hypnotized.
“WHOOOOOAAAA!” His friends whooped and hollered as they crowded around the stage and tossed bills of every denomination onto the stage.
Marc’s mind spun like a pinwheel while money rained down on him and this goddess of the stripper pole like they were in their own little money globe.
Delicious bent over at the waist, giving him a better view of just where her mysterious gold string disappeared to before effortlessly making both cheeks clap.
The erotic applause made Marc tug at his collar. Even though the sucker was already open, it still felt as if it was choking him. Completely wiped clean from his mind were any thoughts of the woman he was going to marry tomorrow. In that moment, all that mattered was Delicious. She gave Marc an erection so hard that he swore he could feel his inseams popping.
Marc turned his head, while his jaw elongated and his hands trembled with want.
“Your boy is looking like Gollum up there,” Xavier chuckled.
Jeremy turned with his fingers creeping toward Eamon’s face. “Precious. I must have the precious booty.”
Eamon swatted Jeremy’s hands away from his face and then rolled his eyes. “Grow up.”
That just succeeded in making Jeremy laugh. “Testy. Maybe we should arrange a private lap dance for you, as well. You need to relax.” He put his hands on Eamon’s shoulders and started rubbing. Since he didn’t know what he was doing, the shoulder rub hurt like hell.
“Will you two just spit it out. What the hell do you want before this fool lands me on a chiropractor’s table?” He shrugged Jeremy’s hand off his shoulder, but then turned in time to catch his younger brothers sharing a look. “What?”
Xavier sucked in a deep breath. “Maybe we should talk about this in the office?”
Eamon frowned as a ball of anxiety picked up speed in his chest. “It’s that bad?”
His brothers stood mute blinking at him.
Cursing under his breath, Eamon cast a quick glance back at the stage. Delicious had Marc’s face planted in between her chests while she slapped both cheeks with her fresh-out-the-box silicon-filled breasts. When she finally pulled his head back again so that he could breathe, Marc looked like he was in love.
“Another satisfied customer,” Eamon chuckled. But when he looked back up at his brothers that ball started rolling again. “C’mon. Let’s go to the office.”
The three Kings exited the V.I.P room and entered the main floor of the club where it looked as if they had a full house. Prince’s old-school jam “Get Off” pumped through the mounted speakers while seven of his hottest women on seven different stages worked golden stripper poles while their customers rained money on them.
As the Kings traveled down the glass staircase, a harem of belly-dancing strippers were coming up for the bachelor party’s next set. Eamon plastered on a smile as he glanced down at his watch. “Running late, ladies.”
The women gave him meek apologetic smiles as they continued running up the stairs. At the bottom, Azizi, an African beauty with gorgeous coal-black skin, waited with a sly grin…and a goat.
“Now that’s something you don’t see every day,” Xavier said with mild amusement.
The brothers stood on the side of the staircase so that Azizi and the goat could climb up. Right behind her were a dozen dwarfish women, no more than three and a half feet tall, dressed in two-piece black cat costumes with furry ears.
The look on Jeremy’s face was priceless. “What kind of freaks are you hosting tonight?”
“The kind whose credit card is approved when I swipe it,” Eamon laughed while he threaded his way through the thick Saturday-night crowd. He could literally hear the ca-ching of the cash registers as he watched the army of bartenders, waitresses and dancers scurry about.
The success of The Dollhouse defied the odds and baffled all their competitors—not only in Atlanta, but also in Las Vegas and Los Angeles. But the Kings believed, as their father had always taught them, that the fundamentals were what made success: vision, integrity, talent and communication. After that was location, location, location—marketing, marketing, marketing—and cash, cash, cash.
That last part—the money—was particularly hard. When Xavier and Jeremy first approached Eamon about expanding their small adult nightclub and laid out an impressive business plan, he was skeptical. The normal movers and shakers who did what his brothers were suggesting usually came from old money. They argued about it for so long that he finally tossed up his hands and told his brothers that if they could find the money to finance their grand fantasy, then he would go along.
He should have never underestimated Xavier and Jeremy. They could sell condoms to a nun if they set their minds to it. In this scenario, Eamon was the nun.
Unfortunately, their new financier came straight from another branch of the family tree, the branch that Eamon didn’t particularly care for—the Hintons.
Correction. He actually didn’t mind Jonas and Sterling so much. They were solid, hardworking men who didn’t put on airs or walk around like they were better than everyone else. However, his Uncle Roger and his cousin Quentin were his least favorite and for different reasons.
Uncle Roger, billionaire extraordinaire, tended to walk around, thinking that everyone had a price tag on them. There was no deal too dirty and no trickery or underhanded tactic that was beneath him. In fact, the only time that Eamon had ever felt a little sorry for his cousin Quentin was when his uncle bribed him into marrying some business associate’s daughter so he could better position himself on the company’s board. It was no shock that Quentin took the money. After all he’d been cut off financially by his father in a feeble attempt to force him to grow up and support himself. But Q was accustomed to a certain lifestyle, and he was immune to the whole notion of actually working. So after about a year of roaming from one sugar momma to the next, he jumped at his father’s offer.
It came as no surprise that the marriage didn’t last, but Q reclaimed his inheritance. So when Xavier approached him with his business proposal, a deal was struck. The Kings and one Hinton became business partners provided that Quentin Hinton remained a silent partner.
“Hello, Eamon,” a feminine voice floated in between the music.
He stopped and looked down just as a woman’s slim hand slid up his broad chest. When he shifted his gaze to the hand’s owner, he was pleasantly surprised to see Charelle. His lips stretched wider at the short, red number she had on. It showed off her long, lean and toned physique to perfection. “Hello, Charelle.”
“Ah. So you do remember me?” She moved closer and pressed her small curves against him. “You know, six months is a long time not to hear from someone.”
He laughed while his gaze dragged down her body. “If I remember correctly, you were the one who left town.”
Charelle’s cherry-red lips curled higher. “Silly man, you were supposed to chase after me.” Her hands and arms looped around his neck. “Don’t you know when a woman is playing hard to get?”
Behind him, Xavier and Jeremy chuckled. “Actually, I do,” Eamon said, reaching behind his neck and, gently
