by Mia Knight
She made small talk with Charisse before they hung up. She might not be ready to move on, but she had no choice. She had to start creating a life for herself. Her dad didn’t raise her to wallow in self-pity. He expected better from her. It was time to get her shit in order. She made a few calls. One to the storage place to see just how many lockers she had, one to the RV park to check on her baby, and one to the bank to check on her accounts. She was fucking loaded—a millionaire many times over—sitting in a car, staring through the gates at her old life. She would see about getting a new place that suited her, and maybe it was time for a new ride as well.
She tossed her phone and revved her car. Time to start living.
10
Carmen reveled in the growl of her new Aston Martin Vanquish S Volante as she put the beauty through its paces. The smell of new car and leather permeated the air as she sped through the city. She couldn’t resist stroking the luxurious red leather interior and gleaming panels. Getting a new car definitely improved her mood. She loved her gold Ferrari, but when she pulled up to the lot and saw this beast, she knew she would be driving it off the lot within the hour. As the saying goes, money talked, and she didn’t mind dropping buckets of it to get her way.
She pulled into the parking lot of the Red Diamond, a gentlemen’s club. The parking lot was full of flashy cars and limos that provided shuttle service to and from The Strip. She found a spot in the back lot and stepped out of the Aston. She took two steps back to admire it. The exterior was so shiny; it looked like polished chrome. The Aston was sleek, powerful, and sexy.
She strutted to the back entrance and rapped a distinct pattern on the door. She glanced up at the surveillance camera and blew a kiss. The door opened to reveal a behemoth of a man with a craggy, emotionless face.
“Hey, boss,” he said.
“Hey, Phil.” She went up on tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. “How’s life?”
“Haven’t gotten shot or stabbed in a year so I’d say life is good,” he rumbled.
“Slow year?”
He grunted.
“Is Kiki here?”
“In her office.”
“Great.”
She walked into a dressing room filled with well-lit vanities, a wall of hooker heels in every color, and props for the shows. Seeing this room filled her with memories of her stripping days, which felt like a lifetime ago. The music from the club reverberated through the walls and made her heart speed up. The beat beckoned her to indulge. She would, but she had business to see to first.
She stopped in front of a mirror and admired her gunmetal strappy heels. After she picked up the Aston Martin, she went to The Look, the boutique the woman in Incognito recommended. She dropped fifteen thousand and became fast friends with the owner who waited on her hand and foot. Tonight’s ensemble was definitely inspired by her new ride.
Slowly, she undid the sash of her short black trench coat and revealed the silver shift dress beneath. Liquid silk brushed over her skin. It was a barely there dress that hugged every curve and left little to the imagination. The shift rode high on her thighs and made her feel as if she didn’t have anything on. She leaned toward the mirror to examine her porn star makeup job—the larger than life eyes, perfect lips, and flawless face. She shrugged off her trench coat and headed out of the dressing room.
The music intensified, and the urge to join in the fun increased. Her palms tingled as she nodded to mingling security and called the elevator. The moment the doors closed, the music disappeared. She took a breath to clear her head and examined her outfit. In the past, she went for straight-up sex, but her taste was changing like so many other things.
The elevator opened onto a quiet hallway lined with a wall of tinted glass that looked out at the Red Diamond. A gold, glittering stage took up one end of the club and flowed into a long runway lined with stripper poles that divided the club in two. Six girls twirled dreamily to the music. A hazy ruby light highlighted smaller stages around the club. She appreciated the glint of gold throughout the club which included the bar, chairs, and trays of the servers moving through the crowd. The Red Diamond was filled to capacity. She walked down the hallway to Kiki’s office and nodded to the armed guard who moved aside as she approached. She gave a cursory knock before she entered.
The office looked as respectable and classy as any executive’s aside from a few eccentricities. Gold framed nudes hung on black velvet walls, and the room was littered with life-size copper and silver sculptures of men. At the far end of the soundproof office was an impressive walnut desk occupied by a formidable woman smoking a cigar. She looked up through a cloud of smoke. Her stern expression cleared when she recognized Carmen. A genuine smile curved her hard mouth. Kiki rose and stood six-foot-three in six-inch stilettos.
“Give me a fucking hug, girlie,” Kiki said.
She ran to her friend and was caught in a bone-crushing hug.
Kiki pulled back to examine her. “You look good.”
“So do you.”
Even at sixty-three, Kiki was a sight to behold in a red tailored jumpsuit, diamond choker, slick ponytail, and flawless makeup. Kiki went to the wet bar in the corner and poured her a glass of whiskey.
“I haven’t seen you since Vinny’s funeral,” Kiki said.
“I’ve been keeping my cousin company.”
“The one who married Gavin Pyre?”
“Yes. They had a baby a couple of months back.”
Kiki handed her the glass and perched on the edge of the desk. “How are you doing?”
“Better.”
“You look it.” Kiki let out a stream of smoke before she said, “What the fuck is happening in the underworld?”
She held her gaze. “I’m sure you already know.”
Kiki had connections, murky ones she wasn’t interested in digging up.
“Angel Roman is the new head honcho?”
“Yup.”
“What about New York?”
“There’s more than one Roman brother.”
Kiki grunted. “And Roque will be out soon. Fuck.”
She frowned and opened her mouth but thought better of it. She was out of underworld business. The less she knew, the better. She took a healthy swallow of whiskey and enjoyed the burn. Her foot bounced, which betrayed her eagerness to join the madness beyond the office.
“Why’s Pyre stepping down?” Kiki asked.
“My cousin.”
Kiki eyed her intently. “Your cousin slayed in the Pit. They’re the perfect couple to rule the underworld. No one would dare fuck with them.”
So, Lyla’s exploits were already on the streets. She resisted the urge to beam with pride. “They have a daughter, and Lyla’s not interested in underworld politics.”
Kiki made a disgusted smacking sound with her lips. “Fucking love.”
Carmen toasted her. “Fucking love.” It was the strongest force on the planet. Nothing could erase your memories of a loved one who left you behind.
“Business would be easier without having to deal with a new crime lord,” Kiki said.
“Angel Roman has bigger things to deal with than us.”
“I hope you’re right. Vega never bothered with us during his reign.”
She tensed. “You knew it was him?”
Kiki’s brows came together. “Of course, not. I would have told you if I knew. I fucking loved Vinny.”
She downed the rest of her drink. “Right.”
Vega’s mind games really fucked her up. She almost shot Marcus and was even questioning her long-term business partner who she’d known almost a decade. She stepped on stage for the first time on her twenty-first birthday. Kiki taught her everything she knew about confidence, seduction, and men.
When Kiki hit a rough patch, she used her stripper savings to bail her out and became a silent partner for the Red Diamond. The gentlemen’s club flourished and became the most popular in the city. It was ironic that people labeled her a gold digger when she was a mil
lionaire in her own right. Vinny was the only one who knew about her connection to the club. When Gavin needed dirt, Vinny gave her the nudge, and she visited Kiki to get the goods on the high-end clientele who frequented the club. It had been mutually beneficial for all of them.
“Even those who reported directly to Vega didn’t know his identity. His name’s everywhere since Pyre tortured him in the Pit. Apparently, Pyre’s whole crew was quite spectacular,” Kiki continued.
Her curiosity was piqued, but she didn’t rise to the bait. If she knew how close to death Lyla had been, it would bring up all the shit she was trying to leave in the past. She came out tonight to let loose and reconnect with Kiki, that’s it.
“Gavin endorses Angel. That’s all that matters.”
Kiki inclined her head. “Right. I’m sure Pyre will tell him we provided the dirt to blackmail his competitors. That could come in handy for Roman.”
“We’ll worry about it if it happens.” She set the empty glass on the desk. “Now, what do you have for me?”
Kiki rounded the desk and became all business. Before she became a silent partner, the Red Diamond was a ghetto strip joint. Once she started dating Vinny, she developed the VIP side of the business and turned it into a high-end gentlemen’s club. She and Kiki became wealthy bitches. Over the years, they nurtured their relationships with the casinos and their clientele. Kiki had the club running like a well-oiled machine, and business was booming.
“You look better than ever,” Kiki said as they left the office and caught the elevator to the second floor.
“Thanks,” she said as she shifted restlessly.
“That dress is going to cause a riot.”
She beamed. “That’s what I’m hoping for.”
The elevator doors opened. The level of noise would have knocked a lesser person backward, but Carmen stepped forward eagerly. Two guards stepped aside to let them pass. The second floor had shadowed alcoves for semi-private shows or parties that overlooked the main floor, which catered to the masses.
“We have two bachelor parties tonight. Eight of the ten VIP rooms are occupied, and the limo drivers are bringing guys in groups of ten or more,” Kiki shouted as they walked down the gold staircase.
On stage, four girls danced with fans, boas, and thongs. The Red Diamond kept up a steady stream of entertainment from old Hollywood numbers to twerking and everything in between. The later the hour, the more risqué the show became. What happened on stage satisfied the public and critics while the real shit went on behind closed doors.
The main floor had clusters of chairs surrounding solo platforms, which put the girls within touching distance. Bouncers were everywhere. She and Kiki weaved between hyped men and servers wearing skirts and bikini tops. It was her favorite type of bedlam. She inhaled cigar smoke with relish and slapped the ass of a passing stripper she hadn’t seen in ages and received a boob squeeze in return. Several men reached for her as she passed. One hand skated over her belly before Kiki stepped in. Her imposing presence made the men think twice about waylaying her.
They found a seat at the bar. She blew a kiss to the bartender and surveyed the club while Kiki talked. It was hard to concentrate when her surroundings called to the wildness inside her. Her need to push the limits led her to the stage. Being a dancer brought out her love of role playing. When she danced, she felt alive and free. People thought strippers were at a man’s mercy, but it was the other way around. She never felt more in control than when she worked the stage. Money rained down, and anything was possible.
Vinny replaced the stage, booze, and anything else she indulged in to sate her inner demons. He became her everything and now that he was gone, the taste for something dark and uncivilized made her insides salivate. Her body ached from yesterday’s exploits, but she was hungry for more. Walking through her old hunting grounds was like parading a recovering alcoholic in front of a bar.
The music shifted from old Hollywood to hard rock, and the stage lights began to flash. Girls wearing lingerie or mesh dresses strutted down the catwalk and began to climb the poles. She accepted a shot from the bartender and downed it without looking to see what it was. She couldn’t take her eyes off the dancers writhing to the beat. Seeing the girls embrace the moment brought back memories of a simpler time when life was about fun and games and not death and loss.
“Hey, baby.” A man with spiky hair and a sweat-stained button up eyed her as if she were a meal. “Can I get you a drink?”
“No.” Mr. Hip wasn’t going to do it for her. Even if he was the best fuck in the room (which she doubted), he wasn’t going to quench her hunger. She leaned to the side to watch a dancer execute a ridiculous trick on the pole that had the men around her tossing twenty-dollar bills on her platform. Her toes curled in her shoes as the need to throw her inhibition into the wind slammed into her.
“I don’t think she’s interested,” Kiki said to the guy and turned back to her. “You fucked since Vinny?”
She nodded.
Kiki patted her on the back. “I’m happy for you. Are you looking for a replacement?”
“No,” she said as she fisted her hands in her lap.
“You been on a pole lately?” Kiki asked dryly.
“I have, actually.”
“Can you dance with this?” Kiki asked, fingering her shift dress.
Carmen gave her a deadpan look that made her grin. “Rock You Like A Hurricane” hit the speakers, and her shaky control snapped. Kiki’s delighted laughter followed her as she shoved her way through the crowd. She hopped on a table to get on the main stage. The men cheered excitedly, thinking she was a housewife gone wild. Two strippers paused in their twirling to stare and then smile in welcome when they recognized her. She strutted down the runway as if she owned it. Technically, she did, but the men watching her didn’t know that.
She got down on her hands and knees and prowled across the glittering stage, very aware that she was giving everyone a great view of the scrap of white lace masquerading as underwear. She crawled toward one of the dancers who hung upside down. She rose to her knees and grasped handfuls of Mercedes’s hair and leaned close. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw men crowding around the stage to get in position to see their lips touch.
Mercedes eyes sparkled with mischief. “Hey, chica. Where you been?”
“Around.”
“Those are bomb shoes.”
“I know, right? I got them at The Look,” she said as she stroked her hair. “How are the kids?”
“Good. Barry’s gonna be happy to hear I saw you. He’s been worried about you.”
“Tell him I said hi,” Carmen said before she kissed her.
Mercedes accepted the kiss eagerly and slid her tongue into her mouth. She was happy to discover that Mercedes penchant for sweets hadn’t changed. She found a hard-caramel candy and took it for herself and felt dollar bills brush over her thighs. Their mouths parted, and the men went wild when they saw tongue.
“Have a great night,” she said.
Mercedes’s eyes flicked to the money littered over the stage and grinned. “I already am.”
She tossed her hair as she slid over the money to an empty pole. Her mini dress slithered over her sensitive skin. She blocked out the roar of the crowd and soared with the amazing guitar solo. She arched her back and saw a captivated audience watching her. She smiled and imagined that the money that rained over her were flower petals. She rose slowly, using the pole as leverage with her ass out. She paraded around the pole and licked it, which made the men go crazy. One show of tongue and men forgot their names. She felt alive, desirable, and invincible.
“Man in the Box” by Alice In Chains saturated the club in sex and fantasy. She moved slowly, sensuously. Men weren’t here to be impressed by tricks but liked to imagine they were the pole. She made her movements jerky and sluggish to match the song. She absorbed the energy of the crowd and let it fill the emptiness inside her. She lost herself in the music, lights, and pulse
of lust. It coated her as surely as the sweat that slid over her skin. She swiveled her hips, played with her hair, and stared boldly at the men lining the stage to be near her. The power she felt being on stage made her feel as if there was a sunburst in her chest. Here, she ruled. Here, she knew who she was. Here, everything was simple. She was a woman in charge of her sexuality, and these men were her slaves, here to worship their fantasy in the flesh.
Songs transitioned, and she let her body take over. She forgot about the audience unless a man tried to take the stage and was immediately restrained by the security working overtime tonight. She partied her ass off and enjoyed teasing the onlookers with slow kisses and caresses by the other dancers. She had her back against a pole and had Taryn kissing a path up her leg when she saw a familiar face in the crowd. When she stiffened, Taryn paused on her upper thighs.
“Okay?” Taryn asked in a muffled voice.
Even as she hoped her mind was playing tricks on her, the crowd parted again, and she saw him. Angel leaned against the bar. He wore a white shirt tucked into well-fitted slacks. His belt buckle caught the light as he shifted when they made eye contact. He shook his head in a chiding way even as a smile curved his mouth. His presence intruded on her adrenaline high.
Taryn rose and kissed her cheek. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she said.
Taryn prowled to the edge of the stage and humped the stage to the absolute delight of the crowd. Carmen didn’t move her eyes from Angel. What the fuck was he doing here? This was her haven, her business… not that he knew that. This was the second time in a matter of days that she ran into him. Shouldn’t he be doing gun battles in the ghetto, not watching strippers dance in a gentlemen’s club?
Angel raised his hand and beckoned her with one finger. He did not just… He did it again. He crooked his pointer finger at her as if she were a naughty child or a dog. Who the fuck did he think he was? She didn’t have a keeper. She was a free agent. She called the shots, not some Roman, even if he was the new crime lord.
She grasped the edge of her shift and lifted it over her head. The outbreak of cheers, hollering, and shouting overpowered the music. She dropped the silk shift on the stage and faced Angel in her white lace lingerie set, which she had been waiting to reveal at the perfect moment. The moment she picked it out today, she knew her night would end here. The tulle cups embroidered with a silky floral pattern were utterly feminine and more suited to a bride’s wedding night than a stripper stage. Her demure outfit stood out among the neon, animal print, or solid red or black the other strippers wore. If the men looked hard enough, they’d see her nipples through the sheer fabric. She put her hands on her hips and raised a brow at Angel. He couldn’t touch her. This was her territory, her power spot. He was just passing through.
