Free Billionaire Ransom by Lexy Timms Page A

perfume. His nose wrinkled.
    The man at the desk said laconically, “Ten buck cover.”
    “You got a centerfold up in there?”
    Cold blue eyes met his. A toothpick worked its way from one side of the man’s rubbery lips to the other, “It’s the rules, asshole.”
    “The hell it is.” Because he rode up on a bike, he was going to be a pushover? “Cover’s three bucks. Always has been. Try to dig into my pockets again and I’ll bust your head.”
    The blue eyes didn’t waver. He was a man used to bluffing and blustering.
    Morgan knew this piece of shit wasn’t the owner. The owner was a very rich man who used the place as a front for his illegal drug trade, and as a way to make sure he had losses on his tax statement every year. The doorman had probably been gouging unsuspecting customers for years with that ploy.
    “Is that right? I don’t have to let you in here, you know.” He spat the toothpick out, not bothering to look were it landed on the grubby floor.
    Morgan reached out, grabbed one large chunk of greasy gray hair, and slammed his head down hard onto the table. Then he did it again. When he let go, there was a spreading bruise on the wide expanse of forehead, and the blue eyes didn’t seem quite as chilly. “I think you might want to check again,” Morgan said evenly. “The cover’s three bucks. There’s a two-drink minimum.”
    “Right. I must have thought it was the weekend.”
    Morgan didn’t bother pointing that the cover wasn’t ten bucks even on a weekend. He pulled three ones from his wallet, tossed them on the counter, and walked past to the bar beyond.
    Limp-looking woman strolled around the stages. None of them seemed particularly interested in being there. The men sitting around looked just as bored and disinterested as the women did.
    Craig sat in the laughable VIP section, at a long table. He didn’t look at all surprised to see Morgan.
    Morgan stuck a finger into the air, and when a waitress with a dirty costume and dulled pasties on her nipples approached, he said, “Beer, in a bottle, and don’t bother opening it. Make it two.”
    Craig took a long pull from his beer and said, “What’s up, Morgan?”
    “Someone took a few shots at me today.”
    Craig’s face showed his surprise, and then his anger. “Say what?”
    “You heard me. I need to know what the fuck you’re into with Blake Wilkes, because it looks like he’s got a contract on me.”
    Craig shook his head. “Nah… I mean, no way, man. That wasn’t the deal.”
    There was a deal, then. Morgan clenched his fists, ready to pull the same thing on Craig as he had on the doorman.
    The waitress came back with the beers. Morgan paid and used the edge of the table to pop open the tepid brews. He handed one to Craig and said, “You’d better tell me what the fucking deal is then.”
    Craig sighed. “Look, I had to take her. Her pops wanted her out of the way. For a day, anyway, while he had her place ransacked. Yours too. They were careful in your place, though.”
    Good thing Katie had moved out of that high tower. Morgan thought back to his house; nothing had been moved. He hadn’t even noticed anything out of place. Angered simmered in his veins “What’re they looking for?”
    Craig grimaced, “Copies of some fucking file.”
    “Did he tell you what file?”
    Craig shook his head.
    Morgan wanted to punch him in the face. His fingers tightened around the bottle. “What’s he looking for, Craig? You keeping fucking everything up, you’re going to end up like Lisa.”
    Craig stared at him, the hurt in his eyes evident before they turned angry. “I don’t have a fucking clue. He just offered me money for an easy job. You deserved to get your ass kicked. You and your high-horse ho.”
    Morgan let the words slide. He wanted to knock the sense back into Craig, but now wasn’t the time. He took a swig of his beer and grimaced as the warm liquid ran down his throat. He jabbed a finger in Craig’s