Mafia's Ex Wife

Chapter Eleven

Jackson-8 years ago

"Mmm." I groan, tilting my head back and letting it fall against the cool, stitched leather of my office chair.

The blonde between my legs has her lips wrapped right around my dick, bobbing up and down as she suck me off. It's not the best I've ever had, and honestly, I don't even know the girl's name. All I know is that she's one of my cocktail waitresses, vying for a spot on the stage. Dancers make the big money around here, and that's where all my women want to be. She hasn't been here long, and she doesn't have the body or the confidence to dance, but I'll at least let her finish before I tell her that.

Music drums from the floor below us. It's a Friday night, and the club is absolutely slammed with clients, and I should be down there making appearances.

There's a sharp knock and then the door flings open. Andre stands in the frame, glancing at me and the blonde, a smirk plastered on his face as he shakes his head.

The girl flinches, scrambling to cover herself up, as her cheeks turn beet red.

"We've got a situation."

"Of course we do." I rub my temples in anticipation of the headache I'm sure this will be. It's barely 10 PM and shit's already hitting the fan? Why can't we ever just have a quiet night? I like action as much as the next guy, but Jesus. It's always something around here.

I toss her shirt to the girl, and she rushes out of the room.

"Enjoy the show?" I grin, fastening my belt.

"Just admiring the technique." Andre chuckles. "Looks like she got better than she was last week when she came to me for the promotion."

I let out a sharp laugh as I punch a shoulder. "You motherfucker."

I get myself together as I follow him down the hall. It's not exactly a crime to sample my own girls—hell, how else do you do quality control in a place like this? But it's not exactly professional which is what my dad keeps trying to going into me, so I try to shake off any vibe that suggests I was just going head in my office. I morph into some cold enforcer, ready to squash any issue before it turns into a problem.

"What's going on? Clients fighting over one of the girls?" That's pretty common around here. Men don't like to share when they pay such a high price for their entertainment.

"Not exactly." Andre has an amused grin on his face that's got me curious. He opened the door to one of the back rooms.

Marshall, one of my high rollers, is leaning back against the couch with a bloody washcloth pressed to his nose. He groans as Nancy tends to his wounds, trying to stop the flow of blood. On the other side of the room, one of my girls sits on the ground with her back to the wall. Lacy red panties, a matching bra, and thigh-high stockings on her legs. Curls as wild as the look in her eye. She gently rubs at the knuckles on her right hand as two of my bouncers tower above her, making sure she doesn't move.

She looks familiar, but she's not one of our regular girls. Maybe someone new Nancy brought on.

"That bitch broke my nose," Marshall snarls.

"You're lucky I didn't do more." Her rosy red lips curl into a wicked smile that a part of me finds intriguing.

I arch an eyebrow, glancing towards Andre.

He's getting more enjoyment out of this than he should, because he knows he's not the one who has to sort through it. "He got a little handsy, and she hit him."