Iron Rods: 1 (Strip Club) Read Online Free PDF

in the bank to pay for another tank of
gas. Therefore a dive bar, the seedier the better, was in order. The joint that
met that set of criteria, as well as being not too far away from the townhouse,
was Iron Rods.
    As Tatum followed Heather up the sidewalk to the club, she
remembered why she hadn’t set foot into the place since her first year of grad
school. The large cinderblock building painted a garish purple from roof to
foundation had no distinguishing characteristics other than being plain ugly
and depressing. Even the sign hanging over the front doors was dimly lit and
drab. The most cheerful thing around was Tatum’s strappy yellow sundress and
her red Western boots. Unfortunately, tonight this dive above all others suited
her mood.
    Why not have a few drinks in a gloomy bar and watch some
other miserable person dance to chase away her despair? At least the guys
stripping inside were earning a living at it. And the dancers were hot, lightly
oiled men dripping with testosterone who would do just about anything to have a
few bucks stuffed into their thongs. If that didn’t elevate her spirits at
least a bit, nothing would. Well, that and maybe returning home to find Officer
Murphy waiting in her bed completely naked except for a cowboy hat and a
shit-eating grin.
    Muffled, thumping beats from the loud music inside vibrated
through the concrete steps leading to the club entrance. A set of glass doors
blocked out with blood-red paint seemed to offer a warning to those thinking of
opening them.
    A sense of foreboding sent an icy chill over Tatum’s skin.
She studied the building and its ominous doors. Maybe Iron Rods was a poor
choice after all.
    Heather reached into the front pocket of her jeans and
pulled out a wad of bills, then thrust the cash into Tatum’s hand. “Here. This
is for you. I want you to have a really good time tonight.”
    Alarmed, Tatum took a booted step closer, blocking the view
from the street. “Are you out of your mind? Flashing money in this neighborhood
will get us both killed.”
    “Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” the eternal cheerleader hissed
back. “The only person nearby is across the road and asleep on a bus bench.”
    Glancing over her shoulder, Tatum realized her roommate was
right. “Fine. But I don’t need your money.”
    The rolling of Heather’s eyes spoke volumes, including the
fact her rich daddy in Houston would send her bucketloads of cash if she picked
up her phone and asked for it. To her credit, Heather had yet to make that
call.
    “I’ll pay you back.” Tatum tucked the bills into her purse.
“But this place seems pretty dead. Maybe we should go somewhere else.” Like
home, where we can put a pillow over our heads and forget today ever happened.
    “We’re just early.”
    “It’s eleven o’clock.”
    “That just means we won’t have to compete for the dancers’
or the bartenders’ attention. Lucky us, we’ll have more booze and hunky men
than we’ll know what to do with. And,” Heather added, tugging one of the door’s
metal handles, “we’re already here.”
    “Ladies, Ladies! Welcome to Iron Rods,” a chubby Hispanic
bouncer shouted over the deafening roar of the music.
    He pocketed a cell phone and popped off the stool he sat on
with amazing agility. Wearing a ball cap turned backward over extremely short
hair, long denim shorts that reached just below his knees and a T-shirt that
had to be at least a triple X, he looked more like an overgrown kid than a
tough bouncer. Tatum wanted to reach over and pinch one of his chunky cheeks.
    “The party is just getting started and is only gonna get
better now that you two fine chulas are here.” He gyrated his plump body
to the rhythm of the playing song. Without warning, he stopped on a dime, arm
straight in the air and his finger pointed toward the ceiling in a disco pose,
face serious but wholly ridiculous. “IDs, please.”
    Although a wall blocked the view to the bar and the stage,
the club