Down & Dirty: Dawg (Dirty Angels MC Book 7)

by Jeanne St. James

  “N-nothing.”

  He released her and stepped back. “Get the fuck outta my club.”

  “I’m sorry, I—”

  “You’re hidin’ somethin’ an’ I don’t wanna be a part of that shit. Get your clothes on an’ get out.”

  Emma sat in her car in the empty parking lot. She could barely read the large sign she was parked next to, the tears in her eyes making her surroundings blurry. Heaven’s Angels Gentlemen’s Club.

  This was what she’d been reduced to. Throwing herself at some big, tattooed biker and begging him to let her strip, for Christ’s sake.

  Strip. Her. Emma Jackson. Kindergarten teacher.

  She was so desperate for money, she was willing to take her clothes off on a stage and let men toss dollar bills at her. To take strange men into a private room and touch them.

  She dropped her head down until her forehead pressed against the steering wheel. She didn’t know what else to do. She had no one to go to.

  She only needed to do it long enough to get the money together for a retainer. Problem was, she needed to get the best. And she couldn’t afford the best.

  Hell, she couldn’t afford the worst, either.

  A kindergarten teacher’s salary was crap. She lived paycheck to paycheck as it was, even living modestly. She never splurged on anything for herself. Not anymore.

  She ran her fingers over her second-hand skirt. She couldn’t even afford to buy new clothes. She was forced to shop at consignment shops just to get a decent wardrobe for work.

  And now she didn’t even have that job.

  She grabbed the plastic hair clip in her lap and, gathering her hair in her hands, she twisted it into a knot and secured it to the back of her head.

  She couldn’t give up. She could never give up. She would do whatever she needed to do, or she would die first.

  Because if she was forced to live life without her daughter she might as well be dead.

  Dawg squeezed his eyes shut as hard as his fist squeezed his dick. Even with his eyes closed, he couldn’t get the picture of Emma out of his head. Her image was burned into the back of his eyelids.

  How could a woman who dressed so damn awful turn him the fuck on so much?

  It wasn’t just her voice. Even under those Plain Jane clothes, it was the way she carried herself, even when she’d been nervous. The way she faced her fears head-on. The way she was determined to get him to hire her.

  But no fucking way was that happening. First of all, she sucked at dancing. Second, even if she was good at it, he wasn’t sure if he could sit there night after night and watch her shake her tits at other men.

  He tilted his head back on his pillow and imagined what those tits would have looked like if he’d let her continue to remove that surprisingly sexy bra. Perfect ivory skin, pink hard-tipped nipples. Fuck, he wanted to bury his face in between them. Or his dick. Whatever.

  He opened his eyes, spit on his palm and then went back to his fantasy. His hips lifted off the bed with each downward stroke, then dropped back to the mattress on the upstroke.

  “Fuck!” he bellowed to the ceiling. His palm sucked. It was nothing like the real thing.

  He needed some warm, tight, wet pussy hugging his dick, riding him hard. Tits bouncing and slapping together as she rode him like he was a wild pony. She. No, not just any she.

  Emma.

  It wasn’t even a sexy name. It matched her kindergarten teacher job.

  She’d only be a fantasy. Only be jerk-off material. Because a woman like her didn’t do bikers like him.

  He’d learned that lesson the hard way. Never again. That’s why he liked it the easy way now.

  He wasn’t looking for another headache. He had enough headaches keeping his girls in line. He didn’t need another one.

  Even if she had sweet tits, a bangin’ body, and hair he wanted to wrap around his fist when she was on her knees...

  Fuck. Like when she was on her knees begging him for a job.

  “For fuck’s sake!” he bellowed again and sat up, giving up on jerking off.

  The woman needed help, and he wanted to know why. How could an innocent-looking teacher be so damn desperate? What the fuck did she do to get herself in a jam like that?

  Maybe innocent Emma wasn’t so innocent after all. Maybe she was a dirty girl...

  He frowned. What the fuck?

  He sighed. He needed to get laid. Dropping his legs over the edge of the bed, he glanced at the clock radio on his nightstand. Ten-thirty. Moose should be downstairs by now to unlock the back door for the daylight girls to come in and get ready for an eleven AM opening.

  He scratched his balls and yawned. He needed more sleep. He’d probably be up until after closing and Emma’s little audition early this morning had cut into that time.

  Who the fuck was he kidding? He wasn’t going to get another wink of fucking sleep until he took the edge off. There were possible two ways to do that. Booze or knocking one out.

  Rubbing a hand over his eyes, he moved over to the kitchenette in his apartment and opened a cabinet. He grabbed a bottle of Jack, unscrewed the cap and tipped it to his lips.

  Dawg held his breath as the liquor filled his empty stomach then he slammed the bottle onto the counter, wincing through the burn.

  Maybe that would help.

  Dawg peered down at his still-hard dick. Maybe not.

  Chapter Three

  Emma shut her car off and took a slow, deep breath. She glanced down at her outfit one more time. She made sure to pick something out of her closet this time that might not reflect her day job.

  Or what used to be her day job. Before she had been “let go.” Like those words softened the blow.

  They didn’t.

  She needed this job at Heaven’s Angels. The school year was over, and no one was hiring teachers anywhere at the moment. And even if they were, the salary wouldn’t be enough for her needs.

  So, she had dragged out her oldest snug jeans with a ripped-out knee, her tightest blouse—leaving enough buttons undone to give him a good eye full of her cleavage—and yanked on an old pair of heels she found at the back of her closet. Unfortunately, her feet were already killing her and all she did was walk in them out to her car.

  She also had given the club manager plenty of time to cool down while she went home, got on the internet and did some research. Who knew that YouTube was a wealth of information on how to strip?

  After dragging out her full-length mirror, she’d set her laptop up where she could see it and practiced for the past few hours. Until she was pretty sure she had a routine down pat.

  When she came back more determined than ever to show this strip club manager how serious she was, she found the front door to the club locked. Not willing to give up that easily, she drove around back hoping she’d find another entrance. Like an employee entrance. A way to get back inside and beg for a second chance.

  As she was preparing herself mentally in what she could assume was the employee parking lot, another car pulled up next to her and a female got out.

  Emma scrambled from her car and called out to her. “Hi!” She added a little wave to be extra friendly, to show she was harmless and not some stripper stalker.

  The woman wrestled a huge purse out of the car and slammed the door shut, before turning and giving Emma a suspicious look. “Yeah?”

  “I... uh... I’m looking for Dawson.”

  The platinum blonde gave Emma the side-eye and a frown. “Dawson?”

  What the hell was his nickname? Doug? Dog? Ah... “Dawg.”

  A knowing look crossed the other woman’s face. “It’s early yet. He’s probably up in his place.” She lifted her chin toward the back steps of the building.

  “His place?”

  The blonde pursed her bright red lips and studied Emma for a second. Probably wondering if she was some psycho bitch ready to take down her boss. “Yeah, he lives above the club. In the apartment there.”

  Emma glance
d up and saw a light on in one of the windows. When she dropped her gaze, the dancer was gone and the back door with the sign “Employees Only” was shutting.

  “Hey!” Damn it. She was hoping the woman would be willing to give her some pointers.

  She sighed, then wobbled in her heels over to the metal steps to stare up them.

  She was about to put herself in a position she knew better than to put herself in., but she had no choice. A minimum wage job just wouldn’t cut it. She needed cash, and she needed a lot of it as soon as possible. And the banks refused to loan it to her. She had no assets, no income, nothing.

  Not even family to beg, borrow or steal from.

  She was desperate, and she was not leaving until she had this job.

  She would do whatever she had to do to get her daughter back.

  The first step was the most difficult and once she took that, Emma hurried up the rest of the stairs until she was staring at the plain steel door to this Dawg’s apartment.

  Taking a bolstering breath, she raised her fist and rapped on the door.

  She waited.

  Nothing.

  She knocked again.

  Nothing.

  The third time she thumped as loud as she could. She got an answering shout but had no idea of what it consisted of.

  As who-she-assumed-was-Dawg approached the front door, she heard a muffled grumble and a curse.

  Crap, he was still in a bad mood. That didn’t bode well for her.

  The deadbolt clicked, and the door was thrown open.

  Emma’s jaw dropped, and she stepped back so quickly she teetered precariously in her heels. Before she could catch her balance, two large hands grabbed her arms and she was yanked upright hard enough to cause whiplash.

  “What the fuck?” he bellowed, making her wince. “What the fuck you doin’ here?”

  His gaze raked her from head to toe and Emma struggled to hide the shiver that skittered down her spine.

  That shiver wasn’t from fear because, goodness gracious, she couldn’t help but do the same to him. He was a big guy, that was for sure. And this time, he was practically naked. Maybe not quite naked. But close enough, since he only had a pair of unfastened jeans hanging off his hips like they had been pulled on in haste.

  His dark blond hair was mussed, his narrowed emerald green eyes dark, and he wore no shirt.

  None at all.

  Holy moly.

  Never in her life had she seen a human being with so many tattoos.

  So. Many. Tattoos.

  Down his sculpted arms, over his muscular chest and belly, and she could even see one peeking from the opening in his jeans. And he clearly wore no underwear because she noticed there was no end to the dark line of hair that went from his belly button all the way south.

  Her gaze traced the line of an erection that was hard to miss under his denim. Heat flooded her cheeks, and she dropped her eyes quickly, only to have it land on his bare feet.

  Lord, he had good looking feet.

  She shook herself mentally at that thought and her gaze shot back up, but not before hesitating for a split second on that V where his jeans hung open. She silently scolded herself, then met his eyes.

  He was grinning. Even with that thick beard that was darker than his hair covering his face, he was a good-looking man.

  “Like what you see?’

  “I... uh...” Yes! “No!”

  His smile widened. “Bullshit. Whataya here for?”

  She peeked over his shoulder into the dimly lit apartment. “Umm... Can I come in?”

  He blinked. “For what?”

  “I need to talk to you.”

  One of his eyebrows cocked. “Got nothin’ to talk about.”

  “I beg to differ.”

  “Begged earlier. Didn’t work. Ain’t gonna work now.”

  She bit her bottom lip but released it as soon as his eyes focused on that and his smile disappeared.

  Without warning, he reached out and brushed his thumb gently over her bottom lip which caused her heart to thump wildly.

  He murmured, “That right there, baby girl...” His hand suddenly dropped, and he stepped back, his voice becoming colder. “That right there’s enough to get me in trouble. What do you want?”

  “A second chance.”

  A muscle in his jaw ticked as he studied her. “You failed—”

  “I know. I know! I didn’t realize that—”

  “Strippin’s an art? Not everyone’s got the skill to do it?”

  “I can do it, I swear!”

  His hands settled on his hips as his head dropped back and he stared up at the door frame above him. He blew out a noisy breath.

  She was pushing his patience. She knew that. But she wasn’t leaving. Not until she did what she came to do. “Please... Let me audition again... or give you another lap dance. I... I practiced.”

  His head dropped forward to stare down at her. “You practiced.”

  “Yes!”

  “You watch a lap dance how-to video?”

  Emma grimaced. “No.”

  His lips twitched. “Don’t even know you an’ can tell you’re lyin’.”

  What? How was that possible? “Okay, I watched a couple.”

  He snorted and tilted his head, his green eyes pinning her in place. “Just a couple?”

  She hesitated and then thought maybe being honest with him might get her in the door. “Okay, more than a couple.”

  His gaze dropped to where the open buttons of her blouse ended right before the top of her bra. He jerked his chin at her. “Where’d you get those clothes?”

  “My closet.”

  “When’s the last time you wore ‘em?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He ran his gaze slowly down her body and back up, then took a step back and lifted a hand to invite her in. “Shouldn’t be doin’ this up here. Should be doin’ it downstairs where I ain’t gonna get accused of nothin’.” He turned and took a few steps deeper into his apartment. “Musta lost my damn mind. Hurry up before all the A/C escapes.”

  Emma rushed inside before Dawg changed his “damn mind” and she closed the door behind her. “Thank you. You don’t know how much this means to me.”

  “Would if you actually told me what the fuck’s goin’ on an’ why you’re so desperate.”

  Her problem was on a need-to-know basis. And there was no reason for this strip club manager to know. “You just need to know I’m serious about this.”

  “Apparently. Comin’ up to a stranger’s apartment to strip an’ do a lap dance. Think you lost your damn mind, too.”

  She definitely lost something, and she was determined to get it back.

  She followed him farther inside, then he veered to the left and into the kitchenette, his jeans balancing precariously on his hips.

  Was it wrong that she wanted them to slip just a little more, so she could see his ass? She swore she saw a couple dimples right above...

  Yes. Yes, it was. She was here for an important reason.

  He turned suddenly, leaned that ass back against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest, the flex of his heavily tattooed biceps drawing her eye. “Go.”

  She blinked. “Go?”

  “Dance. Show me what you got. This is your last shot.”

  “Right here?” She glanced around the apartment. It looked like it almost took up the whole second floor of the club. She was standing in a large space that seemed to be a living room area, and it was open to the kitchenette where he stood. Then, from what she could see, there was a hallway with doors. Probably leading to at least one bedroom and a bathroom.

  “Yep,” Dawg answered, drawing her attention back to him.

  And his naked chest. And his open jeans. And those beautiful feet of his. She winced at her thoughts. “Music?”

  “Nope. Want music, shoulda brought your own.” He pointed to an open area between the living room and kitchenette. “Dance. Now. ‘Fore I kick your ass out
again.”

  Emma licked her lips, drew in a breath and moved to the spot he indicated, almost twisting her ankle on the carpet in the process.

  “How you goin’ to wear platform heels when you can’t even walk in what you got on?”

  She lifted a hand as she moved into place. “I got this.” She turned to face him when he grunted. “Just watch.”

  He snorted. “I’m watchin’, baby girl. Ain’t seein’ shit.”

  She needed music. She really did. She pulled her cell phone out of her back pocket.

  “You callin’ the pigs?”

  She glanced up, surprised. “What? No. Why would I do that?”

  “Dunno. Thought maybe you’re tryin’ to set me up or somethin’. Cry rape, get me thrown in the slammer for not hirin’ you earlier.”

  She frowned. Why would he think that? Did he have a reason to be paranoid? “No, I need music.”

  Hitting her music app, she scrolled through, found a song she practiced to a couple of times, turned the volume high, pressed play and tossed it on the nearby couch.

  As soon as Gorilla from Bruno Mars started, she closed her eyes and began to move with the music. She followed the rhythm of the song and swung her hips, rocked her shoulders and tossed her head before reaching for the buttons on her blouse. She unfastened a couple but before he could see anything she turned her back on him, continuing to sway and unbutton.

  She had to remember to tease, not just get naked. It was the show that men wanted, not just the final result. Or at least that’s what the instructional videos stated.

  Sway, sway, circle, circle, flirt, wink, purse your lips, touch yourself.

  She tried to remember everything that the videos demonstrated.

  She let the music flow through her and take over. When her blouse hung open, she dropped it just slightly down her back and turned her head to look over her shoulder at Dawg.

  She pursed her lips and... jerked in surprise when she saw his expression. His eyes were so dark and his jaw tight as he watched her, but he hadn’t moved an inch. In fact, he looked frozen in place. But from where she stood, she could see his chest rising and falling more rapidly than what was normal.