“You can go,” I tell her, pulling off the condom and tying it off before walking into the adjoining bathroom, tossing it in the toilet, and then washing my hands and dick.

“I can go?” she repeats, not moving away from my desk or adjusting her dress that is still up around her waist. Turning to look at her, I’m sure she’s someone’s daughter or sister; she may even be a nice girl, but she means nothing to me. Like all the other women that my security asks to come up here, they come without knowing anything about me except what the rumors are.

“Yes, you can go,” I tell her, tucking myself back in and adjusting my shirt before walking over to my desk and taking a seat.

“You’re a prick,” she mumbles, wiggling her dress back down over her ass and stomping in her heels across the carpet to her bag that she dropped on the couch when she came in.

“You got what you wanted,” I remind her as she angrily shoves her arm through the strap of her bag. I may be a dick, but I didn’t fill her head with false expectations before fucking her and telling her to get out. She knew what was going to happen before she walked her ass up the stairs to my office, or at least she had a good idea of what was going to occur, and I sure as hell didn’t force her to her knees to suck me off.

“Whatever,” she says, looking at me once more, and I know from the look in her eyes that all I’d have to do is call her back and she would come. Annoyed by that, I look down at the spreadsheet in front of me, hearing the door slam hard.

Turning my chair, I look out over the club through the large window. There are hundreds of people below and some nights, like tonight, I’ll scan the floor and tell my security which woman I want. They’ll approach her and give her the choice to come to me or not. I have never had a woman say no, and most of the time they leave happy. But then there are times they leave pissed, because they think their pussy is made of gold and I should ask for seconds or drop a ring on their finger. Scanning the club, a flash of light catches my attention, and my eyes land on a woman who is between two guys with her phone in her hand. She is pointing at them then her cell phone. Normally, I wouldn’t think much about it, but something in the woman’s eyes isn’t right. Picking the phone up off my desk, I dial two.

“Already on it,” Zack, the head of my security, states and hangs up. Moving back to the window, I watch Zack and Lane approach her through the crowd then frown. She’s not dressed like she’s out for a night of fun with her friends; she looks like she’s wearing pajamas, and not even the sexy kind. Living in Sin City, you see a lot of shit, and chicks show up to the club in the strangest outfits, especially if they are having a bachelorette party.

Once Zack reaches her, he shoves one of the guys toward Lane then bends his face toward the woman, who lifts her phone to him. Squinting, I try to make out what’s on the screen, but the distance and lighting in the club makes it difficult to see anything. Shaking his head, the woman points at the phone again, and Zack touches his ear as my desk phone rings.

“Yeah?”

“She’s looking for someone who drugged her sister,” Zack says over the music and the crowd downstairs.

“Drugged and beat the crap out of my sister, at this club,” the woman screams into the mic.

“Bring her up,” I snarl, hanging up the phone, lifting my jacket from the back of my chair, slipping it on, and then straightening my tie. I don’t need this shit—not right now, not while all this other shit is going on around me. Over the last few months, a multitude of women have been drugged while partying here, but no one has ever gotten hurt—no one I’m aware of anyway.

“Put me down right now!” the woman yells, kicking her feet and hitting Zack in the back as she enters my office over his shoulder. Lowering her to the ground, he grunts as she pokes him in his chest and yells, “I’m not paying for your chiropractor bills, you giant, overgrown jerk.”

“Miss, can you please have a seat?” I ask, and her head turns toward me, her big honey-colored eyes catching me off guard. Seeing the look in her gaze does some shit to my chest that makes me uncomfortable. Pulling my eyes from hers, I sweep them down the length of her body.

I have no fucking idea how she got into the club wearing pajamas, but she did. The blue plaid bottoms that are about four sizes too big are dragging under her flip-flops. The thin, tight, white tank top she has on allows a glimpse of her breasts and dark nipples. I wouldn’t say she’s fat; she’s all curves, with large breasts and wide hips. Her long, dark hair is in a low ponytail, and her face is round and soft, almost innocent-looking. She’s beautiful in a way I’m not accustomed to.

“How did you get in here?” I ask when my eyes meet hers once more.

“I paid the guy at the front a hundred dollars to let me in,” she says, glaring at me and crossing her arms over her chest, accentuating her cleavage. Looking over the top of her head, my eyes meet Zack’s and he nods before stepping out of the office, closing the door behind him.

“Do you want to tell me why you’re here?” I ask, taking a seat and motioning for her to do the same across from me.

“My sister was here earlier tonight,” she says, reaching into the top of her tank top, pulling out a cellphone that must be twenty years old, flipping it open, and shoving it across the desk. Picking the phone up, the grainy image of a smiling woman who looks similar to the one across from me is on the screen. She’s much slimmer than her sister, so slim she looks ill.

“You told Zack she was drugged here and beat up. If you don’t mind me asking, why aren’t the police here instead of you?” I query, watching her face close down almost instantly. “If this is some kind of ploy to get money, it won’t work,” I tell her, pushing the cell phone back across the top of the desk.

“A ploy to get money? Do you mean like blackmail?” she growls, grabbing the phone and clasping it tightly in her hand.

“That’s exactly what I mean.” I nod, watching her stand.

“You’re a…you’re a real lint-licker, you know that?” She paces in front of my desk, lifting her hand and pulling out her hair tie, allowing her mane to cascade down her back and over her shoulders.

“Lint-licker,” I repeat, trying not to smile as I watch her.

“Lint-licker.” She nods then stops pacing and turns to look at me. “I don’t want money. The police won’t come, because my sister isn’t healthy. She has a drug problem, and they don’t care what happens to her. She’s just one more faceless druggie in a sea of fricking druggies. But I love her. She’s my sister, so I want to find the scum buckets who did what they did and turn them in myself,” she says, and my hackles instantly rise.

“You’re never coming back here again,” I snarl, standing and placing my hands on the top of my desk, leaning onto them.

“You can’t stop me.” She shrugs, and just like that, she turns her back on me and leaves my office before I can even comprehend what just happened. Following after her, I run downstairs through the crowded club. Once I reach the front entrance, I catch a glimpse of her right before she gets into a car the size of my desk and takes off down the street.

“Everything okay, Boss?” Turning my head to look over my shoulder, I glance at Zack and shake my head.