Hunt and Prey (Kelsey's Burden Series Book 8), Kaylie Hunter [best motivational books txt] 📗

floor beneath my feet. A middle-aged man wearing a suit, his tie still noosed around his neck, danced tight against my back. In front, a younger man—likely still in college—shimmied as he bunched his t-shirt, exposing his ripped abs. I smiled at the younger man as I lifted my arms to rest my wrists against the tops of his shoulders as we gyrated our bodies together. Working out on the dance floor beat the hell out of any elliptical bike or stair climber.

My skin, damp from hours of dancing, tingled as the air-conditioned current squeezed between the bodies to reach me. I didn’t mind the heat, though. After years of being a cop and having to wear polyester pants during numerous heatwaves, I was used to it.

The young buck in front of me grazed his hand across my breast. I knocked it away and continued to dance. The man behind me skated his fingers up my left thigh. That was my cue to move on. Slipping away into the thick crowd, I relocated to the other side of the dance floor where a bridal party was whooping it up. The bride took an interest and started to dance with me. I didn’t mind dancing with a woman—though it did nothing for me. I continued to dance with her for two more songs, before disappearing again, this time moving toward the VIP elevator. It was getting late and the crowd was reaching that handsy stage of intoxication.

As I approached the elevator, I smiled at the security guard. Without turning, he reached back and pushed the up button. His eyes, though, narrowed at something behind me. Glancing back, I saw that Mr. Suit and Tie had followed. I shook my head no to the guard. He squared off to block the guy as I stepped into the elevator. And although it was mean, I waved at Mr. Suit and Tie as the elevator doors closed.

“You’ve been dancing for three hours without pause. Bad day?” Baker’s voice asked over the elevator intercom.

Baker was the manager and part owner of the club. Since I was one of his silent partners, he kept close tabs on me from the security cameras when I visited.

“Watching me again, Baker?” I answered, smiling up at the camera. “We talked about your stalker tendencies. They’re creepy—even in a sex club.”

“If you didn’t want men watching you, you shouldn’t wear a barely-there red dress.”

I looked down at my dress and laughed. The halter top wrapped around my neck, leaving my entire back exposed. In the front, the fabric folded in vertical layers over my breasts, leaving the skin between exposed to my navel. The dress was short, but not so short I had to worry about sitting. And the heels that matched were flashy, but had arches that molded to my feet. “I do look hot.”

Baker’s laugh echoed off the elevator walls. “And you sound vain.”

“It’s not vanity. It’s knowing how to dress to fit your body.”

“And thankfully you have a body that’s also good for business. Every man and most of the women couldn’t take their eyes off you.”

The elevator opened on level three, otherwise known as The Parlor, and I held my hand out to keep the doors open. “Are you coming down from your tower for a drink?”

“Give me ten minutes or so. I have some activity I’m monitoring in one of the rooms that might need my interference. In the meantime, check on Evie for me.”

I looked across the room to the bar. Evie was one of the weekend bartenders and was currently serving a drink to a guy. “Why? She seems fine.”

“She always seems fine. Just keep an eye on her.”

“Whatever.” I stepped through the doors.

The first and second floors of the building were open to the public, that was, if you arrived early to stand in line for an hour and security deemed you worthy of entering at all. The long line down the block allowed for them to be picky. The Parlor, an oversized bar with deep leather booths, fancy chandeliers, and five-star service, was for members only and took up most of the third floor. One entire wall was made of glass and overlooked a section of the dance floor two levels down.

The fourth and fifth floors, well… Those consisted of all kinds of naughty sexual play and would cost most people a small fortune to access. And because the laws changed so regularly as to what was legal and what could land our asses in prison, Baker had a lawyer who monitored all city and state regulations. Since I was a business partner who was also a cop, Baker always kept things clearly on the side of legal and didn’t push the boundaries too hard. The legal boundaries at least. The moral boundaries were the reason I kept my ownership status private, especially when I was in uniform.

Since my first job delivering newspapers, I’d pooled my money with Kelsey in various investments. She had a knack for knowing which businesses would turn a profit. By the time we partnered with Baker, we were able to buy the entire building, renovating each floor as the club’s success grew.

The Outer Layer, as the club was named, became one of Miami’s hotspots for dancing and the upper floors became the place to go for the rich and perverted. And while I enjoyed being a cop, my financial freedom allowed me to take regular leaves from work to spend my time pursuing other interests as I saw fit.

“Good evening, Ms. Harrison,” Evie greeted me as I approached the bar.

She placed a crystal glass filled with ice water on top of a coaster in front of the end stool where I typically sat. Even with two security guards in the room and numerous cameras, I still lacked the ability to sit with my back