Stripping a Steele

by Elizabeth Knox

  I hear him take a step closer to me until his chest is on my back. He takes his hand and brings a misplaced curl behind my ear, pressing his lips to it. “If you think you can run away from me tonight, Cinderella, you’re sadly mistaken.”

  I turn my head slightly to the right, and his lips are against my jawbone. I can feel his breath, hot and heavy on my cheek. “Let’s get one thing straight Steele, I walked away from you.”

  “Is that right?” He counters, turning me towards him. I should be offended at the way he just grabbed my arm like I was nothing but an object in this crowded room. Instead, my heart is beating fast in my chest, excitement rushing through my veins. I encountered a lot of interesting situations since working at Russo’s, but never did I ever think that I’d come face to face with Christian Steele, and to see him here of all places. My, how life loves to fuck with me.

  “You ran away like a scared little girl the second you found out who I was. Let’s not play this game,” he hisses out, and then it hits me – he’s furious that I walked away from him. I giggle, not able to hold it back. This man has never, ever had a woman walk away from him.

  “Darling, we aren’t playing games. I’m just not getting involved with anyone, especially a Steele.” I spit his last name out like it’s poison. If you’ve lived in Atlanta, you know what the tabloids say about the Steeles. How they run the most lucrative businesses in Atlanta, how they help keep our city afloat and bring out the better parts of the community. And then you’d talk to the people who live here, who are both grateful for the Steeles putting money back into the community but know exactly what they’re doing, or more so, they know the rumors about the Steeles.

  Only, I know that these aren’t rumors. There’s no way to prove that the Steeles are slimy snakes, but they are. They’re about as helpful as any gang in the city, especially since they run all of their guns for them. Hell, they’re probably tied up with the cartel too.

  Christian snickers at me, those pearly whites flash and I’m almost a goner. “Cinderella, you don’t get it.”

  “I’m not your Cinderella,” I snap.

  “You are. You’re my Cinderella, you’re already involved with me, and that’s what you don’t get. You want me to stop calling you that? Give me your name, and not your stage name.” I gape open my mouth at his bluntness. I do not belong to Christian Steele, and never will I.

  “Fuck you,” I hiss.

  “Oh, I plan on it.”

  I grab the drinks that Bunny slides next to me on the bar and walk across the club to where I see Matteo sitting. Gently I place them on the table. “Mr. Varca,” I say smoothly, offering my best smile. “I heard you and your friends were in the mood for a dance tonight.”

  “You heard right, dear. Jordan?” Matteo looks to the man sitting across from him. He’s taken a sip of the whiskey I’ve just placed in front of him and smiles coolly at me.

  “I’m actually on my way out, it seems I have a bit of work to do and fast.” He rises, extends his hand which Matteo accepts and they both shake. The other man swiftly walks away to the double doors that lead into Russo’s and is gone.

  “Well, get to work,” Matteo growls at me, and I do.

  I take his hand and lead him over to one of the lap dance chairs we have in the back. They’re made to be a little private, but open enough to where if we needed help from one of the bouncers we could get it.

  Matteo takes a seat in the chair before us, we’re in a small room with a curtain that’s open a few feet away, on both sides of us are two walls, and like this small cubby, there are others just like it surrounding us.

  I listen to the beat of the music, swaying my hips with the bass, grinding my body seductively up against his like I was trained – something that I do well. It’s as if I get lost in the music, and that’s exactly how I’ve been able to do this for so long. I don’t think about what I’m doing, I become one with the music that is pounding through the speakers, matching my movements with every beat.

  Matteo slides his hands over my hips, and I smack them away. “No touching,” I tell him, still continuing with my routine. I roll my hips over him, gasping when he palms my ass.

  “I touch whatever I feel like touching, girl.” I turn around to face him, but before I can he has his fist entangled in my hair. “Is that understood?” He tugs, enough to make it uncomfortable but not enough to get me to bend to his will. I am not some pussy little bitch that will roll over if he orders to.

  I watch as Matteo goes for his pants, he yanks out a wad of cash and shoves it in my bra. “You will do whatever I want you to do. That is what I pay for. Did Frankie not tell you?” He hisses is out like a snake who’s caught its prey.

  Matteo pulls my hair hard, down towards his face. He crushes my lips against his and kisses me roughly. I want to vomit the second his lips touch mine. I can taste his awful breath, the fish that he must’ve eaten for dinner. It’s recoiling.

  “I. Pay. For. You.” He snarls it out as he tears his lips away, pushing my head down further until my face is level with his crotch. He moves his hips against my face, I can feel his cock becoming harder under his slacks.

  I weigh my options. I could scream, I know I can. The bouncers would come in, and I know that, but this isn’t the average customer. Fuck, this is no average man. This is Matteo Varca. He’s affiliated with the Italians, I don’t know how – to be honest, I’ve never paid enough attention to care, but I can’t help but overhear what the other girls say. God, he helped Russo build this place. Fuck, he still helps Frankie! With what I don’t know, I just know that I could lose my job, which would result in me losing everything.

  I can’t do that.

  I can’t lose anything else. Haven’t I had enough taken from me?

  Suddenly he pulls my hair backwards, until he’s standing, causing me to rise up with him. I can’t hide the yelp that passes through my lips. One hand is firm against my head, tangled within my locks, and the other is shoving my body against the wall until he goes lower and slides his hand under my panties. I feel him as he moves his hand over my ass cheek, drifting lower until he’s sticking his fingers inside of my dry heat. “Not wet? I can change that.”

  Matteo loosens his hand in my hair, pulls it free and sticks his fingers in my mouth. He moves around roughly, collecting as much saliva as he can before he rips my panties off and sticks his other hand inside of me. I yelp at the sudden intrusion, biting my lip, wanting this violation to be over as soon as possible.

  I’m grinding my teeth, clenching as hard as I can so I won’t cry. I’m thinking of anything that I can, taxes, bills, the Falcons score. Never in my years of working here has anything close to this ever happened. And then it hits me, it all suddenly makes sense to why I was given the dressing room. And like a round of bullets, it sinks in, I was given that room because of this reason exactly. Rumor has it, Frankie was the last one with that room.

  It was all making sense to me now.

  Fuck. How could I be so dumb? How?!

  His fingers plunge in and out of me hard and fast. I’m completely dry yet Matteo shoves his hand violently in my mouth over and over again to try to get me wet. I won’t be. I’m not turned on by this at all. “You’re just like her. She didn’t like it either, not in the beginning, at least. Now she begs for my cock, you should’ve seen her face when I asked for her best girl, turns out you’re the best.” I hear his zipper go and that’s when I freak out. I buck and move as much as I can but it’s no use, he shoves me flat against the wall until I’m pinned, unable to move whatsoever. His palm is pushing between my shoulder blades, a force so hard that I want to cry out. I can feel his cock against my lips, in one swift moment he’s inside me. As he slips inside me, he slides his hand over my mouth, and I scream, as much as I tried not to. I did. I couldn’t help it. Muffled cries slip past me, with each thrust the tears flood over my cheeks in a wave of emotion.

  I’ve had so much taken from me in my life, so much that had happened that I
wasn’t prepared for. This is just something that’s added to the list. He chuckles at me, moving in and out. I’m defeated, sobs slowly escaping past my lips, tears flowing over my cheeks.

  “This is so damned good!” He growls out.

  I don’t hear anything, everything goes quiet for a moment, Matteo stops thrusting inside of me, and I collapse to the ground, unable to support myself, unable to make the slightest movement. I can’t bare it, the embarrassment, the horror, the…guilt. I drag my nails against the aged wallpaper and cry, it’s all that I can do.

  I was wrong before, everything wasn’t taken from me. Not yet at least.

  Matteo Varca just took the last thing that was important to me.

  My virginity.

  Chapter 6

  Christian

  From the first moment I had met her, I knew she was a spitfire. What kind of woman glares at me, turns up her perfect little nose, and walks away? Yeah, I know I said she ran away. She didn’t. I just liked lighting a fire under her ass. I never knew what I was going to get from her, and somehow, I didn’t think that would ever change.

  I watch her clear as day strut over to where Matteo is seated with Jordan, watch her every move. From the moment she bends over in that sweet, sexy, little thing and hands them their drinks until I see Jordan rising from his seat unexpectedly. I’d just spoken with him not even five minutes prior, and he agreed to stay for at least another hour. Something has changed, I don’t know what, but I can, for some reason, feel the alarm bells ringing deep in the pit of my stomach, telling me that whatever it is, it isn’t good.

  He beelines for the door. Instinctually, I follow him, knowing that there is a reason for his sudden change in plans. We are both outside the doors of Russo’s when he pulls me around the corner to the side of the building.

  “Yo, what the fuck?!” I snap. No one touches me, not even my fucking brothers.

  “Yo? What are you in, third grade?” Jordan hisses, pulling his phone out from his pocket and focusing on the screen. His eyes don’t waver as he continues to speak. “Varca is a fucking snake. The bastard thinks I won’t do my homework? Who does he think we are? Some punks off the side of the street who will do his bidding! We’re the Steeles. The fucking Steeles! And he thinks we’re dumb enough to steal guns from Gabriele DiGiovanni.”

  I listen to what my brother tells me, there is no element of shock here. Matteo has always been a sleazy man, it’s why I’ve never once trusted him. We have done business in the past together to maintain our good relationship with Gabriele, but if his relationship with Gabriele has burned to ashes, it means we have no reason to be doing business with Matteo. Good riddance if you ask me. Let’s fry this little fish if it means we catch the big one.

  “I’ve been texting with Lorenzo, he told me that Gabriele and Varca have…ended their relationship. Arielle doesn’t have the hit out on Varca.” Before Jordan even finishes, I already know what he’s about to say. “Gabriele does.”

  My, my. How the tides have changed.

  “Care to elaborate on why Gabriele DiGiovanni put a hit on low life fucking scum like Varca?” This can’t be something small. There’s a reason Varca has the guillotine hanging over his head, and I plan to find out exactly why.

  “You know as well as I do that the DiGiovannis do not air their dirty laundry, and I can smell Varca from here. Whatever it is, it isn’t something small. He had to have fucked over Gabriele good to land him an open contract with the Arcane.”

  The Arcane.

  The Arcane is a group of hitmen and women or assassins. They’re the best in the world, and only the highest paid open contracts are listed with the Arcane. Some would tell you that the Arcane isn’t real, but I can tell you first hand that our dark world is very, very real. If you’ve managed to get yourself a spot on that list, you have done one of two things:

  1. Cross the wrong person.

  2. Done something dirty, and most likely, malicious.

  There is absolutely no doubt in my mind that Varca has not only done one but both of those things. I can’t help but wonder exactly what he has done. I suppose it doesn’t matter, though, it’s only a matter of time until I find out what exactly he has done to get his head on the chopping block. After all, I’m a Steele, which means that I’m one persistent mother fucker.

  “I’m shocked you haven’t asked me yet,” Jordan says to me clear as day, lifting his eyes from his phone.

  “Haven’t asked you what?” I inquire, wondering where Jordan is coming from.

  “You haven’t asked me his contract price,” he says with a smile. “I’m surprised that you didn’t ask me. I’m also wondering why you’re letting him be alone with your Cinderella, the girl that you raved on to me for months about. It’s the first time you’ve seen her since the art exhibit opening, and you’re outside talking to me about business, leaving her alone with him, yeah?”

  I don’t utter a single word, instead, I turn on my heel and head back towards the door into Russo’s.

  “Three billion.”

  I turn my head back to look at my brother. Three billion isn’t chump change. The highest hit I’ve seen on that list was for a little over one billion, and that was last year. A hit was put out on Mariana Vasile, the queen of the Romanian Mob. To put a three billion dollar hit out on Varca, well, I am interested, to say the least.

  “I’m not a hitman.”

  “You and I both know that’s a lie.” I don’t give him a second to finish saying what we both know is true. I pull open the double doors to Russo’s and walk back in. My brothers and I aren’t too close. It’s odd. We’re family, so they know me, as they should. However, Jordan and Logan don’t understand the things that go on inside of my head. The fucked up, demented thoughts that plague my mind every single day. I smile, proud of myself for manipulating the tabloids into thinking I’m simply just a spoiled, bratty, little manwhore of a party boy. My brothers get to peek past the surface of who I really am, but no one else gets that special preview of my life. I have to wonder if anyone ever will see me for who I am, monsters and all.

  The thing about Jordan is that he thinks he knows everything about everyone, including me. Ever since I was a wee tyke he’s always been that way. When I think hard about it, Logan is too. Deep down, Jordan thinks that he knows me, but his ideas about his baby brother are figments of his imagination. He knows that I’m dark, but I can guarantee you that he is only seeing the tip of the iceberg. I learned a lot from my father, we may not have had the best relationship, but he taught me the important lessons in life. “Never reveal your cards, Christian. It’s the first way that your success will come tumbling down. You hold your hand close to your heart, and you don’t make rash decisions. You think, and you calculate. You make everyone believe what you want them to, and that my boy, is how you stay above everyone else.” I can hear my father’s words, a lesson he gave me when I couldn’t have been older than eight years old. To this day, I will always remember that lesson, as powerful as it has been – I still follow his advice.

  I walk further into the club, squinting as my eyes adjust to the numerous flashing neon lights. There’s a new girl on stage, blonde with big tits. All of the men around her are tossing dollars in every direction. She smiles seductively down at each one of them, blowing kisses. I smirk, admiring the manipulation that the girls throw around here. They’re like me in a sense, calculating, knowing exactly what to do to get more money thrown their way. I admire each and every one of them for that.

  I turn my attention to the right where I was seated with Varca and Jordan, and, scoping the room I don’t see him, nor my Cinderella.

  A short, red headed woman walks by. I reach out and touch her arm lightly. “Where are the lap dances held?”

  “If you wanted a dance big boy all you had to do was ask,” she purrs, giving me a wink for good measure.

  “Sorry, sweetheart, I’m looking for Star.” I almost laugh at the way the little red’s face scrunches up as if I’ve jus
t insulted her. I knew nothing about strippers besides the obvious. They take off their clothes, they get paid. It did strike me as odd, however, that when my Cinderella had her time on stage she was getting nasty looks from her peers. I’ll have to talk to her about that later after she begins to warm up to me the way she needs to.

  A muffled cry tears my attention from the red head before me to the back of the club. I don’t think as I move past the tables, pushing my way through patrons and employees. I direct my eyes to my surroundings, noticing that some of the girls look to the back. Whatever that was, they heard it too.

  Before I know it, I’m back in a room with small cubby-like dividers, each one with black walls to each side and a long purple curtain hanging down in the front. Quickly, I glance through them, until I come closer and closer to the broken-down sobs. I see her on the floor, leaning against the wall, her back to me. Those long raven locks are a tangled mess. It doesn’t take me more than a nanosecond to realize that’s Cinderella. My Cinderella, on the floor, making sounds that would have been coming out from a wounded animal.

  I glance around quickly, looking for anyone nearby. I don’t see a damn thing, it’s just her and I in this part of the club.

  My blood boils as I want to know exactly why she’s sobbing uncontrollably like this, it’s then when I glance over her body slowly that I notice her panties are gone. I take a moment, sucking in a long deep breath and exhaling slowly before I approach her, knowing that I could easily frighten her right now. I won’t know exactly what happened until she verbally tells me, but it doesn’t take a genius, you just have to simply put two and two together.