by Jennifer Ann
Even though it’s driving me insane, wondering if he’s still in prison, I trust Tatum is keeping a close eye on his situation. I’ve been watching the local papers closely since his motion hearing. As there haven’t been any reports about his hearing, I can only assume it means one thing: the judge granted my request to admit him into the Witness Protection program. Knowing I may not ever see him again unless he willingly reaches out at some point—and I hold on to hope that he will because he can’t live without me any more than I can stand to be without him—is almost enough to make me want to quit this mission and run to him.
I sashay my way across the low-lit stage in 4” stilettos that lace up my calves before tying beneath my knees. My well-practiced moves solicit hollers of approval from a large group of business men, still in suits and ties, most who look to be in their fifties and up. With the familiar odor of their Cuban cigars wafting around me, my stomach churns. These are the same guys who tend to get exceptionally handsy. A few of them have even developed a fascination with trying to get inside my g-string before Freddie, the club’s bouncer, catches them.
As I’ve done since I first started dancing at Spinner’s, I close my eyes and get lost in the melody, imagining that I’m dancing solely for Michael. Imagining his fingers are dusting up and down my sides as I grind into him. Imagining those thick lips bending with a sexy smile, and those intense green eyes shining on me.
Then the song transitions into a more upbeat tune, causing my stomach to plummet. This is my signal to remove the bikini top, and mingle with the audience. It never fails to bring tears to my eyes when I pull on the string, knowing Michael would be disappointed to see me this way.
Beyond the men in suits, Archer and Freddie watch from the barstools. My eyes catch on an attractive gray-haired man at their side, and I stumble over my heels.
Oh God, it’s really him.
Dryden.
Holding in a surprised cry, I wait for the floor to drop from beneath me. Suddenly I’m a vulnerable fifteen-year-old girl again, stripped of the confidence I gained in the Army. I hold my breath, waiting for a flicker of recognition in the hard gray eyes staring back at me. Nausea burns in my throat when his lips bend with a sly, satisfied smirk. Does he know it’s me?
How can I possibly continue this charade around someone who almost broke me?
Tatum asked me several times just how far I’m willing to go to save these girls, and somehow I could never formulate a solid answer. But regardless of what happened in the past, Dryden could be my best hope of exposing the club and rescuing the other dancers from their private hell. Even if getting close to him could also be the beginning of the end.
I have to be strong for those girls. For Michael.
Gathering my confidence, I dip and grind to the beat, giving it everything I’ve got. Eyes locked on Dryden, I pretend I’m solely dancing for him, knowing he’s observing my every move. The stress of being under a microscope since the very beginning has begun to take its toll, however, and I can literally feel my confidence drain under the club president’s gaze. When I try to toss him a sexy smile, my lips quiver from the pressure.
By the time I’ve finished my set, I’m shaking and covered in a sheen of sweat. Once backstage I’m met by Sasha, the stage manager. I’ve started to suspect she has a hand in trafficking the girls as they’re especially jumpy when she’s around. With short, dark hair spiked around her head in an eighties style, arms and chest covered in tattoos, a large rack, and a cigarette constantly dangling from her lips, she’s the no-nonsense type who commands respect. From the disgusted way she scowls at me as I grab a towel and pat myself down, it’s clear I won’t be classifying her as a friend anytime soon.
“Is that sweat?” Clicking her tongue, she flicks her cigarette off to the side, sending ashes to the floor. “Dryden wants to see you ASAP.”
“Just let me grab my top,” I say, starting for the dressing rooms.
“Not happening. He pays for those goods. He wants to see them.”
Although I’ve taken a lot of orders from my superiors over the years, not telling this woman to go fuck herself is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. Instead I follow her down the hallway with my arms crossed over my chest, tongue firmly held between my teeth.
We come upon Vee as she’s getting ready in one of the dressing rooms to take the stage. Though quite stunning, she’s also small and meek, making her an easy target for Dryden. From the way she’s built, especially slender without much for hips, and the way she’s always asking me basic things that make her sound exceptionally naive, I’ve guessed her to be around sixteen or seventeen.
Of all the girls working at Spinner’s, I’ve had the best luck getting her to open up with my questions, and she seems most likely to be one of the girls Michael saw in the club basement. I’m eager for the chance to get her alone one of these nights, to see just how much she’ll spill.
“Hey, Vee!” I call out, pausing in the doorway to give her a friendly smile. “You want to catch a drink after our shifts? I’ll buy!”
Her giant brown eyes snap to where Sasha looms behind me, making the older woman’s control over her crystal clear. “Uh, maybe another night,” she mutters. “I’ve been feeling a little queasy since lunch.”
“Better hurry your ass up—you’re up in ten minutes,” Sasha snaps at her before grabbing my elbow. “Let’s go, Brandi. He doesn’t like waiting on his girls.”
“See you later!” I call over my shoulder to Vee.
Fear trickles down my back as we near Archer’s office. Jack and Tatum were right. My plan is dangerous and incredibly stupid. How am I going to avoid taking this charade too far? How hard can they push me before memories of my dark past become too much and I snap?
“There’s the new star of my club!” Dryden sings as I step into the dark office. “Come on in, sweetheart. I won’t bite. Let me get a better look at my newest investment.”
As I take another wobbling step, it’s suddenly as if my feet are made of cast iron. The door clicks shut behind me, and I almost vomit on my stilettos.
I’m completely alone with Dryden.
Trapped.
Déjà vu strikes me so hard and fast that I worry I’ll collapse to the floor. I never needed anyone to protect me before, but I suddenly want Michael to rush in on a white horse like something out of a fucking fairytale.
“I must confess, I like what I saw out there,” Dryden says, starting toward me with a predatory smile. “You’re a natural up on that stage. It’s no surprise our numbers have gone up since you started. Move your hands down, sweet cheeks. Are those tits real?”
Remembering the first time a strange man touched me without my permission, I swallow back a whimper as I nod. My upper lip breaks out in a sweat as I hold my chin up high. I refuse to allow myself to be victimized that way again. “One hundred percent.”
“Hmmm, and confident, too.” He cuts around me, touching the inside of my arm with his fingertips from behind. With the familiar odor of Cuban cigar and leather licking at my nostrils, my stomach begins to heave. His cold lips brush over my ear, releasing memories of all the men before him who whispered comforting words, promising they weren’t going to hurt me or telling me that I was a beautiful girl and they were going to take care of me. “I like a woman who can stand up for herself.”
A great tremor ripples through my body as I’m assaulted with flashback after sickening flashback.
Unwanted touches.
Cruel fists.
Sweaty bodies crushing me.
The walls close in. Raw fear settles across my chest. I welcome the darkness surrounding me, wishing it would swallow me whole.
Then Michael’s voice enters my head, as loud and clear as if he was standing right next to me. You’re stronger than this, Alexa. And you’re safe this time. Fight. Back.
Counting to four, I draw in a steady breath the way the Army psychologist taught me as Dryden hums in a deep, primal sound. He takes his time m
aking a circle around me, his stare burning against my skin.
“I have a proposition for you, Brandi. It would involve extra time outside of the club, but you’d bring in a substantial amount of cash under the table. Tax free.”
Fearing what’s coming next, that he’s going to suggest I sleep with the patrons, I remind myself that I’ve come too far to back out. The last two weeks would be for nothing if I were to run.
“I could always use extra cash,” I say in a wavering voice.
“That’s what I was hoping to hear.” Standing directly in front of me, he crosses his arms. “As you’ve probably heard by now, I’m the president of an MC in Tampa. My club’s putting on a little party at our warehouse tomorrow night for some of the dignitaries in the area. I’d like to class it up a little, have some of my best girls come to put on a little show for the boys. You’d make a hundred dollars an hour for doing nothing more than what you already do here. How’s that sound?”
I swallow hard. It’s the “in” I’ve been waiting for. “Sounds like it would be a great opportunity.”
“Good girl,” he answers, chuckling. “Be here tomorrow night at five. Sasha will find you something special to wear and make arrangements for your hair and makeup. The only thing you have to bring with you is that smoking hot body.”
Rather than using one of my curled fists, I force a smile. “Thank you for the opportunity, sir.”
Taking one of my hands, he lifts it for his dry lips to brush over the back. “No, Brandi. Thank you. I look forward to us gettin’ to know each other better.” Releasing my hand, he winks. “Always do enjoy myself a blonde.”
There’s no question left in my mind. He wants all of me.
I’m fighting back against a surge of bile when someone knocks on the door. A minute later, Freddie’s square head pokes through the door. “We came across some new information regarding Kerissa’s disappearance.”
My ears perk with interest. Kerissa, as in Rambone’s daughter? Michael’s ex? He didn’t mention that she had gone missing. Maybe he doesn’t know. Maybe it happened after he went to prison.
In a flash, Dryden’s demeanor changes, becoming borderline murderous. “Hold on, I was just showing Brandi out.” His warm, wrinkled hand rests between my naked shoulder blades as he guides me to the door. It’s all I can do not to recoil from his unwanted touch.
“Don’t be afraid to ask for anything you may need, sweetheart,” he tells me with a stiff smile. “You’re part of our family now, and we go out of our way to take care of our girls.”
Everything becomes a blur as he kisses my cheek before releasing me back into the hallway. Once I’m around the corner and out of his sight, I vaguely hear Vee calling out after me as I make a mad dash for the bathroom, barely holding it together long enough to dry-heave over one of the toilets.
I got my wish—I appealed to Dryden’s preferences. And from what he was insinuating, it won’t be long until he tries to stake his claim on my body. My stomach cramps as I picture myself at that party, dancing for a warehouse filled with important men.
Stop being a baby, Alexa. You’re going to be exactly where Michael said they house the girls. Isn’t this what you’ve been waiting for?
Once my stomach has settled and I’m convinced that I won’t actually be throwing up any time soon, I rise to my feet and check my reflection. Although I hardly recognize the blonde staring back at me, inside I’m still the girl who survived druggies for parents and abusive foster families.
I can do this.
Even if Dryden pimps me out, it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had strange men touching my body and doing things to me without my permission. But as I stare into the mirror, I promise myself it sure as fuck will be the last.
I head back to the dressing rooms where Sasha lingers near the stage. She throws me another one of her irritated glares. “You’re running the floor in an hour. Clean up and change into that silver g-string with the rhinestone chain.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I mutter. My skin crawls in anticipation of those business men foaming at the mouth for the opportunity to grope me.
After showering and drying my hair, I go through the routine of curling my blonde locks and applying a borderline whorish amount of makeup just as one of my foster mothers once taught me to look what she considered “desirable.” Then I slip into the slinky outfit paired with thigh-high stockings and a pair of red stilettos before giving myself a once-over in the mirror. The urge to spit at what I see has my stomach in knots.
If Michael could only see me now…he’d lose his fucking mind, and not in a good way.
Thinking about seeing him again makes me weepy, so I push memories of his stunning face to the back of my mind.
Far before I’m ready, my time to work the floor arrives and I’m busy hustling drinks. Since I’ve started dancing here, I’ve learned to expect a lot of insanity on Friday nights, and this one is no exception. Bachelor parties. College jocks fresh off the court. Married men who probably told their wives they’re going to a game. All varieties of horny men who can’t get laid otherwise all present and accounted for. It’s a madhouse, and for that I’m grateful. A busy club means less of a chance for the assholes in suits to grope me.
I’m headed back to the bar to put in another order of drinks for a frisky group of frat boys when thick fingers wrap around my wrist, stopping me dead in my tracks. There’s something about the way they feel against my skin…
“How much for a lap dance, baby girl?”
My heart slams against my ribs.
Michael?
Sucking in a sharp breath, I spin around to meet the intense green eyes I dream about every night, and nearly collapse.
Oh. My. God.
It’s really him!
He’s free!
But what the hell is he doing here?
With an overwhelming tremble, I bite down to hide the joyous smile twitching against my lips. My gorgeous man sits hunched over at a small table, wearing a Buccaneers baseball cap pulled down to his eyes, and a fitted black leather coat over a black t-shirt and jeans.
There’s discoloration around his eyes like they had been black and blue recently, and a red gash stretches across one of his cheeks in what looks like a healing cut. I wouldn’t have recognized him if I hadn’t heard the deep rumble of his voice, or felt the electricity of his touch on my skin.
The blinding need to fling myself into his arms fizzles when I realize that (1) I’m undercover, (2) he’s putting himself in grave danger by being here, and (3) he’s several levels beyond pissed. The telltale signs of a corded neck and flared nostrils paired with tight lips and widened eyes make my stomach drop.
Oh, shit. I’m in serious trouble.
“How. Much?” he repeats in a venom-laced tone.
I glance over my shoulder, making damn sure that none of my coworkers are watching before I swing my attention back to Michael. Even when coiled and ready to strike like a cobra, he’s breathtakingly handsome. And seeing him in something other than the usual prison uniform has me soaking through my g-string.
“Meet me around the corner beyond the bathrooms,” I plead under my breath. “I’ll explain everything.”
Still scowling, he releases my wrist and dips his head in agreement. The elation of seeing him out of prison evaporates with the absence of his touch and the coldness in his narrowed eyes. Every muscle in my body resists when I try to walk away, and a tsunami of tears springs to my eyes. How can I leave him behind? This is not how it was supposed to go. Once he was free, we were supposed to finally be together without any restrictions. My heart jolts with unbearable sadness.
“Go before you draw attention,” he growls out.
I regretfully turn my back to him, subtly dabbing at the corners of my eyes before I make it over to the bar. Once I’m finally able to wrap my head around what just happened, elation flutters in my stomach.
One step at a time, Alexa. He’s free, and that’s all that matters…for no
w.
“Something wrong, Brandi?”
When I look up at Teddy, the weekend bartender, he’s standing on the other side of the bar, studying me with his dark blond head tilted to the side. Out of nowhere, it strikes me just how much danger Michael would be in if Dryden knew he was out of prison and in his club. Time to pull my shit together before someone alerts Archer or Sasha that I’m acting out of character.
“Ah, no…I just have allergies,” I say, sniffling dramatically. “They always act up when it gets overly smoky in here.” Then I rattle off the frat boys’ orders from my scribbled notes before telling him, “I’ll be right back to deliver these drinks. I have to hit the ladies’ room.”
Teddy doesn’t pay any attention as he goes to work on the order. I practically skip back to the bathrooms with my heart trying to burst from my chest. When I round the corner, a set of massive arms lock around me and I’m met with a wall of muscle. Before I can release a surprised yelp, Michael’s mouth is crushed to mine and I’m catapulted into heaven on earth. We simultaneously make a noise, mine sounding like a whimper and his more of a territorial growl.
Tears freely stream down my cheeks when I wrap myself around his muscular body, driven to kiss him hard by the array of feelings blasting through my chest. One strong arm wraps around my waist as he buries a hand in the thick of my hair, holding on like his life depends on it. Our hot mouths and tongues slide against each other at a dizzying pace, equally desperate to make up for lost time.
With the exception of Tatum, it’s become normal to have people come in and out of my life. To accept the sting of abandonment. I’ve never felt like I truly fit anywhere or with someone until this moment. No matter what happens from here, I belong with this man, in his arms.
All too soon his lips stop, and he’s scowling like he’s ready to rip someone apart. The dismay conveyed in the whites of his eyes sends my stomach rising into my throat.
Yeah, he’s livid all right.
