Winters spun around. The woman wore black leather pants like a second skin. Her silver belt buckle of dueling pistols etched over a jagged heart shined near a belly ring. Her black cotton shirt hung to right below her full rack. The lettering scribbled over her tits read Girls Love Guns.

Christ. Cash brought him to a whorehouse.

The smile on Cash’s face reached from one sideburn to the other. “Well, hi there, Sugar. I brought a friend.”

The woman wore lipstick that was far too red. Her tussled hair was piled in a way that screamed pull here, and she smelled like scotch and spice. Her gaze raked him up and down, lingering over his crotch, before his lips pulled off hello.

“Does your friend have a name?” She flicked a wink intended for both of them. “’Cause I was back there, field-stripping a .22 LR, and he looks handy with a long rifle.”

She stepped toe-to-toe with Winters and planted a hand on her cocked hip. “It’s just a little thang for range practice. But I promise, it’s real smooth. Grab a couple bricks, and we can go all night long.”

Cash was a dead man. This was such a bad idea. Weeks ago, she might have been what he needed to blow off stress and excess energy. But now, his inner horn-dog was annoyed and far more interested in shooting a long gun, than fieldstripping in any capacity with her.

He needed to change the course of this exchange. Winters extended his hand. “Name’s Winters.”

“Well, Winters, welcome to my range. I can’t believe Cash never brought you here before.”

“I don’t bring anyone here, Sugar,” Cash said. “Haven’t you noticed? You’re my not-so-guilty secret indulgence. I’m not one to share.”

She batted her thickly-painted eyelashes and nodded to Winters. “So, what’s the special occasion?”

“He’s in need of a distraction.” Cash laughed.

Winters growled. “Christ, Cash. Mind your goddamn business.”

“Aw, Winters, don’t be so harsh.” She licked her pink tongue over her very cherry bottom lip. “I happen to specialize in distractions.”

This stunt was borderline ridiculous.

“I think we better just pound out a few rounds.” He paused, no idea how to address her. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Sugar’s my name, but Honey, Dollface, that’ll work, too. Call me whatever you want. If you like it, I like it. But you already have my laser-focused attention.”

No appropriate name popped to mind. He eyed Cash hard and ran a hand from his beard to his nape.

Cash jumped in and ambled to the hall. “Okay, Sugar, we’ll just take a couple of lanes. Put it on my tab.”

Winters followed, not wanting to spend any alone time with the woman. Her exotic perfume hung thick as they walked to the range.

“Think you could have warned me, man?”

“About what? She’s your type, and you need a distraction.”

“And what’s my type?”

“Aggressive, vampy, and without strings.”

“I don’t need a prostitute.”