by Ryan Michele
My heels clack on the hardwood floor as I stride closer to Luna, her face turned as she whispers in one of the other girl’s ears. Stupid on her part, not paying attention to her surroundings. Not paying attention will cause her problems, like right this second. “Stand up!” I bark.
Luna sits at her makeup table, her back snapping at my words. Her eyes sweep up and down my body, sizing me up. Good. She reclines in her chair with utter defiance oozing off her. She thinks I’m not a threat. Whatever she saw wasn’t what I thought she would, all right. Time to step it up.
“I said, get up. I won’t repeat myself again,” I clip hard, my tone leaving little room for her to ignore. Cali steps closer and I’ll have none of that. This is not his battle. “Cali, back off.” He retreats slightly, but my eyes stay locked with the blue ones in front of me that are screaming for me to smack the hell out of her.
“Nah. I’m comfortable here.” She crosses her legs, her body still pretty relaxed. With her arms crossed against her chest and her feet not locked with the chair, I grimace. I’m not happy about what I have to do and luckily her chair is out far enough that it can be done.
I shrug, lift my foot, and kick the chair underneath of her hard. She falls to the floor with a thud as the chair flies behind her, crashing into the makeup station and scattering things. The women around her stand in shock, moving away from the flying items. Luna’s gasp and wide eyes tell me that she is surprised by my actions. Good. I may appear small, but after years of strength training on the pole, my legs can pack a powerful punch. I refuse to give her a hand to get up. She can do that shit on her own.
“What the fuck?” she roars, shaking out of her shocked stupor. She rises, dusting off her thong-covered ass that is now dirty.
“Thanks for standing up.”
Luna’s face turns as red as the inside of a watermelon. Anger or Embarrassment. Who knows? My own anger creeps in and I silently count to ten and school my features. I stare her dead in the eye so she knows I’m serious as a heart attack. Tom Petty’s song “Don’t Back Down” pops in my head. Shit. Focus.
“Let’s get something straight. I’m in charge. You don’t like it, there’s the damn door. Don’t let it hit you in the ass on the way out. You don’t like me, tough shit. Right now, I don’t like you so much either, so we’re even. You give me one ounce of shit, I’ll do a hell of a lot more than kick a damn chair out from under you.”
She interrupts me. What in the hell is wrong with this woman? Stupid. “Who in the fuck do you think you are, whore? You think just because you eat Princess’s pussy it gives you the right to look down on all of us?” Even through her anger, a small smirk plays on her lips like she thinks that comment is going to affect me. The bitch has to know that Princess will flip her shit when she learns about this. She’s either brave or incredibly stupid. I’m going with stupid.
I shake my head, ignoring the pussy comment. It’s so not worth my energy. “See, right there is where you’re wrong. I don’t look down on you. I know you fuck men for cash among other things outside of here. I don’t give a shit. I don’t know you and you sure as shit don’t know me.”
“Luna, you’re up,” Doug yells from the doorway and she smirks, sashaying around me. No fucking way.
“No.” I call out, not turning around but keeping my gaze on the other women in the room. “Do whoever is next in line. She doesn’t dance until I say so.” The room is so quiet all I can hear are the faint catcalls from the men and women on the main floor. That rarely happens with all the commotion back here. It probably has to do with the fact that the other women have their jaws hanging and can’t yap them.
“Ms. Blaze. I know you’re in charge, but Princess said to keep to the list.” Doug’s impatience pisses me off.
I turn around and actually let some serious anger come into play. I’ve kept it in check, but…
Luna’s evil eye does nothing for me and the apprehension in Doug’s expression makes me want to laugh but I don’t. “Like you said, Doug, I’m in charge. Luna doesn’t dance until further notice.” I’m clipped and to the point, leaving no room for argument.
“You can’t do that!” Luna wails and stomps her feet like a petulant two-year-old, her arms crossing over her chest. I seriously thought we were past the tantrum stage.
I ignore her and focus on Doug. “Who do you need?”
He removes a little card out of his pocket and stares at it. “Brandy, but give me a minute to let the DJ know the change. Be right back.”
My eyes land on Luna and I clasp my hands behind my back. “You obviously have an issue with me and I don’t care. If you want to dance tonight, get the stick out of your ass. You do as I say and keep your damn mouth shut. You open it again spewing your vomit, you’re gone.” I turn to the others behind us, not giving Luna a chance to respond. “Anyone else have anything to say?” Heads shake no as soft vocalized no’s come out of their mouths. I turn and brush past Luna, but stop. “And don’t think for one minute that if I kick your ass out, Princess won’t fire you in a heartbeat.” I wait a mere second, seeing if anyone is brave enough to take me on, and then jet to my room.
Once there, I find my bag and unzip it. Jackpot. I change into my worn boot cut jeans and a V-neck navy top, way more covered up than I normally am in this place, and I like it. I put my hair up in a messy bun and dig in my purse for my reading glasses. Not really a disguise, but it may help. Trial and error.
I can’t help but be a tad bit nervous being on the floor. If one of the guys recognizes me, who knows what will happen. That’s why I have Cali.
A soft knock comes and I open the door. Luna is standing there, looking at her shoes. “What do you need?” I ask, sweet as pie and not giving her an ounce of anger that she deserves.
“I need to dance. I need the money.” She sighs loudly. “I’ll keep my mouth shut and listen.”
“I know you need the money. So do I. That’s why we’re both here. Keep your mouth in line and I’ll let Doug put you on the next rotation.” She nods and skirts away. I nudge Cali. “Let’s go.”
First problem solved.
Seven hours later, my feet are barking from the nonstop rotation in these killer heels. When I wasn’t on the stage, I was circling, making sure everything went smooth. I had the occasional ass grab and those assholes were greeted with a raised brow from me along with a warning from Cali. He didn’t like me being out there at all. His guard was so far up it would take him years to climb over it. I think he’s more relieved this night is over than I am.
Luna got her stick out of her ass and straightened up, so I allowed her to dance. The rest of the girls were respectful and the only other problem we had was lost shoes, which were later recovered. All in all, considering the rowdy crowd, it was a great night and none of the customers put two and two together regarding me. Thank you alcohol.
I wave off Cali as I lock my Jeep doors and check my phone. I haven’t had a chance to all damn night. It reads 3:37 a.m. and has voicemails, missed calls, and text messages. I scroll through, all from Princess.
Princess: Brothers got Casey. They are bringing her to clubhouse.
Princess: She’s in bad shape.
Princess: Shit Blaze.
My stomach plummets as I think the worst. I’ve been there and if what happened to me has happened to her, I hope she’s strong enough to get past it. I listen to the voicemails which are mostly Princess repeating herself, but the fear and uncertainty in her voice is desperately conveyed.
I chew my lip. I don’t want to go home yet. I’m too revved from the night and worried about Casey. I put the Jeep in drive, pointing it straight for the clubhouse. I’m not sure what I can do, but if there is anything, I’ll do it in a heartbeat. Even if it’s just being there for Princess.
The night passes by in a cascade of streetlights. One good thing about it being this early in the morning, most people are still in bed and traffic is scarce. With each bright light that I pass, my mind wanders to what Cas
ey might have gone through.
My bedroom door creaks open. Oh God. I keep my eyes closed, hoping he thinks I’m sound asleep and won’t wake me. Not that it’s stopped him or his miserable son before, but anything at this point is worth a shot. A second pair of footsteps follows behind the first and I pray this is not like before. It took a week last time to be able to pee without it burning.
I lie on my side and keep my breathing steady, giving no signs that I am awake even though I want to scream at the top of my lungs, not that anyone will hear. My mom is out with some of her friends tonight and the house is practically soundproof. I could fight, but the last time I did he beat me so bad that I had to miss several days of school because of the marks, and with it being my senior year, I hate to miss. It’s the one thing I’m actually good at. I told my mom that I got into a fight with another girl, but it was all a lie. One that if he said I didn’t say, he’d end up killing my mom and after what he’s done to me, I have no doubt he would.
“Aww… look at her, son. So sweet. I get first dibs.” I cringe. Please, no.
“Damn, Dad, you got it first last time.” As they talk as if this whole situation is a normal thing, bile rises from my stomach threatening to escape my lips, but I choke it down silently.
“Stop being an ungrateful little shit. I could withhold her from you all together. I’m not fucking her mother for the fun of it.” That fucking piece of shit.
“Wake up,” someone growls and the covers are torn off me, but I don’t move. I lie there paralyzed. Please go away. Three harsh slaps to my hip and my eyes open wide from the pain. He flips me over, lying me flat down on the bed. I wish my clothing would deter them, but that’s just a pipe dream.
“Get her clothes off.” I press my legs together, not wanting trouble, but not wanting to give in either. “Open those thighs, bitch. You’re fucking ours tonight.” Something snaps and the fight wins out. Even though I know the consequences, I can’t play dead. I scurry from the bed yelling no, but it’s too late. An arm comes around my waist, pushing me back onto the bed and a head punch has my world spinning.
“Shut your fucking mouth or I cut your mother’s treatment off. Then she dies. Or I can kill her. Either way she dies. You want that on your conscience for the rest of your life?” From the grittiness in Santos’s voice, I shake my answer, no. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do to protect and help my mom. Even this.
A loud tap on my window catches me off guard, snapping me out of my thoughts. I jump in my seat, turning to the sound, shock flowing through me. My breath catches at the handsome man staring at me, beer in one hand and eyes dancing with lustful humor. I realize quickly I’m in the clubhouse lot and have actually parked my Jeep. Shit, when did that happen? Rolling down the window, the quiet sounds of the night crickets chirping and a fire crackling form in the distance. Peaceful.
“You gonna get out of the car, sweet lips?”
I growl as Tug says those words, pretending the pet name pisses me off when in actuality I kind of like it. I’ll never tell him that though, and the thing is, I think he likes me pissed. It’s as if he gets off on it.
“Get out of the car, Blaze.” He swings the door open wide. The indoor light flickers to life, cascading a glow around me. I blink a couple of times from the harsh change, also taking a second to put on my armor. When it comes to Tug, any extra strength I can get, I need.
I follow his bidding and step out of the Jeep. “I came to see how Casey is doing and if Princess needed me.” Even with only the moonlight, his milk chocolate eyes suck me in and draw me to him in a way that scares the ever-loving shit out of me. I break from his gaze, needing a reprieve. How can one man pull me in so much with a damn look?
“Come over and let’s talk, they’re with their guys, hopefully sleeping.” I shouldn’t go. I should stand my ground. Truth is, I really don’t want to be alone either. I nod and he leads me over to a set of white lawn chairs scattered around a big fire pit in the courtyard. This space is large and open, mostly grass and includes chairs and picnic tables scattered around haphazardly. Bikes are parked in the side lot. There is also a kids’ play set that I’m sure belongs to Princess and Cruz’s boy, Cooper. With no one around, it’s eerily quiet, the only sounds coming from the flickering flames. I sit next to him, and his energy comes off loud and clear. It’s a combination of frustration and anger. I don’t like either.
“How are they?” I’m scared to know the answer to the question, but I need to know for my own sanity.
He sighs loudly and swigs the beer. Gripping the bottle between his hands, he rests his elbows on his knees and bows his head. “Casey and Shaina are in bad shape. We think that Shaina got the worst of it, but don’t know too many specifics as Doc doped them both up so they could sleep and I haven’t heard the final report. One thing’s for sure, the fucker who took them won’t hurt them again.” With tight eyes and grim lips, danger is pouring off of him. A small slice of fear creeps in as I have yet to see this side of him.
“What can I do to help?” I focus on the fire instead of his features. Luckily, I get entranced in the flames turning from yellow to red to orange, going high then low. I love watching fire burn, not like a pyro or anything. It has always calmed me and right now, I need any and all distractions.
“Nothing right now. There isn’t anything any of us can do.” Helplessness draws in his voice. He and Casey have been close over this past year. Casey has repeatedly told me how easy he is to talk to and this whole situation has to be hard on him.
Instinctively, I reach over, placing my hand on his thigh and give it a gentle squeeze, hopefully letting him know that I’m here for him too if he needs me. The big problem with my hand touching his hot heat is it burns like it’s getting scorched by some flame that isn’t even there, shooting tingles up my arm and engulfing my body. His face turns to mine and the same fire burning my skin is blazing in his eyes. Shit. Shit. Shit.
I tug my hand away from his thigh, but he stops me and places his hand on top of mine. If I thought it was electric before, it was nothing compared to this. I’m pretty sure he caught the full body tremble that ensued, judging by the smirk playing on his lips.
“I should just go.” I stand from the chair in a rapid movement and sever contact with him. I wipe my hands on my jeans, thinking I can rid the touch, the feel, but it doesn’t happen.
“No.” Tug sets his beer on the ground and stands next to me, so close I can smell the beer on his breath. I wonder what it would taste like on his lips. “Stay with me,” he pleads, and damn my heart aches for him. The anguish is so raw. Even a tough guy like Tug isn’t immune to it. “Just stay and talk to me.” My heart clenches and I fear it will burst from my chest.
Talk. What the hell are we going to talk about? We have nothing in common, at least that I know of. He’s involved with a motorcycle club, I strip. Not a lot of similarities there, but the pain and ache in his eyes crush me. If it will help him, I’ll stay, even if the consequences could be difficult for me.
“All right,” I breathe out, taking my seat. The flames of the fire dance and little pops coming here and there echo through the night sky. I could almost get lost in it.
“How’s it going at X?” He breaks the comfortable silence, but I notice he asked me how it’s going not how did I do tonight running the show. I’m sure with everything going on Princess didn’t fill him in. I roll with it.
“All right. Princess cleaned house with some of the girls. That helped a lot. Those women were nothing but trouble.” Trouble and a pain in the ass.
“Princess runs a pretty tight ship over there. What do you do when you’re not at X?” He picks up his beer and sits fully back in the chair. His ankles cross and I realize just how long the man’s legs are. Damn.
His question catches me off guard. For some reason I didn’t think Tug was interested in me as a person. I figured I was a challenge, another notch to put on his overwhelmingly full bedpost. But he actually wants to know me? His su
ltry eyes beg me to talk to him, tell him about me. How can I not?
“Read mostly.” He coughs as his beer bottle reaches his lips. I swear he’s laughing at me and that pisses me right the hell off. I grip the plastic chair, wanting to scream at him but for some reason hold back. “What? Just because I’m a stripper, I don’t read?” I bite out. There is nothing worse than assholes thinking that all we are is a body; of course, that is what we are to them, but still. I am so much more than that. He congratulated me on my degree last night, surely he didn’t forget that already.
“It ain’t that. I know you got a brain up there,” he turns to me, “and I like that.” My heart goes weak. Dammit.
He stays quiet like he’s reading me or is inside my brain, going through the files of my life, before he speaks. “So what do you like to read?”
“Really. You want to know that?” I challenge, my curiosity piquing. What man gives a shit about this? Are there guys out there that care about this stuff? It would be nice if there were, but I’m sure he just wants in my pants.
“Really,” he replies, and I think about my answer carefully because I sure as shit am not blurting out that I read books with sexy men riding motorcycles who have lots and lots of hot sex. Uh… no. That’d be like handing me over on a silver platter. Not happening.
“Romance books.” Each one of my books has romance, a love story. Mostly love stories that have so much heartache you cry and so much sex you get hot and bothered. Perfect combination.
I watch with interest as his lips mold around the top of the beer bottle. He smirks, catching me, and I retreat my gaze as my cheeks heat up, no doubt red. “Like those ones with that Flableo guy on them?”
