Mischief in Miami Read Online Free PDF Page A

doors in this instance. So, knowing what I did of their many/often needs, my job was to let them assume they could have me. I had to provide exactly the right amount of flirt, say just the right thing to lead them to believe they had a chance in this life and their next to bang me. It was an exact science.
    As I approached, I met each of their gazes, gave them a just-barely parted-mouth smile, and added a bit more sway to my step.
    The rope was open for me before I’d set foot on the black and gold tile leading up to the club’s entrance.
    Young men were so easy. Child’s play, really.
    Once I was inside the club, I understood what all the fuss was about. It was like Disneyland for adults. The Pleasure Room had two floors. The stage was a large square in the center of the room, sectioned off into four individual stages where different dancers performed. A bar area was set up at each end of the room. The rest of the space on the first floor was dance floor, while the second floor looked to mainly be for seating.
    Everyone had a smile on their face and a drink in their hand. Everyone was dancing and celebrating like it was the party to end all parties. Everyone was there for a good time. Everyone except for me—I was there to work.
    I milled about the room searching for Mr. Silva. He’d be somewhere on the floor. I knew nightclub owners like him from two Errands I’d worked before. They were the kind of men who didn’t want to be locked up in an office when the party was happening a floor below them. They were the kind of men who liked to be seen and wanted to be recognized. They thrived off of it.
    It was also what they expected, and the best way to get a man’s attention was to lead with the unexpected.
    I finally saw him. As expected, he was in the middle of a little entourage. All of them were women, and most of them were dancers. He was laughing and touching and charming, just as I’d expected, decked out in a dark blue suit with just enough sheen that the dim light of the club made him stand out from the next guy in a suit. The wedding ring was missing from his left hand, just like every last one of my former Targets. His teeth were fake, as was his tan, but the gleam in his eyes—that predatory, I-take-what-I-want-when-I-want-it—was real. The most real thing about him.
    I tipped my shoulders back a bit, arched my back ever so slightly, and started toward Mr. Silva and his female entourage. How would I stand out amongst the couple dozen beautiful women staggered around him?
    I would be the only one ignoring him.
    Ten more feet and I’d make eye contact for no more than a second or two. Just long enough for him to know I’d noticed him and would keep walking. All men loved the chase and wanted what they couldn’t have, but men like Mr. Silva were at the top of the food chain in that department.
    I could tell he’d noticed me from the corner of his eyes, and his gaze was just shifting when someone stepped in front of me.
    “Damn, now I understand why this is called The Pleasure Room,” the young man decked out in a cheap suit said, staring at me with a sideways smile as he fitted his hands to my hips. I knew the look he was giving me had done a job on plenty of women, but I had a built-in B.S. detector when it came to all things male.
    I glowered up at him. “And you’re about to know it as The Punishment Room from tonight on if you don’t get your hands off of me.” The guy was big and built, just like ninety-nine percent of the meatheads wandering down Ocean Drive on South Beach, but G made sure to include self-defense training in our Eve education. I knew just where to punch, poke, and prod at a guy to bring him to his knees.
    Captain Meathead obviously didn’t have a lot going on upstairs because his one-sided smile only shifted higher. He lowered his mouth to my ear. “I like when a girl talks dirty. It makes me imagine the filthy things she’ll be cursing up at me when I’m between her