by Kay Maree
Maneuvering past me, Sophie gathers her purse and looks back towards Lila who’s attempting to play pinball with some of the cash Kidd handed over when he sensed shit was getting tense. “She,” Sophie nods in Lila’s direction, “doesn’t get what’s going on here so I’m going to need you to man up and act like an adult where she’s concerned. This doesn’t touch her. Lila doesn’t shed a tear because of your shitty life decisions and how they changed the dynamic between us. Because I promise you this, Dex,” she sneers, spearing me with a deadly glare. “I will make you suffer in ways you can’t even imagine if that little girl feels one iota of pain because of you.”
With that, all I can do is watch as Sophie collects Lila and gives Kidd and Anya a hesitant wave as she storms out the door with a confused Lila in tow.
“Gotta say, I’m not thinking you read that situation right, boy,” Kidd interjects as the door closes on my future.
Hopefully not for good, by for now.
“Um, maybe it’s not our place,” Anya begins but is stopped by her husband's hand giving her shoulder a gentle but warning squeeze.
“Don’t give the first fuck if I’ve only known her for all of an hour and about her for three days, babe. That girl is my daughter so it absolutely is our place to tell her man when he’s fucked up.”
“As good as it is to know Soph’s got you in her corner, you’ve gotta know that shit isn’t right. You don’t know me and you sure as hell don’t know our history,” I return, my patience waning considerably.
“You’re right, I don’t. But what I do know because I just fucking heard it is that you staked your claim, albeit without her knowledge and then went about acting as if it didn’t mean the first fucking thing to you,” Kidd sneers. “When you find the one, your heart, your reason for waking up in the morning the seat on the back of your bike and your dick belongs to her. You don’t share that shit round with whoever you can find to fill that void, not even for a fucking minute. You might not have had a bitch on the back of your bike or in your bed longer than it took for you to get off and get her gone, but that doesn’t change the message you’re sharing with your brothers, your family, and more importantly Sophie. After what was just said, I’m not surprised Sophie didn’t give you the “in” you needed. As far as she was concerned, it didn’t exist because for all Sophie knew she’d get her heartbroken if she opened herself up to the possibility of you.”
He has a point, not that I’ll admit that to him. And for what it’s worth, it’s a good one. But regardless of how monumentally fucked up the situation between me and Sophie is right now, there’s one thing that’s never been clearer; I will win her back. She might be hiding her smiles from me, denying me her time and her love, but I won’t allow her do it for long. Sophie was meant to be mine and it’s high time she accepted that.
CHAPTER TEN
Sophie
“Once upon a time there was a beautiful princess and her name was, Lila.”
Giggling beside me, my little sister snickers, “I’ve heard this one a million times, sissy. Tell me a new one. It’s gotta be a happy one, though. One where the prince comes to rescue the princess and then gives her presents and a beautiful ring and promises to make her smile for all of her days,” she says far too astutely for her six years.
Granted, I haven’t hidden my emotions very well, but until right now, I didn’t think I’d done a bad job of pasting on a smile for the most important person in my life.
Kissing the top of Lila’s head, I suggest, “Instead of me telling the story tonight, why don’t you make one up?”
“Yay, okay,” she cheers as a huge grin overtakes her face.
These moments, these tiny fractures in time in an otherwise monotonous life that feels as if it’s running on a loop are the only thing that reminds me why my every sacrifice has been worth it. The sleepless nights, the days filled with worry and anxiety about how I’m going to pay the bills, and if I’m doing a good enough job parenting Lia. All of my concerns are erased when I see her happy and content like this.
The simple yet beautiful truth is, Lila is pure light. She brightens my world and her innocence is a gift that just keeps on giving. Knowing that my baby sister is consummately happy, that her life hasn’t seen the darkness mine has thanks to our toxic, non-existent mother is proof enough that none of the fucked up choices I’ve had to make have been in vain.
And when I say fucked up, I mean categorically so.
For example, take my weekend job. A job that not a single soul knows about and given the choice, never will. Now before you think the worst, don’t. It’s really not that bad, unless you consider taking your clothes off for money while men you’d rather paper bag than look at stare at your goodies bad, that is.
While picking up a third job wasn’t my idea of a good time, especially when I already work from six-am until three-pm at the diner in town and then four-pm until close at the MC’s bar, Rough Shod four nights a week it became inevitable when Mom rolled back into town broke with no intention of getting a job to support herself.
So here I am, an hour before I have to make the forty-five-minute drive out of Furnace to my illustrious career as a stripper at an upscale titty bar called Tainted, telling stories of princesses and the heroes who rescue them to my sister, all the while wishing I had a little of those bitch’s good luck.
“I’m ready, sissy,” Lila grins up at me.
“Have at it,” I grin back, shaking off thoughts of my not so fun filled night ahead.
Lila’s eyes twinkle and her face brightens as she begins. “Once there was a handsome prince. He rode a bike and wore black clothes and his name was Dexter.” Jesus, I curse inwardly. This kid slays me. “One day he saw a beautiful princess but she was sad. Always so, so sad. He wanted to make her smile, so he told funny jokes and kissed her on the cheek and gave her lots of great hugs.” Death. Straight up death would be less painful. “It took a long, long time but one day, Dexter told the princess he was going to marry her and they would live happily ever after whether she liked it or not.”
I can’t help but chuckle at how right Lila is. The breed of men Dex belongs to are often inclined to tell not ask when it comes to the women in their lives.
“So in the summer, cause it’s warm then and that means the princess can wear a pretty dress and no jacket, they get married and live happily ever after just like he said they would. The end,” Lila whisper-yells. “So what did you think, sissy? Was it a good story?”
“It was perfect,” I answer, meaning it and all the while wishing my future was destined to be as incredibly beautiful.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Sophie
My choice of music might not have been for everyone, but let’s be honest, how many of the men in the audience were really there to judge the quality of my playlist? As the rich notes of Papa Roach’s, Born For Greatness start, my five-inch heels carry me toward the pole in the center of the stage.
My body knows every movement by heart. Every word. Every beat. Every sway of my hips and shimmy of my ass. My mind also knows when to switch off and then re-engage. It’s an act after all. Just a body, any body moving sensually enough to entice the customers to drink more and loosen their iron-fisted grip on their wallets.
As my brain shuts down and the crowd blurs into a sea of unrecognizable shapes, I begin my ascent. My arms to propel me half-way up the pole while I wrap my thighs around its girth tightly to keep my balance. Slowly, and as sensually as a person who hates doing this can, I release my hands and lean backward until my spine touches cold metal.
The cheer of the crowd and the scraping of chairs signals the men here tonight are buying my act, which as much as I’d prefer it didn’t, pleases me slightly. Because in all reality, I need this job so it would suck if something as stupid as not being able to play pretend for three ten minute sets two nights a week was the cause of me losing it.
Ignoring the shouts and propositions coming from th
e men closest to the stage, I bend and twist, thrusting my pastie-clad breasts out for them to get a better view as my body undulates to the bass thudding loudly and relentlessly in the background.
Sliding down the pole so that I’m almost touching the stage beneath me, I stretch one leg and then the other behind me in a backward round-off so that my stilettos are touching the floor and I’m upright once again.
A few booty shakes, a fondle of a breast interspersed with several spins with my calf hooked around the pole later, and it’s time for my pleated skirt to come off. This, truth be told, is the portion of my set I hate the most. It’s when I feel most vulnerable and insecure. Not to mention, unsafe.
That being said, the owner of Tainted, Dray, and his head of security, Mick would never in a million years allow one of their girls to be hurt, but that doesn’t mean the fear isn’t real. After all, show me a woman who is honestly comfortable more than half-naked in front of a room full of horny strangers and I’ll show you a liar.
When I first arrived at, Tainted, willing and ready to beg for a job if that’s what it took, Dray was the first person I encountered. If I were any other woman, he would have been as intimidating as hell with all his tattoos, piercings, and six-foot-four muscled frame filling out his custom-tailored suit, not to mention the air of menace that seemed to follow him wherever he went. However, after being surrounded by men cut from the same cloth, but more badass and scarier to boot, my initial impression was that of security. From simply looking at him, I just knew, Dray took his job as the owner and the protection of his employees seriously.
My interview was quick and as painless as answering questions the likes of how naked I was willing to get, and whether I was comfortable giving private dances could be. To the former, I refused total nudity but relented to stripping down to nothing but nipple covers and a pair of barely-there panties. But on the latter, it was a firm no. There was no way in hell I was going to be in an enclosed in a room with a strange man exposed and alone, no matter how good Dray’s security measures or bouncers were.
We discussed my ability to only be able to work Saturday and Sunday nights, to which he informed me that he usually reserved those shifts for girls who have seniority. For a moment there I was worried because my hours were a deal breaker for me. I shouldn’t have been, though because even from the outset Dray proved he was a good man, willing to compromise as long as I agreed to dance the earlier sets on those days. Sure, that equaled fewer tips but got me on the roster immediately and worked in with when Violet could watch Lila for me, so I was all in.
And that was that.
One twenty-minute conversation with a man who didn’t know me from Eve, but was willing to take a chance on a girl desperate and down on her luck, and I was being ushered into Tainted’s dressing room and introduced to his best friend and employee, Scarlet who now happens to be one of my best friends too.
Tall, lithe, with curves in all the right places and the most amazing head of black hair that reaches her waist in a straight sheet, Scarlet is the epitome of gorgeous. But it isn’t merely her packaging that makes her amazing; it’s everything about her. From the sass she throws at, Dray to the attitude she exudes with every breath, and the grace and compassion she shows everyone she comes into contact with, Scarlet is the real deal.
Thankfully it didn’t take long for Scarlet to teach me the ropes, and more importantly what to do to make enough in tips to keep our heads above water. She was patient and encouraging through every slip and fall, keeping me focused when I otherwise would have thrown in the towel at the first sign of failure.
Which brings me to now, clad in nothing more than pasties, knee-high white socks with a red bow on the back, a matching red thong and heels as my body moves on autopilot through the last long verse and chorus of the song. Lights flash then fade. Men’s voices ebb and flow as I filter out their crude comments about my assets. Then, just as I’m about to thank God and the baby Jesus I survived another humiliating night on display, my legs fly out from under me as I’m thrown over a muscled shoulder and carted off behind the curtains condoning off the stage from the dimly lit hallway beyond.
If it weren’t for the fact that I’m acutely aware of who the cologne and broad shoulder digging into my belly belongs to, I’d be screaming bloody murder. Thinking on that, maybe I should; it would serve him right after all. I can’t say I would be disappointed if it gave me a reprieve from the conversation I’m sure we’re about to have either.
But on the flip side, calling for help would only delay the inevitable, and honestly, I’m all out of fucks to give and time to waste. So as far as I’m concerned, the raging douche lord, formerly known as Dex can lecture away while I bask in the knowledge that something I’ve done has finally caused him to lose the last vestiges of his sanity. Snaps for me.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Pyro
Unceremoniously dropping her to her feet, I try to ignore the slide of her supple, almost naked body down the front of mine. I wish I could tell you I was a better man and my cock wasn’t half hard at just one touch of her smooth as silk skin, but that would be a fucking lie. And if it weren’t for the simple fact that half the population of men in this shit hole town hadn’t just seen her barely dressed, I’d have taken a second to enjoy it too.
“You’ve got to the count of five to tell me what in the actual fuck you’re doing shaking your ass for those assholes before I put you over my knee and spank the answer out of you, sweetheart,” I growl, barely managing to control my temper.
Sophie shivers at my tone, but if I were a gambling man I’d place bets on it being less out of fear than arousal. Her nipples are peaked, visible under those ridiculous stickers covering her perfect tits. Gooseflesh pebbles her arms and her breathing has escalated. Not to mention, I’d be willing to stake my left nut on her being wet as fuck if I stroked my fingers down the heaven nestled between her thighs.
“Take a picture it’ll last longer,” she mumbles under her breath, folding her arms across her ample chest.
Capturing her wrist, I drag her body flush against mine, pressing my rock-hard cock into her soft belly, whispering, “I’m not going to ask you again, Sophie Bell, so I suggest you start talking before I make good on my threat.”
Her body moves against mine, fighting to put space between us but it’s not happening. She’s not getting out of this without one hell of an explanation and a promise that she’s done with this shit. Permanently.
Seven days. Seven long fucking days in which I’ve done nothing but call and text her with no reply. I’ve seen her once, and that was only for her to give me that verbal smack down she gave me at the diner yesterday. Seven horrifically craptastic days where I’ve had to listen to Clarissa bitch and moan about me refusing to let her move in with me while she begs me to believe that it is indeed my kid she’s carrying. One-hundred and sixty-eight hours, I’ve spent thinking about the look of utter devastation on Sophie’s face when she walked in on me and Clarissa only to find her here like this, showing every man and his dog what’s meant for my eyes only.
Hence my need for control right now. Control of not only my baser instincts but control of Sophie and her proximity to me too. Because without the woman who soothes the savage beast close, who fucking knows what I’d do.
“Everything good back here?” The deep timbre of Dray’s voice echoes off the walls.
Straight up, I owe the man a case of his favorite scotch after him doing me a solid by calling me tonight. Granted, the bastard should have called the second Sophie dared to darken his door, but I’m capable of overlooking that for the time being seeing as she’s in my arms and unharmed. That doesn’t mean I won’t be kicking his ass later, though. It just means that after I do, we’ll share a drink and I won’t hold a grudge.
With one last feeble attempt at extracting herself from my arms, Sophie’s body relaxes somewhat. Sadly, fury in her tone hasn’t lost any bite when she replies, “Not even a litt
le bit you betraying bastard. How could you?” Her voice wavers on the last syllable.
“It was for your own good, darlin’,” Dray murmurs, taking a step toward us. “I get your reasons for being here, for wantin’ this job and I supported them and you until I found out you had a family and a man willin’ to shoulder your burdens. Had I known you belonged to Vengeance when you made your approach, I’d have never let you step one foot inside the door.”
“I think you’re confused, Dray because I don’t belong to Vengeance, and the only family I have is my little sister who is relying on me to keep this job so that I can put food on the Goddamned table,” the pretty little liar retorts.
Doesn’t belong to Vengeance my ass. Even if Sophie weren’t mine, which she categorically fucking is, my parents claimed her as their surrogate daughter a long time ago. Add to that, every man and old lady in the MC loves the stubborn little spitfire in my arms. So much so, that any one of them would be happy to call her their own if she’d ask for help every once and a while.
