Free One Last Bullet: An Action Thriller (Adrian Hell Series Book 3) by James P. Sumner Page A

behind it.
    Several low, square tables are scattered all around, each with a number of cheap-looking armchairs around them. On the right is a stage with a pole in the center. There’s a young woman, dressed in quite possibly the smallest bikini I’ve ever seen, spinning herself around, much to the general indifference of the four or five men who are sitting and watching. They look miserable, all approaching sixty and all nursing a glass of spirits. Another woman, also wearing next-to-nothing is strolling around, trying to attract attention. Our eyes meet briefly as I look around and she immediately heads straight for me.
    “Hey there, handsome,” she says as she approaches—her New York accent being made to sound as seductive as possible. “I’m Tammy. Are you looking for some company?”
    She flashes me a practiced smile and steps in close, stroking my left arm. She has almost-white blonde hair—I’m guessing it’s from a bottle, as her roots are dark—and light blue eyes accentuated by, in my opinion, far too much dark eyeliner. Her lips are glowing red, and her well-looked-after toned body is sun-bed brown. In addition to her bikini…or lingerie or whatever—I’m not sure what you’d call it—she has black heels on, which make her a good three or four inches taller than she actually is. Even so, she barely comes up to my shoulder, so I figure her for five-two or five-three.
    I raise an eyebrow slightly as I look at her. There’s no denying she’s attractive. I very much doubt she’s over twenty-one, which makes her less appealing to me, given I’m forty-three in a few months.
    “I’m here to see your boss,” I say. “His name’s Tommy Blunt, I believe.”
    I know he isn’t here, because I know Trent killed him a couple of days ago, but it’s interesting to see her reaction. To her credit, she never misses a beat, but I see the momentary flash of alarm in her eyes.
    “Mr. Blunt isn’t here today, sugar,” she says. Her hand moves from my arm to my chest. “Maybe… I can help you?”
    Again with the practiced smile… I’m starting to feel a little uncomfortable.
    “What about his right hand man, Jonas Pike? Is he here?”
    She takes a step away from me, her entire demeanor suddenly changing—her charms giving way to a defensiveness only seen in the perpetually afraid.
    “Okay, who the fuck are you?” she asks, her seductive accent replaced by a very broad Yankee drawl.
    “I wouldn’t worry about minor details like that,” I reply. “I just wanna have a word with the man in charge.”
    Out of the corner of my eye, I notice that our little exchange has caught the attention of the bartender. I also notice his right hand disappearing briefly underneath the counter. A few moments later, the door Josh mentioned at the far end opens and two guys purposefully walk out, heading straight for me.
    The bartender must’ve hit a panic button of some kind…
    “Tammy, right?” I say to the woman. “You might wanna take yourself someplace else for a minute.”
    She looks over her shoulder at the two brutes approaching, then looks back at me.
    “Whatever,” she says with a casual shrug. “It’s your funeral.”
    She strides off with an over-emphasized shake of her hips as the two men stop in front of me. Both are dressed the same—a fitted black t-shirt over a steroid-induced muscular torso, with arms covered in bad tattoos. They’re wearing light-blue jeans and black boots, completing the look of a career bouncer.
    The one on the left is standing with his arms folded across his chest. He’s about my height, and has a long beard, like a biker. He has a shaved head, with a flame tattoo along the right hand side.
    His friend on the right is shorter and more relaxed. I figure he’s the brains; the other guy was the brawn. He isn’t as well built as the first guy, but he’s still by no means small. He’s clean-shaven and looks the younger of the two. He has a baseball cap on, which he’s