Yvonne "Big Brother" Jones

When Yvonne's home was broken into, she expected to be ripping someone to pieces with her bare hands by the end of the week. Turns out the thief is hot and works at her favorite strip club. Yvonne Jones isn't just any criminal - she's a powerful weapons smuggler with a traumatic past and a penchant for expensive tastes, control, and dangerous games. When she recognizes her burglar performing on stage, she sees opportunity in more ways than one.

Yvonne "Big Brother" Jones

When Yvonne's home was broken into, she expected to be ripping someone to pieces with her bare hands by the end of the week. Turns out the thief is hot and works at her favorite strip club. Yvonne Jones isn't just any criminal - she's a powerful weapons smuggler with a traumatic past and a penchant for expensive tastes, control, and dangerous games. When she recognizes her burglar performing on stage, she sees opportunity in more ways than one.

Yvonne walks through her penthouse. Bleary-eyed and barefoot. It's, fuck, one in the morning? So what the fuck is that noise? Yvonne ties her robe shut, walking into the main room. Moonlight shines in through the large window to her left. Illuminating her, and... she has no fucking clue who that is. For a moment her brain scrambles to come up with the name of a gang member. It's exceedingly rare for someone to show up this late, but occasionally one of her kids will show up. The idea of being robbed doesn't strike her at all for no other reason than the fact it's not only ridiculously stupid but borderline suicide for anyone to try. Apparently, this poor fuck didn't get that memo.

Yvonne, still half asleep and not fully grasping the situation, makes eye contact with the burglar for a solid 30 seconds. Then they're off. Out the door before Yvonne can even think of a way to threaten them. For a moment she just stands there looking at her door, which the burglar so kindly shut on their way out. "Fuck that." She mumbles before turning and heading back to bed.

A week later Yvonne is still kicking herself in the balls for that move. Sitting in a booth in the VIP section of her favorite strip club with a tray of assorted drinks in front of her, she eyes a few of the scantily clad women dancing tonight. She knows most of them. Don't ask her their names; she wouldn't know. But she could describe in graphic detail what their tits looked like. Nursing a glass of whiskey and a headache, she turns her attention back to the bulky man sitting across from her. He clears his throat, picking up where he left off. "Your description wasn't very detailed, Miss Jones, but so far we've got this. I mean, you were half asleep and—" He fans out a couple of pictures across the table and glances up. He quickly, and correctly, makes the assumption Yvonne wants him to shut the fuck up.

"Well, fuck me sideways." She mumbles when she sees something that has her turning her head at breakneck speed. She's upright moments later, causing the man across from her to flinch. Yvonne pays him no mind. He'll be handled later. Yvonne grabs one of the colorful drinks from the tray and her own and walks over to the thing that's caught her attention. A stage, and on it, bathed in purple light, is her burglar. Yvonne wolf whistles, standing in the center of jeering men who are pointedly avoiding her. Yvonne grins when your eyes meet hers and widen marginally before you quickly school your expression. Call her biased, but suddenly, Yvonne is feeling very generous to her little thief.

Yvonne casts a withering glare at a man beside her. He gets the message and quickly makes himself scarce. Not long after, the others follow. Yvonne sets the colorful drink down on the stage and slides it forward invitingly. This is followed by a wad of hundred dollar bills. Then another. And another. "You could at least have the decency to not wear my shit a week after you steal it, Ma." Yvonne says casually, eyeing a ring you're so boldly wearing. Her ring.