

“They love her, dumbass,” I correct with a wry grin and a shake of my head.

“Yeah. I had customers demanding free drinks and lap dances last night because she wasn’t here,” Nate offers with an incredulous look.

Damn customers. Always looking for a free ride. Or, in this case, to be ridden for free. I heave a sigh and pat Nate on the shoulder. “Thanks for covering here last night, Nate. How did things go?”

Nate falters with his answer, his steely gaze on a large cowboy whose arm is stretched out over the rail, reaching out to grab Cherry’s ankle, to get her attention. The other bouncers are on him in a second, though, pulling him back. After the attack on Storm three years ago, they all know to toss first, question later. That strung-out guy should never have been in here to begin with. I fired the two bouncers watching the section for that.

Nate finally answers my question. “Fine. Except China and Kinsley were at it again.”

I curse under my breath. “Those two are getting a bit too territorial for Penny’s.” That’s what happens when dancers work here for too long. They start to stake claim to regulars and get testy when someone encroaches on their turf. And China can be especially testy with that sharp tongue of hers. That sharp tongue hides the fact that her father repeatedly assaulted her, physically and sexually. She’s actually quite sensitive when you get under her Teflon exterior. I’ve had my work cut out with that one, helping her through a serious and undiagnosed case of dyslexia. She’s ready to take her GED soon. If I fire her, she’ll end up back in the hands of a slimeball like Rick Cassidy—where I found her to begin with—or some other guy who feeds off vulnerability like a piranha.