WOUNDS OF silk

7. Sloane

After being on the road for a few good hours, blasting his car over the speeding limit, drowning himself into the thrill of the rush, giving away the power over his life, Sloane finally felt tensions to ebb away from his shoulders.

He strode into the Laces & Stilettoes, a mob-owned strip club. His messy hair hung over his forehead, shadowing his gaze from the onlookers while he noticed every bit and pieces roving around the place.

Seductive music wafting into the air, creating a sensual mood. Rich purple and shocking pink whisking over the walls, floors and the leering faces. Patrons flashing their wealth, tossing money at the strippers performing for them on the stage. The strippers sliding down to the floor, grinding their asses on the metal pole and shaking their bountiful tits in front of the ogling faces.

Judging by the spread out of the crowd, Sloane was a little late for the party but the party wasn't going to stop anytime soon. It would go on all night until the patrons had enough booze running through their systems and messing with their heads that they couldn't think before emptied their pockets to the outstretched hands of the strippers.

The scantily clad women rambling around, swaying their hips with trays balancing on their hands, offering drinks to the patrons. In reward, a generous wad of cash shoved under the waistband of their panties.

Business was good.

Bills rolling in.

And at the end of the night, that what mattered the most.

Profits.

Any missing bills or slow business, Sloane needed to answer to his father. And it never went well in the past.

Laces & Stilettos had always been a public front to keep out the cops from sticking their noses into their illegitimate side of the businesses. It was mainly for a show. A public display to earn clean money and catered to the whims of every client. But at the back of the club, the end of the hallway, where the real business took place. Laundering of dirty money, exchanges dealt in drugs and other illegal activities.

Sloane walked straight to the bar, took his usual spot at the far corner, close to the back door which was leading into the kitchen and into the back of the club. He didn't even have to flick his fingers to grab the attention of the bartender, Michael. He dropped his task at hand, supposedly mixing drinks for a customer, and served Sloane his regular and went back to his task.

Like it was just a normal occurrence. But everyone knew who he was so the man in concern didn't make a fuss about it.

Sloane tipped up his glass and poured the liquid down his throat and ordered another. After a few more drinks, his mind stopped overworking. A calmness spread over his body but the thoughts of Eeva never dimmed, still humming through his fuzzy senses. His body vibrating with need.

Her face without a trace of makeup, made her look more young and innocent. Her striking feminine features became prominent with her doe eyes and fuller cheeks. Her bottom lip slightly protruding with a trace of curiosity and hesitation. The need to ask questions about every damn thing was quite obvious as she bit down on her bottom every so often.

Sloane wanted to swallow down her questions and answered her with the heat burning inside him to make her waiting worthwhile and promising.

Sloane seized the glass right over the top with his palm to hold himself back from downing more alcohol. The rim dug harder into his skin and the sufferable sting brought him back into the reality where Sloane could never have her.

Eeva was his father's wife.

His prized collection. And the way his father ogling at her, he wasn't going to let her go at any time soon.