Page 51 of Angel

ANGEL

It’s good to get out. Good to be Angel.

I needed this ride out with my brothers. It may be daylight, but we still dress to deceive.

I don’t miss the interest as we ride through the streets. I suppose our reputations are responsible for that.

Today we are making a statement and as we pull into The Pink Flamingo lot, there is only one man we want to see and not the strippers inside.

Five Angels, five Harleys and questions that will hopefully put an end to the stalker misery.

We shove the door and head inside, a menacing sight in our leathers and bandanas, the masks obscuring our faces.

The woman on the desk smiles, hope lighting her eyes as she says seductively, “You here for some action?”

Havoc leans on the desk and I swear she creams her panties.

“Where can we find Jack Vincent?”

She raises her eyes. “Jack? I didn’t expect his name to be the one from your lips.”

Her gaze falls on the rest of us, and she fans herself with a bunch of papers.

“He’s out the back. I’ll put a call out for him.”

“We’ll find him.”

Havoc shifts off the desk and she groans. “So hot. If you change your mind, I’m available, handsome.”

He must drop her a wink because she gasps, “Fuck.”

We push through the double doors, and the light is dim despite the fact it’s morning. A lone stripper is on the stage, almost done as she fucks a pole, already naked. Two men stare at her, their concentration solely on the show and I scan the room, settling on a bartender filling several shot glasses for one man watching him.

“Fuck this shit.” Titan growls, and I must agree with him. It’s eleven am and these guys have nowhere else to go but ogle naked women and drink shots.

A couple of guys are getting personal lap dances and Havoc points to a door marked staff.

We head toward it and the bartender glances up and then lowers his eyes almost immediately.

Wise move.

The corridor is dark, the scent of stale beer and sex clinging to the walls and as we test every door, they reveal nothing but store cupboards.

The third one opens into the stripper’s dressing room, where a couple of the girls are chatting.

“Sorry.”

Ghost makes to close the door and one of them shouts, “Wait!”

Their smiles are as wide as their faces as they beckon us inside.

“There is a god.”

One of them bats her lashes and her gaze finds mine.

“We’re available if you’re looking for company.”

“Just information.”