Strip. Delta Dupree

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      Bryce couldn’t believe it.

      Shannon had gone way too far. No matter what he did or how far he pushed her away, she always came back. How the hell was he supposed to get her offstage, toss her? Where was Dallas for Chrissake? This was his woman.

      “Go sit down, Shannon!”

      Either she didn’t hear him or she chose to ignore him. The music blared, but not loud enough to drown out his voice.

      “Shannon, get off the damn stage. Now.”

      Twining her leg around his thigh, she hooked her arms in a stranglehold worthy of the best professional wrestler, grinding her hips against his pelvis. What the devil was she thinking? That he’d get an instant boner? He’d never shown any interest in Shannon, never had the desire to lay his best friend’s woman.

      He searched the club for help and saw Rio at the top of the stairs. Oh, shit. The scowl on her face had the power to slice dried leather; the angle of her shoulders signified tension. He had to rid himself of this grappling woman hanging on to him, or risk losing the job too soon.

      He looked to his right and his left and caught Cockroach’s gaze. When the big man ignored him, Bryce shouted his name over the deafening noise and mouthed, “Get her off.”

      Cockroach fought his way through the masses. Seconds after clearing the crowd, he climbed onstage and carried a squirming Shannon down the stairs straight to her man. From Dallas’s deadly glare, his bulging biceps flexing from the hold he’d put on Shannon, all hell would soon break loose.

      Out of breath from wrestling Shannon’s steel grip, Bryce abruptly ended his routine, not bothering to venture toward the wild bunch waving bills. After the fiasco with another man’s woman, screw the money. He didn’t need it.

      He pasted a half-assed smile on his face, bowed quickly and saluted to all yelling for more action. He collected his clothes, jerked the curtains apart and made a fast getaway to the dressing room.

      Damn.

      Bryce shoved all ten fingers through his damp hair, smoothed it back from his face and collapsed into a chair.

      This was the biggest mistake he’d ever made, rooted by anger, saturated in jealousy. Dallas had been right about ruining any chance he’d had with Rio. Forget burning up the sheets. He could only imagine what she thought of him now.

      Silly. Immature. A foolish little boy caught up in a grown-up fantasy.

      Damn it.

      What the hell had he been thinking? He should’ve thought things through first. Instead, he’d jumped to conclusions and allowed his bruised ego to rule his once-logical brain.

      Now what? he wondered, pulling on his shirt. He started fastening buttons, but forgot about it.

      He should’ve never met the woman. He should’ve kept to his plan, his original plan. He should’ve called the police on Jason Simmons or beat the hell out of him in a back alley. But, no, he hadn’t thought. He hadn’t thought at all. What he should’ve done was kept his nose out of everything and minded his own damned business.

      The dressing room door opened swiftly and slammed shut with the force of a category-five hurricane, loud enough to drown out the music for a hot second.

      Bryce looked up into the mirror, straight into Dallas’s squinted, midnight eyes. “Look, man, I had no idea this would happen,” he said and held his breath. From the look in his friend’s ferocious glare, he wanted to kill him.

      Dragging a chair to his side, Dallas plopped down on it and instantly grabbed a fistful of shirtfront. “I ought to beat you to a bloody damn pulp.”

      They’d never had a real fight. Bryce sat there, still holding his breath, waiting for a thick fist to connect with his jaw, imagining the pain and the coppery taste of blood. He deserved one good tag for engaging his best bud’s woman in degrading theatrics.

      “If I hadn’t seen it myself, if I didn’t consider you a friend, I’d beat the shit out of you, Sullivan. I’d beat you within an inch of your worthless life, punk.”

      When Dallas let loose of the shirt, Bryce let out the stagnant air burning his lungs. He had every right to be pissed off. Their egos matched; both had fierce tempers. They’d had arguments and shoving matches and tossed out biting words that caused most men to go to blows, except a woman had never come between them. Their friendship had always prevailed. But, this time was different.

      Dallas rubbed the back of his neck. He slid down in the chair, propped his feet on the counter. “I sent her home.”

      “Maybe you should follow her, have a sit-down talk. You can’t have this kind of stuff hanging over your heads. The wedding’s next month.”

      “I’m cuttin’ her loose, Bryce. We’re history.”

      “What? After one jacked-up incident?”

      He couldn’t believe it. Dallas had given Shannon a diamond ring, pledged his love and promised to be a good husband. Granted, they’d only been together five months, but Dallas had said he knew love when it slapped him upside the head.

      Bryce had never crossed into the same frontier or felt the same type of backhand. However, he was as lust-struck as any manic rabbit his first moment outside a cage surrounded by females.

      “It wasn’t all her fault, Coop. If I—”

      “This wasn’t the first time. I caught her at SS. Same shit, different day. My fault. I put the blinders on. Didn’t want to see, didn’t want to hear, didn’t want to accept.” He tugged СКАЧАТЬ