Beneath the Scars (Masters of the Shadowlands #13)(10)

“You can try, snoopy-pants,” Uzuri said, and a giggle escaped.

Oh, I will. “I better get on home.” Josie rose and set her beer on the table. Somehow, she’d downed it all—and now had a nice buzzing in her veins. She leaned down to hug Uzuri. “I’m glad I got to see you.”

“Me too.”

Josie smiled at Uzuri’s two men. “It was wonderful to meet you both.” She looked at Holt. He was nicer than she’d thought and had good friends. But she still didn’t want her boy around a biker. Her voice cooled slightly. “Holt, thank you for the beer.”

His expression closed off. “Any time.”

Zachary rose to his feet. “I also need to return home. Holt, I’m pleased to see you recuperating so well. You are missed.”

“Good to hear, Z. And no worries about scheduling. I’ll be back next weekend.”

Z, huh? That was a unique kind of nickname.

“Excellent.” The man looked at the Drago cousins.

Max lifted his glass. “We’re on Saturday, Z. See you then.”

Z’s gaze turned to Josie. “I’ll walk you to your door.”

“There’s no need.”

“Of course there is.” He lifted an eyebrow and motioned for her to precede him.

Well, okay then. It seems she had an escort. Here was a man accustomed to providing old-fashioned chivalry—and a man not accustomed to being refused.

To the chorus of goodbyes, she headed out, and Z strolled beside her the short distance to her house next door. In the quiet neighborhood, the ocean breeze rustled the palms that lined the curb.

Under her bright porch light, Z leaned against the wall as she opened the door. She stepped inside and smiled at him. “Thank you for the escort.”

“My pleasure. In fact, your timing was convenient. I want to ask you a question and didn’t want to put you on the spot.”

She stiffened. Seriously? He was going to proposition her?

“No, I’m not making an advance,” he stated, although she hadn’t spoken a word. “How familiar are you with BDSM, Ms. Collier?”

“What?” And he wasn’t making an advance? Right. “What kind of a question is that?”

Even as she tried to formulate a refusal, heat swept over her face. When Carson’s father, Everett, had done kinky stuff, she’d been too timid to say no. And, despite being ashamed of herself, she’d enjoyed some of what he’d done.

But…still, how dare this stranger ask her about something so intimate.

“Ah, I framed that poorly. Forgive me.” Z tilted his head. “However, you didn’t cringe, which is a start.”

She frowned. There was absolutely no appropriate response to that observation.

His lips quirked. “As it happens, I own a BDSM club that is open only on Fridays and Saturdays. Since the club is private, alcohol is provided as part of the membership fees. Previously, one volunteer handled most of the bartending, but he recently married. Right now, we’re coping with a number of members who don’t enjoy the work.”

Wait, what? “Are you offering me a job? In a BDSM club?” Her voice came out sounding like someone had smacked her in the throat.

“That’s exactly what I’m proposing.” He had a lethal grin when he chose to use it. “Most BDSM clubs don’t allow alcohol on the premises. On the other hand, I wanted the Shadowlands to be a community as well as a place to scene, and people enjoy socializing over drinks. However, since alcohol can adversely affect BDSM play, the club has a two-drink limit, and my preference is that those two drinks happen after a scene. Most people are quite careful about indulging, however…”

“The world abounds with idiots,” she finished for him. “I understand. The bartender would have to monitor that. Why me?”

“I watched you work at The Highlands. You have an excellent memory for customers’ likes and dislikes. You’re polite, friendly, and careful. I saw how you assured yourself that our women weren’t driving themselves home.” He regarded her, his tone serious. “A BDSM club can be somewhat overwhelming. Our members, however, are more polite and less…aggressive…than a bar’s clientele.”

A BDSM club. Oh. My. God.

Yet it was a job. After years of working in bars, she had a good instinct for people—at least when they didn’t look like a Hell’s Angels’ version of Thor. This Z had been polite and straightforward. Uzuri and her men were friends with him. He wasn’t giving her any iffy vibes.

She pulled in a slow breath. “Friday and Saturday?”

“Exactly. The club opens at 8 pm and, since it’s not a bar, we remain open as long as people are playing. Although scenes are generally finished by three or so, there have been occasions when we closed at dawn.”

“Wow.” On the other hand, she’d get in a lot of hours.

“You wouldn’t collect tips. Drinks are part of the membership fees, and no one carries money in the club.”

Oh no. Tips were where she made her money. “That wouldn’t—”

He held up his hand to cut in. “The club will pay you thirty-five an hour.”

She blinked and multiplied hours in her head. There had been a few busy nights at the Highlands where she’d made that amount…but not many. “You’re on.”