to be of the working variety. A few lean in to men and talk close, and there’s another moving to the music and—holy fuck.
Strippers.
My eyes frantically bounce from a familiar redhead who’s in nothing but her bra and underwear to a brunette who is topless and—dammit, it’s Angel.
Hesitantly, I move deeper into the room to a back corner that’s lined with couches and a small crowd of people. I hear my brother ask where I’m going but wave him off as my feet carry me forward.
The music throbs in my head, matching the pace of my pulse as I push through bodies. My steps falter, and I take in the view before me.
“No fucking way.” Drake’s voice mumbles at my shoulder, surprising me that he followed. “Is that . . .?”
Motherfucking shit.
“Trix.”
Thirty-two
Trix
Stupid fucking lemon drops. How many did I have? Five. No six? I retrace my steps and count in my mind while I rock my body against Hatch. He’s basically ignoring me, talking to the guy next to him, but he keeps a firm grip on my hip to keep me from toppling over.
If only I could feel my legs, then maybe I’d be able to hold myself up from Hatch’s lap rather than falling into it every time I try to dance. I didn’t intend to drink so much, but the only way to tolerate what I have to do is to be inebriated. Not so much that I can’t think, just enough to go numb.
I’ve been eavesdropping on every conversation I could get close enough to, and all I’ve learned is that this is some kind of celebratory party thrown by some bigwig dude who has his hands in more illegal shit than I could keep up with.
Apparently, his guys are going into business with Hatch’s guys, and they’ve all gathered in Vegas to shake hands, toss out threats, and kiss each other’s asses.
Nothing new. Total waste of my time. And damn, I’m so sick of being drunk.
As if on cue, my ankle twists, and I drop into Hatch’s lap. A giggle bursts from my lips, and Hatch grabs my hair and pulls my face to his.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were looking for something.” He flexes his hips, grinding his hard-on into my ass.
“No, Hatch.” I pull my head for him to free my hair, and he does. “I’m not.”
Whipping my hair around, I give him my back and sway my hips along with the music. If I weren’t so drunk, I’d be asleep out of sheer boredom.
A firm grip pinches my thigh. “Ow!” I move to slap the hand away, but meet Hatch’s glare that brooks no argument.
He pulls me to him, turns me around, and pulls me down to straddle his crotch. His hot breath pants in my ear. “You’re pissin’ me the fuck off.” Strong fingers bite into my side.
I close my eyes, locking down my jaw to avoid whimpering. His hand tangles in my hair, burning my scalp. “You’re . . . hurting me.”
Where the hell did this come from?
He growls against my neck. “Lying little bitch.” He emphasizes his words with a firm tug that wrenches my neck.
My heart races with panic.
“Get your fucking hands off her.” The menacing voice stills my blood, and I shudder in Hatch’s hold.
Anger melts from his expression and is replaced by something that almost looks like excitement. I follow the line of his gaze, and my heart slams so hard behind my ribs I fall back onto Hatch’s chest.
Mason. And Drake? What . . .?
Oh my God, Mason. I scramble off Hatch’s chest only to be slammed back down onto his lap, this time facing away from him. His arm comes around my waist, holding me to him. “If it ain’t my two favorite brothers.”
Mason doesn’t take his eyes off me, pinning me with a glare that screams complete devastation.
Drake hooks Mason by the arm and tries to pull him away, but Mason shakes him off easily, stepping closer in the process. “I’m only gonna say it one more time. Let her go.”
My spine goes straight, panic and fear making me want to run. I don’t want Mason to see me like this, half naked and straddled over another man.
“Who the fuck invited you dipshits?” Hatch laughs then slides me off his lap to his side so that I’m pressed between him and the biker guy named Cage he was talking to.