Sing Me a Song (Sacrificial Lambs Book 1)

by C. A. Rene

  "Save a horse, ride a cowgirl?" I ask him.

  His mouth twitches with the beginning of a grin and I chuckle. It's the most I've ever gotten him to smile.

  Big & Rich's Save a Horse starts playing on the sound system and Mouth-our MC-growls into the mic.

  "It's that time again, folks." He croons. "She's oiled, she's primed, and you best believe she's going to be leaving this stage wet."

  "Ew," I mutter. "Can he be any skeevier?"

  "Yeah, he can." Freight nods, his voice deep.

  The lights drop low and fog begins to rise from under the stage, slowly rolling over it.

  "Tempest Skeigh." Mouth moans over the mic and I gag.

  I part the curtain and slowly strut out on stage, my hat low covering my upper face. I walk right up to the edge and see feet below me, looks like I've brought in enough to occupy the front row. I slowly rotate my hips back, running my hand down my torso and over my mound. Then the music picks up and I grab my pussy, gyrating into my hand as I throw my hat out to the crowd. One of the bar hop girls will grab it for me later.

  My jet-black hair tumbles in waves down my back as I swing around and drop to my knees. I let my legs slowly slide apart, giving them a full show of my ass and pussy, then leisurely crawl towards the pole. A few men call out and some whistle as I reach up for the pole, dragging myself to standing.

  I twirl around it once and then stop, the pole at my back and my back to the crowd. I arch and press my ass against the steel, letting the pole glide between my ass cheeks. The cool metal meets the sensitive skin between my cheeks as I gradually drop forward and twerk my ass against the pole.

  The crowd erupts with hoots and hollers, as the paper bills hit the stage. It doesn't take much to gain a man's attention, the work comes with trying to keep it, and that is what's made me so damn popular.

  I turn around and shoot the crowd a wink as I rotate my wrist above my head, like I'm readying a lasso. I run my other hand back down my torso and flick open the button on the front.

  "Please fuck me, beautiful." An older man pants at the front of the stage.

  Not a cold chance in Hell, I throw him a wink anyways, and grin when I see him toss a couple hundred-dollar bills on the stage.

  I bend over as I push my chaps down my legs, giving the crowd an ample look at my perky tits, and stand up to step out of them. Then I hold my hands up towards the ceiling and rotate my hips seductively, like I'm riding a cock.

  I feel my barely there scrap of material wedge up and between my pussy lips. I squat down, opening my legs wide, and begin to hump forward. By now, the men have basically seen my pussy, all except that glistening hole, and that's what has them focused. They want to catch a glimpse and they refuse to look away in case they miss it.

  I come back up, moving my body in a seductive wave as I untie the strings on the back of my bikini top. I pull it off, dropping it to the stage, and grip my tits in my hands.

  I don't know why, it’s just a feeling of being pulled, like I have lost control of my eyes, and suddenly I am looking out past the crowd towards the back booths where four men sit. They don't look like our usual patrons, they aren't wearing suits, no leather cuts, and certainly not a badge. No, these men are dressed in oversized hoodies, the hoods obscuring half their faces, and dark wash jeans.

  I finish my dance and slowly turn, my eyes staying on those four until my back is facing them, and I walk behind the curtain.

  Who the fuck were they? Two of them had long graying beards, like old men, not that that’s weird around here, just that they were giving off younger vibes with their attires.

  “Tempest Skeigh.” Mouth moans into the mic. “She won’t give you a lap dance but she’ll touch that pretty pussy for you.”

  Fucking gross.

  “They’re here.” An arm shoots out of an open door and pulls me into a darkened room.

  “Sky?” It’s her voice, I just don’t know why she’s acting like a weird moron. “Aren’t you off tonight?”

  “Girl, they saw you. They have their eyes set on you.” She sounds petrified. “You’re going to be chosen.”

  “Okay, I need you to take several deep breaths and tell me what the fuck is going on.”

  “I know you saw them, everyone notices them when they come in here.” She’s whispering and the grip she has on my arm is lethal.

  “Girl, I need to put some clothes on. It’s cold and you’re clearly high as fuck.” I try to yank my arm out of her grasp.

  “Listen, Temp.” She hauls me in closer. “Don’t do this tonight. Just go home right now, these guys are fucking weird, and I’ve heard strange stories.”

  “Like what?”

  “It’s a long story. Leave with me right now and I’ll tell you everything.” Her nails leave behind red indents in my skin.

  “I spoke to Queen and she said it's no big deal.” I finally unwedge myself from her grip. “Tiny went to one of their events. I don’t know what’s wrong with you!”

  “I warned you, it’s all I can do.” She says and leaves the room.

  I finally see her in the dim light of the corridor, she’s dressed in oversized clothing, and looks unrecognizable.

  The apprehension that skates down my spine has my hair on end and my heart skipping a beat.

  Chapter Three

  Tempest

  The floor length mink coat Carl gave me is tickling my nose and the fact that I’m wearing nothing underneath has me slightly unnerved. I know this is after hours and I know all the same rules don’t apply but I thought pussy was completely off limits.

  Carl assured me they wouldn’t touch but that they like certain things, and one of those things is a bare pussy. Whatever, I don’t care I’ll be leaving here with a couple grand in my pocket and that’s all that matters. Let the fuckers look.

  “Tempest, any particular song you want?” Mouth asks from behind me.

  “I really don’t care.” I shrug. I really don’t. I just snorted enough coke to down a bear, I’m good.

  He stares at me until I raise a brow and then he’s scooting back to his booth.

  “Ready?” Freight asks.

  “Yeah.” I nod. The movement makes my head spin and vision blur.

  Freight pulls back the black curtain and I ascend the three steps to the stage. The room is dimmer than usual and the place feels more intimate as the music plays softly in the background. I saunter to the pole and look out across the room. The place is empty save for a table in the back occupied by those four guys I saw earlier, Carl, and a fifth I haven’t seen before.

  I let the feel of the music move my body and I let go of any thoughts lingering in my mind. I don’t care about that table and the men occupying it. Right now, I care only to enjoy this high and have this next hour pass me by.

  I last about fifteen minutes in that fur atrocity and then I shrug it off, throwing it aside. It’s hot in here and I can’t be bothered if I’m as naked as the day I was born.

  The men are preoccupied with their conversation because not one of them has noticed me and if they have, they’ve been discreet about it. Carl looks a bit stressed as he gnaws on his lip and drags his fingers across his forehead, making me more curious as to what is being said.

  The original four men are still mostly covered by their hoods and baggy clothing but the fifth member to join them looks professional in a three-piece suit and what looks to be an expensive silk tie. He screams overwhelming wealth and even though his face looks older, he still has smoldering handsome features.

  I've seen men like him visit the trailer park whores or drug dealers and assume we all look up to them for how well they're dressed, little do they know that we're watching to see when we can steal their wallets.

  They all rise from their seats simultaneously and I realize I haven't moved in the past five minutes. Fuck it, I'm high as a motherfucker. I slowly gyrate my hips as I try to look like I haven't been intensely watching them. Carl is sweating as he nods profusely at the suited
fucker that's waving his pointer finger at him, and the other four have their arms crossed identically over their wide chests.

  Suit cunt slaps his hand into Carl's arm and the five of them file out towards the exit with the suit in the lead. No one looks my way, even though I'm up here without a stitch on and I can't help but watch as they slowly walk by. It's the last guy-the biggest of the bunch-that turns his head and his tattoo covered hand comes out of his hoodie pocket as he flicks something towards me. I blame my current high for my slow reaction because I look to my feet and see a black switchblade embedded into the stage less than an inch from my big toe.

  "Are you fucking serious?" I call out as their backs disappear through the exit.

  None of them turn to look at me or the commotion I'm causing on the stage, they just open the doors and disappear into the night.

  Freight runs up on the stage cursing and throws the fur jacket over my shoulders. Then he bends and pulls the blade out of the wood. The handle and blade are both black save for an insignia etched into the handle. I try to see what it is when I hear Carl muttering from the floor and turn to look at him.

  He's pale and his eyes are wide as he stares at the knife in Freight's hand. "Take her back."

  "Why the fuck did they do that?" I ask him, my heart beating wildly. He almost took off my fucking toe.

  Carl just shakes his head and continues to stare at the fucking knife. What the fuck just happened? I feel Freight's arm wrap around my shoulders and he steers me back through the curtain.

  "Give me that knife." I hold out my hand.

  "Are you su..."

  "Give me the fucking knife." I cut him off and he places it in my hand.

  I storm off for the dressing room and throw the fur jacket into a dusty corner. I sit at my vanity and flip the knife over in my hands. The whole thing feels like a carbide material, lightweight and smooth, but the blade itself is gleaming with a sharpened edge. Was he aiming for my fucking foot? Did he want the blade to sink through my flesh? I shiver at the thought and hold the handle closer to my face.

  There is an etching on either side, one side has what looks to be a weird, shaped lightning bolt, and the other has the name Raiden. Raiden? Is that his name? The fucker that tried to disfigure me and for no fucking reason.

  "Raiden James." Carl's voice floats in from the doorway. "He's the lead singer of the band Deluge."

  I don't have a single clue who the fuck Deluge is but the name Raiden is sounding familiar. I twist the knife in my hands and read the name again. Raiden.

  "They come once a year to procure a few girls to work Raiden's birthday." It's like he can read my thoughts.

  "Why would an old dude throw a knife at me?" I ask him.

  "You were chosen."

  Chapter Four

  Tempest

  I was chosen, simple right?

  I’ve been moping around my one room apartment all day, this knife still firmly in my grasp, and a wine bottle to my face. Carl told me to take the next few days off to recoup but what the fuck am I recouping from? Almost losing a digit? Besides, he and I both know I can’t take a few days off. I have rent due and about eight credit cards that I have to pay the minimum balance on.

  I chug back the bit of wine left in the bottom of the bottle and grab my purse, dropping the knife inside. Might as well shake my ass and make a few dollars for it.

  My car pulls into the lot and the brakes squeal as I come to a halt. Fuck off, how much more shit can go wrong? I get out of the car and slam the door with anger. I hear something rattle when I do and cringe at what I can only imagine will cost a fortune. I storm inside and see Chanel sitting at the bar, flirting with Kyle. He’s our hot bartender and every girl here has tried to sleep with him, except me.

  Don’t get me wrong, he’s fucking gorgeous, built, and covered in tattoos, I just haven’t wanted anything to do with dick in a long time. Or pussy for that matter. I’ve had my head stuck in my finances and had no time to fucking think of anything else.

  "Tempest!" Chanel calls out as she hurries to follow me into the back. "Everyone is talking about you today."

  "Is that right?" I ask over my shoulder.

  "Is it true? Did Raiden choose you?"

  I stop abruptly and turn to face Chanel just as she stops herself from crashing into me.

  "What the fuck does that mean?" I growl into her face. Everyone wants to fucking talk but not one person can give me an answer.

  "It means he wants you at his party, you don't have to go through the choosing." She shrugs.

  "What the actual fuck is a choosing?"

  "They have certain tastes. One likes the big girls, another likes the more ethnic. Stuff like that."

  "All for a fucking birthday party?" I throw my hands up.

  "It's Deluge, they were a huge rock band in the nineties." Chanel's brow lifts at my ignorance.

  "Never heard of them." I couldn't afford a fucking CD player or whatever it is these old fuckers released their music on. And my parents weren’t huge into music, mostly just drugs and alcohol.

  "Look them up! Some of their shit is dark but so good."

  "I'll pass." Considering one of them tried to scar me for life last night.

  I strut into the dressing room and the chatter amongst the girls dies down.

  "Spit it out." I growl as I storm to my vanity.

  "Are you going to take the job?" Queen calls out.

  "Depends, if the amount of money offered offsets the fact that one of them threw a knife at me." I spit out.

  "That's only happened one other time here." Tiny says as she sways to my side. "They made it worth my while, baby girl."

  "They threw a knife at you, too?" I swing around in my chair.

  "No," she rolls her eyes. "I had one sticking out of my tire."

  "What the fuck?" I exhale and shake my head.

  "They paid me more than enough to fix it." She smirks.

  "Why does Raiden want to stick his knife everywhere?" I mutter and Tiny gasps.

  "Raiden threw his knife at you?"

  "Yes girl, I thought you got one too?" Is she stoned?

  "I got one from Squall, he's the bassist and he likes 'em squishy." She taps her large breasts. "From what I know, Raiden has never chosen."

  "Chosen for what?" I ask, exasperated.

  "I can't talk about it." Tiny all of a sudden freezes up. "They made us sign an NDA."

  "This is bullshit." I turn away from her and lift the vial from my drawer. I need to take the edge off this day.

  "I told you not to do it." Sky's voice calls out.

  "Fuck off." I yell at her over my shoulder.

  I lean forward and sniff a line into my left nostril and lean back in my chair, letting the euphoria hit me.

  "I know this is all weird to you," Sky is suddenly beside me. "There is something seriously wrong with that group. Have you heard of the Illuminati?"

  “There is no such thing as the Illuminati.” I roll my eyes at her.

  “There is.” She nods, “some celebrities join to get the success they want. Some even sell their souls.”

  "Look," I turn to look at her. "I agree, this shit is weird. Knife throwing or slashing tires sounds ridiculous but it kind of makes sense for these strange rock bands. But what you’re saying about them being Illuminati is fucking crazy.”

  I lean forward again and sniff the next line into my right nostril.

  "They're a metal band." Sky says on a huff.

  "Same shit."

  “Look them up on YouTube and see the shit they do on stage.” She looks at me earnestly. “Do that before you agree to anything and look into what it means to sell your soul to the Illuminati.”

  “Fine.” I agree so she’ll just shut up and let me enjoy my high.

  I give Freight my song list for the night and he watches me closely like he’s expecting me to spontaneously combust. Everyone is treading carefully around me and I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t making me more curious. I make
a note to Google Deluge and the celebrities involved with the Illuminati when I get home.

  This time on stage, I'm distracted, not hearing the beats in the music, and lost in my own thoughts of knives and men in hoodies. No amount of drugs can stop my mind's barrage of images. What is this celebration really about? Why is choosing a bunch of strippers such an ordeal? Is it really about something more nefarious?

  The night pretty much continues that same way and conversations with the other girls ends up being one sided with me mostly nodding or giving one-word answers.

  "Temp," Chanel snaps her fingers in my face. "We're heading out. See you tomorrow."

  I wave as the girls leave the dressing room and look down at myself, I'm still fucking naked.

  "Tempest." Sky calls as she pulls on her jacket. "Google them."

  "Okay." I roll my eyes and begin to get dressed.

  A few minutes later, I walk out the front and see Kyle cleaning around the bar, but no Freight.

  "Kyle, where's Freight?"

  "I think he went to hit the head. Need me to walk you out?" His arms are filled with dirty glasses and a few plates.

  "Nah, I'll wait for him." I wave him off.

  Freight takes a long ass time to get out of the fucking toilet, so I look out the front door and see I parked closer than I usually do. Anyways, who the fuck is still around at four in the morning? Fuck it, I decide to rush outside by myself.

  I make it to my piece of shit car and roll my eyes when I realize my keys are somewhere in the bottom of my big ass purse. I open the purse, stick my hand in, and try to feel around for the irregular metal pieces. I shake my bag and crouch to the ground, opening it up wider and trying to peer inside.

  “Need some help?”

  I freeze at the sound of the raspy, unfamiliar voice.

  “No thanks.” I mutter and take a deep breath.

  “You sure?”

  Fear has my back breaking out into a cold sweat and my mouth drying up.

  “Uh, uh.” I begin to look over my shoulder but my movement is stopped by the sole of a boot.