Private Dancer (Club Volare Book 12)

by Chloe Cox

  Now Bette couldn’t take her eyes away. And she could see Mascolo was growing impatient. He rolled his eyes, put his hand on the back of the woman’s chair. Bette jumped in sympathy.

  “Listen,” Mascolo said. “Mr. Faulkner is trying to look out for you. It’s a good job. We can take you over there today.”

  The woman didn’t say anything. Just the back of her head bent slightly.

  “Sweetheart,” Mascolo said, and his voice was anything but sweet. “It’s not like you have a choice.”

  The words sent a sickening shock down Bette’s spine. She didn’t need to know the details to know that whatever was happening in that office right then was very bad, very wrong, very evil. And that all of these men were far more dangerous than she had thought. All of them. Including Mark.

  For a second she debated going in there. Telling them she’d recorded them. But she hadn’t. And Mascolo and his piggish partner were the cops.

  What would they do to her if they found her listening? What would they do to that poor woman?

  What would happen to Lizzie?

  Suddenly Bette was moving, her limbs carrying her away from that horrible office and whatever was happening there faster than she’d thought possible, taking the stairs two at a time, just needing to get out and into the light where things like this weren’t supposed to happen. Good God, what were they going to make that poor woman do? What was her ex-husband actually doing with all those clubs?

  What would Cole think if he could see her right now?

  That last one bit deep. Bette had just run away, leaving some poor woman to fend for herself, and now she had to go dance a shift at a strip club. Her only comfort was that she wouldn’t have to see Cole’s face when he found out who she really was. At least he wouldn’t see her cower. At least he wouldn’t see her dance.

  She still had no idea what she was going to do.

  Cole drove up just in time to see Bette leave.

  He had kept his promise. But in the end, it didn’t matter. All roads led to Bette.

  Robert Faulkner was the one social worker who kept popping up in the cases associated with women who had worked for Mark Duvall in some capacity. He was obviously Duvall’s connection. The guy who did some of Duvall’s dirty work, the guy who would be easiest to nail to the wall. Cole would do just that for the pleasure of it, and then he’d get him to talk.

  So Cole had driven out to the ugly building where Faulkner had his offices, far out of the way and far from prying eyes. He’d been there to tail Faulkner, find a way to put the screws to him so he could roll up Mark Duvall and his whole organization. And in the process make the world safe for one woman in particular, who he would then find and discipline until she begged for more.

  And then he’d seen Bette Liffey herself come out of that building, her makeup running with her own tears, her face like she’d seen a damn war crime.

  That’s when Cole’s plans had changed.

  He didn’t have time to get out of the car and catch her before she’d jumped in her car and pulled out like she couldn’t get away fast enough. His heart had dropped through the bottom of his chest, right into the pit of his stomach, where it burned and ached like a black sun.

  If Robert Faulkner had hurt Bette, Cole didn’t know if he could control himself.

  Instead he’d followed Bette. There was nothing more important. And as he followed her out to a now familiar location, more pieces of the puzzle started to come together. It was the worst case scenario. Why hadn’t she trusted him with this? Trusted him to help her?

  Cole was willing to wait for Bette to feel safe enough to tell him. But as he pulled into the X-Pectations parking lot and drove past Bette’s now-parked car, he knew there could be no more waiting.

  It was time to let his sub know how things were going to go.

  28

  Bette was still weirdly numb as she arrived at X-Pectations. It wasn’t the true numbness of exposure to cold, or like when you let your little sister fall asleep in an awkward position right on top of your leg and your foot just goes to sleep entirely. She could still control her body, sort of obviously, because she’d just driven all the way to X-Pectations for her shift.

  But it all felt somehow…far away.

  The same thing used to happen when she was a kid and her mother would get in one of her “moods.” She’d just go somewhere else in her head until it passed. But Bette most definitely was not a child anymore. She had responsibilities. She couldn’t just check out.

  And her body stubbornly wasn’t listening. She’d moved robotically, getting her stuff out of the car, trudging across the parking lot to the back entrance of the club, getting into her stage costume in the locker room.

  It was nice not to have to feel much of anything while she waited to go on stage, at least for a little while. Except…

  She deserved to feel bad this time. Bette had left that poor girl alone in that office to face Faulkner and Mascolo and whatever they wanted her to do. Probably work in one of Mark’s clubs, based on what little Bette overheard, and she had a feeling it didn’t just mean stripping anymore.

  And she’d been married to that monster. She knew it was more than a little bit irrational, but she still somehow felt responsible for him. And now things were too crazy, too out of control. And she had Lizzie to think about.

  The worst part, as she prettied herself up for men she’d never care about, was that there was only one person she wanted to talk to. One person she wanted to call.

  Cole.

  Judging by the music, Sadie’s stage set was almost over. Bette was on next. She picked up her phone, the last thing she’d put away in her locker, and called up Cole’s info. She’d blocked him. Blocked him! Because she was too much of a chicken to face him. To show him who she really was, what her life was really like, and see his inevitable disappointment.

  And now Bette was going to have to tell him everything anyway. She had to get help from somewhere. She couldn’t leave that girl in Faulkner’s office to fend for herself all alone, and Cole was apparently the only decent law enforcement type she knew. So she’d tell him everything, and she’d have to face her broken heart in the end anyway.

  At least, in the end, he wouldn’t see her like this. He wouldn’t see her be manipulated by her ex, or by Bob Faulkner. And he wouldn’t see her dance.

  “Bette, it’s your song.”

  She didn’t even know who said it. Just put away her phone, along with her dreams, and got on with it.

  Cole walked up to the main entrance of X-Pectations, not the back door that the employees used, and locked eyes with the bouncer. The bouncer was a big guy, grizzled, a scar on his cheek. He stiffened as Cole approached.

  Cole sized him up. He wouldn’t flash his badge, because he didn’t know who in this club was on the up and up, or if Mark had people watching Bette out here. Probably not. But he wouldn’t risk it.

  “What’s the cover?” Cole said, as friendly as he could.

  “Twenty.”

  Cole gave him the cash and waited. The guy was trying to decide if Cole was trouble, or maybe he’d made him as law enforcement. The car was always a giveaway.

  No time.

  “Step aside, buddy,” Cole said.

  The bouncer blinked. It was the voice. Dom voice. Always worked. Especially when you fucking meant it.

  “Good choice,” Cole said as the bouncer stepped sideways, making room for Cole to pass by in the narrow little vestibule. He walked through the short hallway beyond it, the driving bass of the music pulsing around him, leading him where he needed to go. He could feel it in his chest. Could feel lots of things in his chest.

  He knew what he would find.

  The darkness of the hall gave way to the hazy light on the floor of the club, lit only by the spotlights directed at the stage. The set up wasn’t all that different from the way they set up the stage at Club Volare. Except this time the woman on stage belonged to him.

  Bette.

&n
bsp; Christ, she was gorgeous. Bette, dancing on stage with a light on her, like it should be. Only something was missing. He watched her, spinning around the pole, athletic, beautiful. Controlled. So controlled. Cole looked around at the faces of the audience. None of them knew that it wasn’t all of Bette up there.

  Just like Bette hadn’t wanted him to know that she stripped. Cole had known it was a sore point, from how she reacted that first night they met, when he told her she dressed like a stripper. But he’d made a promise not to investigate her. He couldn’t turn off his instincts completely, but he’d done his best to keep that promise.

  But so many things made so much sense, seeing her up there. She was afraid he’d look down on her. That he’d see her as less than she was, because of her job, because of her life, because of her past.

  So it was no wonder she needed the release that only Cole could give her. Her whole life was a controlled performance. Was spent holding herself back to keep herself safe, or doing what she had to do for her little sister. Bette carried all of that by herself.

  Well, she wasn’t alone anymore. And it was time to remind her who was in charge.

  Cole went and took a seat in the front row.

  Bette gripped the pole with both hands, rested her forehead against it, and slowly sank into a deep squat, knees wide, hips thrust back. Swivel, undulate, ride the pole back up—the moves were familiar, the music triggering muscle memory that operated independently of her mind.

  Good thing, too, because her mind was still a mess.

  It was full of Cole, for one thing. Her heart still hurt, her brain still in a low-grade panic after what she’d seen at Faulkner’s. But mostly, as she danced, she missed Cole.

  She’d marked erotic dancing as a hard limit on that dumb form he’d made her fill out because she hadn’t wanted to mix worlds. Back then she’d thought…she didn’t know what she’d thought. But it was safer to keep Cole and Club Volare and even everything Faulkner demanded of her separate from the rest of her life. Besides, dancing wasn’t erotic for her. It was a job.

  Nothing reminded her of that more than the hot lights and the hungry eyes of the invisible crowd. The beat of the synths washed over her as she hooked her leg around the pole and let go into a slow, controlled circle, and she felt herself start to melt away. Not the release of subspace, like she got with Cole. But the escape of being somewhere else. That numbness.

  That was probably the best she could hope for a long, long time.

  That realization jerked her closer back to reality. Her grip faltered, and she started to slide down the pole. Between one beat and the next she caught herself and finished like she’d meant to do it, like it was part of the routine. When her heels touched the stage again, she folded all the way to the floor, arched her back and rolled.

  Rising goddess was one of the first moves she’d learned and loved at the same time, because it made you actually feel like a rising goddess when you did it. This time as she fanned her arms out, pressed her palms to the floor and arched her back, she felt nothing at all.

  Until she saw him.

  Spencer Cole. In the front row. His eyes on hers.

  Feeling flooded back into her body in a rush. She stopped at the top of the pose, overwhelmed, unable to do anything but just hold it as all the things she’d been trying not to feel crashed over her. It fucking hurt. How had he found her? He knew. He knew she’d been lying. He knew she was a stripper. Did he know everything?

  Why had he come for her?

  And he was right there, watching her. With that look in his gray-blue eyes. The one she always seemed to lose herself in. Bette felt herself slipping into it, one more time, and as she did that thing she always felt between them sparked to life. Except this time he didn’t even have to touch her. This time it was just the look in his eyes that held her with something beyond words. Beyond fantasy. It was the most real thing she’d ever felt in her life, and even though now Cole knew the truth, it was still there. He was still there.

  Eyes still locked with hers, Cole slowly nodded. And she knew she could keep dancing.

  No. She knew she would keep dancing. For him, this time.

  The song ended almost too soon. Definitely too soon. Bette could work out all that emotion on stage, safely. But the music started to blend into the next set and she didn’t have a choice. She had to get off stage, and onto the floor.

  She had to face him.

  It felt like a dream. The music pounding, the plunge into darkness off stage. Someone handed her the robe she liked to wear on the floor—it was silk, and short, and suggestive as hell, but it still covered more than a typical outfit. It got her a lot of requests for private dances, even though she hadn’t felt up to doing any in a long time.

  Bette swallowed. She wasn’t working anymore. Everyone else on the floor just fell away. All she could see was Cole.

  Watching her.

  Slowly, she made her way toward him. It gave her brain enough time to kick back into gear while her body came more and more alive. God, just being near him. Just knowing his eyes were on her, and she could feel every last muscle, every last nerve, every last square inch of skin. All of it practically vibrating, aching to be touched by him. And her brain? Her brain was just screaming.

  He turned in his chair, his legs spread wide enough for her to see the bulge on his thigh, his shoulders back, his eyes level on her. His face gave nothing away, except that he wanted her. Maybe as much as she wanted him.

  “How did you find me?” she whispered.

  Cole didn’t answer right away. And then, in the space of a beat, Jerry the bouncer was there by her side, staring hard at Cole. Jerry was gay, loyal, and chivalrous as an old-school knight, and he must have seen her face. He just read it wrong.

  “Is this guy bothering you?” Jerry said.

  Cole looked at her. It was a strange expression. Like…like he was waiting to see if he was.

  “No,” Bette said. “No, it’s ok.”

  Cole nodded. Somehow, even sitting down silently, Cole was the loudest man in the room. Jerry deflated a little, clearly aware there was something going on, but not sure what it was. “You let me know if you need me, Bette,” he said.

  Bette said nothing. She couldn’t look away from Cole.

  “You and me,” Cole said. It was the first time she’d heard his voice since she’d sent that text. “Private room. Private dance. Now.”

  Bette swallowed. All of her worlds were colliding together, all of her hopes, all of her fears, all of her desires. All she was sure of in that moment was that she loved him, as impossible as that seemed. And she’d lied to him.

  She didn’t know what was coming next. But she put her hand out.

  Cole took it.

  29

  Cole followed behind Bette, allowing the change in position this once, in this place.

  A strip club.

  She led him through the hazy darkness, her body dappled with strobing lights as they walked, all the eyes of the male audience on her no matter where she was. Cole’s possessive instincts rose inside him, predictable and stupid. He kept them under rein.

  Everything about her body language told him Bette was his. His cock knew it, too. And now his goddamn heart.

  He’d been angry when he walked in. At the world, at Mark Duvall, even a little at Bette for not trusting him with any of this. Then he’d watched her dance…

  Controlled. Distant. And then once she’d seen him, something had changed. A moment when she’d frozen. Then Cole had nodded at her. Wanted her to go on. And she’d moved fluidly, freely, like she trusted the world to catch her if she fell.

  Cole didn’t know how to describe it. But he glimpsed, watching, why she hadn’t trusted him. Being his sub gave her that release, that freedom. Asking her to risk that without laying his cards on the table first hadn’t been fair. He’d been on guard once he knew she was hiding something. Comparing her to his ex-wife, even if she didn’t know it. Letting the past color the future.
Telling himself the connection couldn’t be real, because he didn’t know enough about her. His hardness had armored him and kept Bette out.

  She hadn’t trusted him because she hadn’t known how he would react. It was that simple. And that was Cole’s mistake.

  The music faded as Bette led him into a winding hall with private rooms off to the side. She chose one and opened the door to reveal circular red leather booth seating, and mirrors on all four walls. As soon as she opened the door, music started playing through the speakers. Right next to one of the speakers was the camera.

  Bette turned around and silently looked up at it, in case Cole hadn’t seen it. He nodded. He knew the deal.

  And then she looked at him with those big soft eyes, and he almost forgot all about it.

  Slowly, Bette reached for the tie on her tiny little robe. Cole reached out and put his big hand on hers. If she were going to take it off, he’d be the one taking it off for her. And not before she knew why he was there.

  “I was staking out Faulkner’s office,” he said. “You saw the files at my house. His name was in them, connected to too many women who’d worked for Duvall. So I staked him out. And I saw you leave his office, crying. Followed you here, because I’m fucking human and you were crying. But I kept my promise, Bette. I know what I know, but it’s not because I went after you.”

  She blinked up at him, her shoulders relaxing. Tears quivered on the edge of her lashes, and Cole wanted to fight the whole world.

  “Of course you didn’t,” she said.

  “You ended things,” Cole said. “You have a right to do that. You can tell me to leave, and I will.”

  Bette sighed, shaking her head hopelessly.

  “No, I can’t,” she said. “I don’t want you to leave.”

  He knew it already. She knew it. Whatever was between them was still just as strong as ever. It was the rest of the world that had lost its mind.

  “Did Faulkner hurt you?” Cole said. Fearing the answer more than he’d ever feared anything in his entire goddamn life.