Filthy (The Reckless Series #2) - HJ Bellus Page 0,28

fancy wood that Rhett made and admire myself. I’m not ogling myself, but admiring the fabric and it’s power to make a woman feel beautiful. I pull my hair up and then let it fall down around my shoulders, deciding what goes best with the dress.

It’s then I remember the feel of Rhett’s lips on my neck this morning and go for the up-do. I gather the wavy curls high on the top of my head, letting some of the tendrils fall around my face. Then I go in for the kill…high heel, shiny, candy red shoes.

I dig in the tote to find the perfect clutch to pair with the outfit and then decide on jewelry, but with one last look I like the naked look of my neck and chest and forgo any jewelry.

The drive to the strip club isn’t one of worry or nasty thoughts of Rhett up on the stage dancing for flocks of horny women. It’s the way I feel in the dress and the high of fashion strumming my attitude. A business plan is exactly what I need and will focus on tonight.

When I roll into the parking lot of Blue Iron, I spot Rhett’s truck first thing. I know he always gets here early on the nights he performs, mainly to relax and have a few drinks. I’m sure he gets high too.

I straighten out the dress and tug it down as far as it will go, which is not very damn far. When I open the door to the club it’s quiet, which is opposite of what it normally is. There’s no blaring music, darkness bathed with strobe lights, or horny women.

“Hey,” Kip, the head bartender hollers out.

“Hi.” I wave to him enthusiastically.

Kip and I have bonded well over the months of me frequenting the club. He can’t figure out how in the hell I came here all the time and am still into Rhett. I always just respond with, “I’m a strange woman.”

He’s a quiet man, always only offering up a few words.

“Looking for your man?” he asks.

Hearing him claim Rhett as mine sounds weird and I go to correct him, then realize I have nothing to correct.

“Yeah,” I nod. “Is that jackass around?”

I spy an empty glass of whisky on the bar before I hear a sound that I’ll never forget. It has to be the skanky blonde who's been deemed the club whore. I’m no fool and know why she’s always around here.

Obnoxious loud moans fill the empty club mingled with the words, fuck me harder. She has no shame and grows louder and louder as someone fucks her. My cheeks heat up with anger before I realize Kip is saying something. I ignore the words flowing from him and walk closer to the hall. I realize I must love self-torture to bring myself closer to her voice.

I stand at the end of the bar and the opening of the hall. The two doors to the bathrooms remain shut, as does the dressing room door located at the end of the hall. Her voice echoes down the hall and my stomach turns. Rhett. No. Rhett. Are the only three words that race through my thought process.

My legs begin to tremble, but I begin stepping down the dimly lit hallway. A flying door opens in front of me. I remain in the light flooding in from the main area of the bar and come face to face with Rhett zipping up his jeans. I do a double, then a triple take, before my heart begins to slow down. He was in the bathroom.

“Holy fuck me dress, Batwoman.” A smile slowly spreads across his face. Not any smile, but one that instantly makes my thong wet. Soaking wet.

“Rhett,” I finally let out in one long syllable.

He steps into me, wrapping his arms low around my waist. “Jesus fucking Christ, Momma, are you trying to kill me?”

My fingers tremble as I bring my free hand up to his beard and run my fingers down it.

“You okay, baby?”

And if on cue, the moans and screams of the woman fill the club. He closes his eyes tight and walks me backwards back out into the club.

“I’m sorry.” He leaves my side and heads over to the DJ stand, cuing up a song. “Die A Happy Man” begins blaring out, drowning out the other poisonous sound. He’s back to me, taking my clutch and flinging it over to the bar, and then finally wrapping me up