Chapter 6: Anger and Arousal
Sarah
The neon sign above the strip club door isn't on. The club was clearly closed, but I burst through the door anyway. Thankfully, the door was unlocked.
My eyes dart wildly, ignoring the staff members' curious glances, my mind focused on one goal: finding my unruly husband.
A middle-aged woman with bottle-blonde hair and hard eyes approaches. "We're not open yet, sweetheart," she says. "Come back in another four hours."
"Where is he?" I demand, my voice sharper than I intend. The woman's eyebrows shoot up.
"Whoa there, sweetheart," she says. "Who exactly are you looking for, and what's your business with him?"
I swallow hard, fighting back the urge to scream. "Matthew," I manage. "Matthew Jameson. I need to see him now."
The owner's eyes narrow. "And who might you be?" she asks, her voice laced with suspicion.
I take a deep breath, steeling myself. "I'm his wife," I say, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. "Sarah Wilson-Jameson. And I don't care what he's told you or anyone else. I have every right to see my husband."
The woman's expression shifts, and I see pity on her face. She sighs, running a hand through her graying hair. "Look," she begins, her voice softening slightly. "I don't know what's going on between you two, but maybe this isn't the best—"
"Tell me where he is," I interrupt curtly."