Free SEAL’s Desire by Elle James

her mother cringe, strutted out on the catwalk, turned and bent, showing the crowd her pale, white ass, separated by what appeared to be dental floss of a G-string.
    “Now that’s what I’m talking about.” Nacho pushed forward. “I always wanted me a redhead.”
    “You’ll have to look for it somewhere else,” Tuck said. “That woman most likely is a brunette.”
    “Hey, it’s my fantasy. Don’t poke holes in it.” Nacho removed several bills from his pocket and hurried toward the stage, waving them at the woman.
    She slowed, turned to face him and dropped to her haunches, spreading her knees wide, exposing her satin-covered crotch. Leaning forward, she presented her barely covered breasts, crammed into a sequined bra that pushed them up and together.
    “Yeah, baby.” Nacho tucked a bill into her bra. “What’s your name, senorita ?”
    “Candi.” She blew him a kiss, pivoted on her heels and straightened her legs, hiking her ass in the air while balancing her hands on her knees.
    Nacho hooted and tucked a bill into the strap of her G-string at the top of her butt crack.
    Remy muttered, “Focus on the mission, Sanchez.”
    “We have to blend into the crowd, amigo ,” Nacho responded with a wide grin.
    Irish clapped a hand to Remy’s back. “The man has a point. Gator, lighten up, we’re supposed to be having fun.”
    They were right. Remy rolled his shoulders and forced a smile to his face.
    “Now you’re scaring me.” Irish laughed out loud. “You might want to lose the crazy grin.”
    After they claimed a table, Remy glanced around the club, counting the number of men who appeared to be bouncers. One for each corner of the bar, two more, one at either side of the stage where the women performed. A man sat at a table in an area of the club with raised seating. He was surrounded by scantily dressed women and he had an unlit cigar in his hand.
    Had to be Rocco Hatch.
    The man’s dark hair was slicked back from a low forehead and he stared across the room at the dancer on the stage, ignoring the women around him. The two men flanking his table were the guys who’d followed Remy after Mitchell had dropped him off the night before.
    Remy returned his attention to the stage. “Rocco Hatch at four o-clock on the raised seating area with his harem and goons.”
    A waitress stopped at their table.
    The men ordered a couple pitchers of beer. When the waitress left, Dustman’s gaze followed her. “I can’t swear by it, but isn’t that woman with the long curly blond hair wearing the dominatrix, biker chick costume our Mitchell?” He turned back to the woman on stage.
    Remy let his drink napkin drop to the floor and bent to retrieve it, glancing behind him as he did. His heart skipped several beats and then raced on.
    Mitchell wore thigh-high shiny black boots, a black leather mini jacket and a corset pushing her breasts up so high they looked like they might pop out of the contraption at any moment…Yowza, she was hot! And she was headed for Hatch.
    Irish let out a low wolf whistle. “No wonder I didn’t recognize her last night. Holy shit. She’s so damned hot, I got an instant hard-on.”
    His jaw tightening, Remy reminded the team, “She’s undercover. Have some respect.”
    “I got a shitload of respect for her. Eight inches of respect.” Irish grinned.
    Big Bird backhanded Irish hard to the gut. “In your dreams. In case you’ve forgotten, she’s Brewsky’s ex, God rest his soul.”
    The team paused in remembrance of their fallen comrade.
    A familiar twinge of guilt shadowed Remy’s conscience. He pushed it aside and concentrated on the operation.
    “Who knew,” Irish muttered, his gaze focused on the stage. “Just saying. I would give my left nut for a girlfriend who looked like that.”
    Nacho fidgeted, having given all his dollar bills away to Candi, he lifted his mug of beer and sipped. “Any idea when the action will start?”
    Dustman glanced behind them and jerked his