Marie-Terese glanced over her shoulder. A pair of college boys dressed in hip-riding jeans, Affliction T-shirts, and skulled-out accessories—i.e., the bell-bottoms of the twenty-first century—had come up behind her and were once-overing her body. Given the sly way they looked at her, it was pretty clear they had pockets full of their daddies’ money and heads vacant of everything but the confidence typical of big, dumb football players.

She also got the impression they were on something: Their eyelids twitched rather than blinked, and both had lines of sweat over their upper lips.

Great. Just what she needed.

“How much for me and my friend?” the one who’d spoken up said.

“I think you’d better go see someone else.” Gina had no problems with threesomes, for instance. Or video cameras. Or camera phones. Or other women. Hopefully she drew the line at the Catherine the Great equine stuff, but you couldn’t be sure—it was entirely possible that a lusty whinny meant “suck harder” to her.

Mr. Talker got in close. “We don’t want anyone else. We want you.”

Taking a step back, she looked them both right in the eye. “Find someone else.”

“We have money.”

“I’m a dancer. That’s all I get paid to do.”

“Then why haven’t you been up in any of the cages?” He leaned in again and she got a whiff of his cologne: eau de beer. “We’ve been watching you.”

“I’m not for sale.”

“Bullshit, baby doll.”

“If you continue to harass me, you’re going to get banned from this club. All it takes is one word from me to management. Now back the hell off.”

Marie-Terese walked away, knowing damn well they were pissed and not caring in the slightest—thank you very much, Trez. As much as she hated asking for help from the man, she would in a heartbeat if it meant keeping herself safe.

Over at the bar in the back, she ordered a Coke with extra ice and regrouped. It was still early, only about ten thirty, which meant she had another four or so hours.

“Those two steakheads giving you trouble?”

She looked up at Trez and smiled. “Nothing I couldn’t handle.” She eyed the leather coat in his hand. “You off?”

“Just over to my brother’s for a meeting. Listen, the bouncers are all tight and I should be back in about an hour, two at the most. But you call me if you and the girls need anything, ’kay? Phone’s going to be on the whole time. I can be back in the blink of an eye.”

“Will do. Drive carefully.”

He gave her hand a squeeze and strode through the crowd, his height dwarfing everyone in the club.

“That your pimp? Maybe we should just talk to him.”