Rhash fought his way out of that shit, eventually found Knight and lived every day knowing the kid he created with his girl was somewhere better. Knowing it and hating it because that better did not include his real Mom or his real Dad.

Somehow, all this shit got twisted in his head. The gang mentality wasn’t gone. His loyalty was ingrained and extreme. It was just that now it was to Knight, Knight’s team and Knight’s mission.

Therefore, when he took in the evidence that one of Knight’s girls fought back before getting a busted lip and a swollen eye, it pissed him off.

Rhashan Banks pissed off was a little scary and I say that even though not much scared me.

When he made no reply and I was done with his dark eyes burning holes into mine, I asked, “You got any cash on you?”

“Your tits wear off?” he asked back and I fought back another grin.

“They’re b-cups, Rhash. They look good but they only go so far covered up,” I replied.

He twisted his torso and the light went out.

Then I heard him say, “Let’s move.”

* * * * *

We turned from the night clerk who was two hundred dollars richer and told us what we already knew from the empty, wrecked hotel room.

Serena’s client had paid in cash. The credit card he put on file for incidentals cleared at the time of check in which was eight o’clock. When the clerk ran it again, it had been reported stolen. Plus he had checked in under a different name and address than he’d given us.

The false name and paying in cash was not surprising. Clients did their best not to leave trails.

The address and stolen credit card, not good.

This meant he felt safe to leave the room in that state, knowing they couldn’t find him to charge him.

Knight had a stable of fifty-seven girls and shit happened. It was rare because Knight also had a reputation. Nevertheless, it happened sometimes. But no girl took a client without him being checked out. This was part of the work I did for Knight. He didn’t dig deep but he did dig. He never sent a girl out if the client was shady, had a record, cash flow problems or anything of concern turned up. We ran credit history, work history, financials, criminal records and we checked homes and places of work, all on the down low so as not to scare away clients.

In other words, this particular kind of shit did not happen.

Ever.

“His house,” Rhash growled. “Meet you there. I’ll text you details.”

“Right,” I muttered, walking beside him to the door. My head was tilted back, eyes up and aimed at his profile. I was assessing the level of his anger. I sensed it was not only increasing, but expanding to take in the guy who took his fist to Serena and whoever did the legwork on the client.

We were pushing out of the doors when I felt it.

Eyes on me.

I twisted my neck and shoved the door open with my gaze trained over my shoulder. I swept the reception area with not mild attention.

It was early morning, no one was there that I could see but the clerk.

Fuck.

I turned my attention to where I was going, heading for my girl in the lot.

This had been happening lately, too much. I long since learned how to sense it and read it. I might not be girlie but I’d have to be blind not to see that I wasn’t hard on the eyes. This meant I got a lot of looks.

This wasn’t that, some guy who liked what he saw and wanted in there.

This was a different kind of watching.

It had been going on now for about a month but every time I felt it, when I scanned or circled back to take a better look, I could find nothing.

I didn’t like it but there was nothing I could do if I couldn’t discover the source.

Now I had a job to do and I didn’t have the time to swing back into reception on the guise of asking the clerk more questions to see if someone was checking me out.

So I followed behind Rhash in his car with my eyes peeled, looking for a tail.

And finding nothing.

* * * * *

I stood in the empty living room trying to hold my shit.

“Who did the check?” I asked, my voice low with anger.

“Live,” Rhash grunted and I flipped open my phone, using my thumb on the keypad to scroll down my phonebook to Lively.

I heard Rhash hitting buttons on his own phone, I knew connecting with Knight.

We’d hit the client’s house and found a for sale sign in the front yard. When we’d gone in, there was nothing there. Not a stick of furniture. Totally cleared out.

This gave me a bad feeling. This was not your random ass**le that got off on paying for sex and roughing up women.

Stolen credit cards. False addresses.

This was bad.

The phone rang four times in my ear before I connected.

“Pip, what the f**k? It’s after four in the morning,” Live muttered sleepily in my ear, using the shortened version of the nickname that the boys gave me. Pipsqueak.

The guys jacked around all the time. We were always f**king with each other, playing jokes, giving each other shit. It was just the way. Pipsqueak and Pip were not the nicknames for badass bitches like me who could kick ass but what did I care? It was ironic and it sure as f**k could be worse. I knew this because one of Knight’s men was nicknamed Tiny, this wasn’t ironic and it didn’t refer to his stature. He hated it but he put up with it because if he didn’t it would mean he not only had a small dick but also no balls, which would have been worse.

And anyway, he had a secret that I knew because one of his women shared. This was, his dick might be small but that didn’t mean he didn’t know what to do with his tongue and fingers. The way it was described, he made up for it in a big way.

I didn’t delay in sharing what the f**k to Live.

“Serena was worked over tonight. Client paid for the hotel in cash, gave a fake name and a stolen credit card. Right now I’m standing in his living room with Rhash and it’s empty. By empty I mean there’s no furniture and there’s a for sale sign in the yard.”

“Fuck,” he whispered.

“Baby, it’s late. What the hell?” I heard in the background and knew this was Live’s woman, Amy. She sounded sleepy and snippy. I’d never heard her sounding sleepy. I frequently heard her sounding snippy.

Incidentally, she was not one of the guys’ women that I liked unreservedly or at all. She was a ball buster. I didn’t like women like her who happily accepted the dresses, shoes, jewelry and free cover to get into Knight’s club, Slade, from her man. Amy didn’t have any problems bitching about everything under the sun, including the fact Live had to work for the money it took to buy her dresses, shoes and jewelry.