entrance. They hadn’t seen Irina.
“The boy better keep his head on straight,” Watts said.
“Mitch can handle it.” Rebecca knew Watts was partly concerned that Mitch would run into trouble and they’d be too far away to help, and partly jealous that Mitch was point man even though he was still green. But they couldn’t do anything to change either thing, so she focused on something they could affect. “If Clark’s people are here somewhere, I can’t see them.”
“Bet your ass they’re around somewhere,” Watts grunted, crushing the paper cup and dropping it on the floor between his legs. “Clark can pretend he doesn’t have enough manpower to run his own operation, but you can bet he’s got enough to fuck things up for us.”
Rebecca tended to agree. Clark’s modus operandi was to let her people do the dangerous or the boring work while he watched from a distance until something shook loose. Then all of a sudden he and his agents were right in the middle of it. She often wondered whether, if she had the power of his position, she would do the same. She didn’t like to think so.
“Let’s hope Irina shows, and that Clark is right about her,” Rebecca said.
“She could be playing him, you know,” Watts said. “Hell, if my choice was being shipped back to some gulag or pretending to work for the feds, I’d volunteer to rat out my fellow sleazeballs too. Doesn’t mean that once she’s out from under Clark’s thumb, she’s really going to do it.”
“I know.” Running a double agent was always a risk, because if they were informing on their one-time friends, they could just as easily turn the tables and betray you. If Irina was double-crossing them, she’d need information to convince the Zamoras and the Russians that she was still on their side. And she’d need to get that information from Mitch. Rebecca didn’t see that they had any choice except to go forward and hope that Mitch would be able to tell if Irina was stringing him along.
As if reading Rebecca’s mind, Watts said, “I don’t mean to put the boy down, but you heard the two of them over the wire. She can seriously twist Mitch around.” He shifted his bulk and sighed. “She could definitely give me a little wood, and once that happens—”
“Not everyone’s brains are smaller than their dicks, Watts.”
Watts laughed. “Probably a good thing Mitch’s rod isn’t hardwired.”
Rebecca didn’t bother to explain how wrong he was about the way things really worked.
*
“Beer?” the bartender asked as Mitch slid onto a stool and dropped his motorcycle jacket onto the one next to him.
“Sounds good.” Mitch swiveled around to face the stage, putting his back to the bar and the husky blond bartender with muscles bulging beneath his tight white T-shirt. Like every other time he’d been here, a mostly naked girl gyrated in the center of the raised platform, one arm draped around a gleaming pole, her legs spread and her hips cocked, her pelvis an open invitation to the hulking figures lurking in the shadows. He didn’t recognize her, but then the faces changed frequently in places like this. Women were used up quickly when they were bought and sold like commodities. This one, though, seemed too old to be one of the Russian girls smuggled in through the port. Mitch felt a flash of disappointment. Maybe the Russians had moved on.
“Here you go,” the bartender said, sliding a bottle in Mitch’s direction.
Mitch caught it and took a swallow. The cold rich flavor felt good in his parched throat. Nerves, he thought. As he took another deep slug, arms came around his waist from behind. He felt the pressure of full breasts against his back and warm breath wafted across his ear. Fingernails played down his chest and over his abdomen.
“Hello, new boy,” Irina whispered, dropping her hand onto the inside of his thigh.
Swinging back around, Mitch parted his legs and pulled her in tight to his body. He kissed her,
“The boy better keep his head on straight,” Watts said.
“Mitch can handle it.” Rebecca knew Watts was partly concerned that Mitch would run into trouble and they’d be too far away to help, and partly jealous that Mitch was point man even though he was still green. But they couldn’t do anything to change either thing, so she focused on something they could affect. “If Clark’s people are here somewhere, I can’t see them.”
“Bet your ass they’re around somewhere,” Watts grunted, crushing the paper cup and dropping it on the floor between his legs. “Clark can pretend he doesn’t have enough manpower to run his own operation, but you can bet he’s got enough to fuck things up for us.”
Rebecca tended to agree. Clark’s modus operandi was to let her people do the dangerous or the boring work while he watched from a distance until something shook loose. Then all of a sudden he and his agents were right in the middle of it. She often wondered whether, if she had the power of his position, she would do the same. She didn’t like to think so.
“Let’s hope Irina shows, and that Clark is right about her,” Rebecca said.
“She could be playing him, you know,” Watts said. “Hell, if my choice was being shipped back to some gulag or pretending to work for the feds, I’d volunteer to rat out my fellow sleazeballs too. Doesn’t mean that once she’s out from under Clark’s thumb, she’s really going to do it.”
“I know.” Running a double agent was always a risk, because if they were informing on their one-time friends, they could just as easily turn the tables and betray you. If Irina was double-crossing them, she’d need information to convince the Zamoras and the Russians that she was still on their side. And she’d need to get that information from Mitch. Rebecca didn’t see that they had any choice except to go forward and hope that Mitch would be able to tell if Irina was stringing him along.
As if reading Rebecca’s mind, Watts said, “I don’t mean to put the boy down, but you heard the two of them over the wire. She can seriously twist Mitch around.” He shifted his bulk and sighed. “She could definitely give me a little wood, and once that happens—”
“Not everyone’s brains are smaller than their dicks, Watts.”
Watts laughed. “Probably a good thing Mitch’s rod isn’t hardwired.”
Rebecca didn’t bother to explain how wrong he was about the way things really worked.
*
“Beer?” the bartender asked as Mitch slid onto a stool and dropped his motorcycle jacket onto the one next to him.
“Sounds good.” Mitch swiveled around to face the stage, putting his back to the bar and the husky blond bartender with muscles bulging beneath his tight white T-shirt. Like every other time he’d been here, a mostly naked girl gyrated in the center of the raised platform, one arm draped around a gleaming pole, her legs spread and her hips cocked, her pelvis an open invitation to the hulking figures lurking in the shadows. He didn’t recognize her, but then the faces changed frequently in places like this. Women were used up quickly when they were bought and sold like commodities. This one, though, seemed too old to be one of the Russian girls smuggled in through the port. Mitch felt a flash of disappointment. Maybe the Russians had moved on.
“Here you go,” the bartender said, sliding a bottle in Mitch’s direction.
Mitch caught it and took a swallow. The cold rich flavor felt good in his parched throat. Nerves, he thought. As he took another deep slug, arms came around his waist from behind. He felt the pressure of full breasts against his back and warm breath wafted across his ear. Fingernails played down his chest and over his abdomen.
“Hello, new boy,” Irina whispered, dropping her hand onto the inside of his thigh.
Swinging back around, Mitch parted his legs and pulled her in tight to his body. He kissed her,
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