Bound To Cobalt (Bound To The Billionaires Book 3)

by Coco Miller

  Remembering why I’m doing what I’m doing, I hike my purse up my shoulder and head to the car. I’ve become pretty perfect at putting my makeup on while driving. Since I’m on stage, most of the men are looking at my body and not my face, so unlike most of the women there, I don’t bother with heavy makeup that will cake and look terrible by the end of the night.

  “Crap,” I mumble when the lipstick falls out of my hand and onto the floorboard by my feet. When I get to the red light, I bend down and pick it up real quick and curl my lip in disgust when I see a few hairs and dirt on the dark plum color. It’s a good thing I carry a backup. While the light is red, I put on some blush and a thick layer of mascara. I always get done right when the light turns green and then I head on my way to the club. I’m hoping this is only for another few more months and then I can find something else.

  But what else can pay what stripping pays? Some days I walk out of here with a thousand dollars, and some days I walk out of here with three−hundred bucks and that’s a bad day. People can judge all they want, but I’m taking of my mom and me. I’m doing what is expected of me. I’m being a good daughter.

  I pull into the parking lot and take a deep breath. “I can do this. I can do this. It’s good money,” I tell myself over and over again as I stare at the building in front of me.

  The building looks run down and old. The outside is a plain beige color with a pink tint, but inside is very luxurious. There are plenty of private rooms, couches, beds, strip poles, booths, and all of them have the same seductive feel with the red lighting and glitter finish.

  It’s one of the biggest strip clubs in the United States, at least that’s what one of the girls told me. I know it’s the biggest totally nude strip club and considering I never get down to totally nude, I know my days are numbered here if I don’t get my shit together.

  I get out of the car and grab my bag from the backseat. I’m about to shut the door when something slams into me from behind and holds my face against the car. Something presses against my temple and it doesn’t take me long to figure out it is a gun. The barrel is cold and I can see the reflection of the weapon against the car from the street light behind me.

  “Well, well, well. Look who it is.”

  I close my eyes when I hear a familiar voice.

  “Tony,” I greet through the fear trembling my body.

  “You have the money?”

  “No, you know I don’t. It’s going to take longer for me to get it than I thought. One−hundred−thousand dollars isn’t easy to come by.”

  He presses the gun against my temple a little harder and chuckles. “Rick is getting impatient. It goes up twenty grand every day that passes.”

  “Twenty!” I try and pull away. “That money was for my mother’s medical bills. I didn’t piss it away.”

  “Aww, a sad story. You hear that, Zack? She wants a pity party.”

  “Boo−hoo,” the other goon pretends to cry.

  “He wants fifty grand by the end of the month,” Tony warns, cocking the gun and the slight tick makes my heart skip a beat. “You borrowed it. You pay it back.”

  “I don’t know how I’m going to get that amount so fast.” My cheek starts to hurt from the force of being pinned up against the car.

  One of his hands run down my body and grabs my hip, moving the gun down my temple, cheek, neck, until pointing it against the back of my head. “Rick will take what is his. He owns you, girly. Remember that.”

  “I haven’t forgotten.” I try and shrug out of his hold but he is stronger than me.

  His lips graze my ear, and I do all I can not to vomit from the stench of his cigarette breath. “I think you have. You’re taking advantage of our kindness, girly. We don’t like that. You came to us, and we trusted you to pay in full. Now, I don’t care what you have to do but you’ll do it, isn’t that right?”

  A tear rolls down my cheek when his hand moves a little lower, squeezing the thick of my ass. “I’ll do it. I swear. I just need a little more time.”

  “Fifty grand by the end of the week or we will be taking you to Rick himself. This is a warning, girly. Don’t make me mess up that pretty face.”

  He shoves me one more time and the move causes me to bite my inner lip. Blood pools in my mouth and the metallic taste of iron slides down my throat.

  This is exactly what I get for going to a loan shark.

  I had to, though. The bank was telling us they were going to foreclose on the house. There was too much debt, so I took care of it the only way I knew how. I visited Rick Gianni, a well−known person to go to for money on the south side of the strip. I knew it was stupid when I did it, I still know it is stupid, but my mom has her home and her health.

  That’s what matters.

  Even if my life gets traded for it.

  Wiping my tears, I glance down at my phone and see I have fifteen minutes until I need to be on stage. Damn it! I’m running late. I pick up my bag, throw the fake stethoscope in the back seat and slam the door. I press my palm of my hands against my eyes and try and take a few deep breaths. How is this my life? Six months ago, I wouldn’t have even known where to find a loan−shark and now I’m in deep. Too deep.

  I don’t know if I’m ever going to be able to get out of this.

  But I guess I’ll figure it out.

  I always do.

  I cross my arms and walk toward the employee entrance. As soon as I step inside, a cloud of smoke hits me in the face, lights flash, and music shakes the walls.

  “Bout time. I didn’t think you were going to show,” Bobby, the owner says, crossing his arms over his chest. “You go on in ten.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I got held up.”

  He holds up his hand, not wanting to hear my excuse and turns around to walk down the hall. I follow him since I know he is taking me where the strippers get ready. “You have to go bare tonight, okay? We have big spenders in the crowd and while they like your teasing act, they want to see the goods, okay?”

  “Bobby—”

  “You’re on thin ice, Gabriella. If you don’t want to show it all, find another club. In this one, people pay to see tits. So show them and hurry up. You’re on after Angel.”

  I plop in my seat and stare into my reflection. The vanity lights make me feel pretty. They are so bright and illuminate every part of my face. My cheek is getting bruised and I lift my hand, look around, and see what I can use to cover it up. I’m darker than all the girls here. No one has foundation or concealer to match my skin tone, and I didn’t bring any because I wasn’t expecting to get assaulted.

  I decide to go for a more fun and showy look. I rip off my scrubs and my secret shows. I’m wearing a black corset with stockings and underneath is a strapless leather top and thong. I’ll get good tips tonight, but I won’t get bare. What I do is enough and if Bobby doesn’t like it, he can fire me. Other clubs will have me. I’m a good ass dancer.

  Making sure there is no one around me, I use some of Crystal’s pink blush and body glitter. I dab my fingers in the hot pink formula and blend it across my cheek, wincing from the pain that’s pulsing under the skin. I gather a bit more product and bring it up to my temple and then use the rest on my lips, then top it off with glitter.

  I yelp when I see my reflection.

  “Jesus, I look like a whore,” I mutter to myself.

  But that’s the job isn’t it?

  My heels are killing my feet already and when I get on the stage and grab the silver pole, the lights go off. The music changes to a slow R&B tempo and I forget who I really am. The smell of alcohol fills my nose, a lighter flicks nearby, and men are panting in front of me.

  “Please welcome our good girl, our teaser, our sweet little cherry on top. Hopefully, she’ll be able to sweeten your night. Everyone, say hello to Gabriella.” My name is drawn out in a deep voice by Bobby and everyone cheers. A few drunk men bark like dogs, a masculinity thing, I guess.

  It gets quiet as I tune all of it out and
concentrate on dancing. I forget I’m using my body for money. I forget I owe Rick. I forget Bobby wants me to take it all off.

  And I remember how much I love to dance.

  It’s showtime.

  Chapter Three

  Rowan

  Since I’ve been in Vegas, I’ve gone to three strip clubs but none of them are like this one. It’s big and a ton of women work here. The inside is nice even though the outside of the building leaves something to be desired. The atmosphere is sexy. Red lights give the place a feel of seduction, which makes sense considering that’s a part of a stripper’s job, I suppose.

  I take a seat in a darkened corner just in case. I still need to be careful, but hopefully I don’t think anyone will notice me here and if they do they will be too scuttered (drunk) to remember.

  The lights turn down low at the same time a cute cocktail waitress with long brown hair and ‘fuck me’ eyes sits down my scotch. I take a sip and wince.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Yes?” she purrs, bending over to show her cleavage.

  She’s beautiful but she’s not really my type.

  “I asked for top−shelf scotch. I want the best. I believe this is well. It’s repulsive.”

  I want to hit myself for how snobby I sound, especially with my accent, but I know what I like and whatever she gave me isn’t it.

  “Of course. I’m so sorry, sir. I’ll be right back. It will cost—”

  “I do not care about that,” I say and out of habit go to tug on my suit sleeves but stop myself in time from making a fool out of myself. “It’s okay. Thank you for taking care of this,” I try to sound as polite as I can and sit back, bracing my arms over the back of the booth as my eyes return to the darkened stage. She hurries away, leaving me in anticipation of what the show will bring.

  In England, if I were to be caught in a place like this, my family’s name would be ruined. And to find time for such activities? That doesn’t happen either. That’s why I’m here enjoying myself before going back to the dull life of living as a Prince. Sure, I can have whatever I want but this tonight is freedom. To come to a strip club at any time of the day and watch women dance is pure freedom for someone like me.

  Truthfully, I’m here because the women absolutely intrigue me. I’m not looking to get laid or have a lap dance. Women are beautiful to watch as they sway and move and get lost in the music. Some are graceful and beautiful like swans, and others seem so damaged and broken, it makes me wonder what their lives are like beyond these glittery walls. I guess maybe a part of me kind of wants to fix it for them. I’m no hero by any means, but I can see the darkness in Vegas and I can see how easily one could get lost into it. I’m still here, so what does that say about me?

  “Here you go, sir. I’m so sorry about that.” The waitress places my scotch down and waits for me to try it. I sip it and hum appreciatively when the smoky flavor hits my tongue.

  “Thank you.”

  I hand her a hundred−dollar bill and she takes it with wide eyes and a slow hand. What she doesn’t know is that there is way more of those for every drink she sends me.

  “Enjoy the show. Gabriella is different than most of our dancers,” she says. “She is known around here as a tease, but she is amazing on the pole. I think that’s why Bobby keeps her around.”

  “A tease how?” I ask.

  “You’ll see.” She leaves me with a hair flip and a sway of her hips.

  The lights on stage turn on but everything else is encompassed in darkness. Her hand is around the pole, her back is arched, one leg is up hugging the pole and her head is tilted back. The woman named Gabriella’s hair tickles the tops of her arse and once the slow music starts, her hips rock to the left, then to the right, slowly and carefully. Her outfit is sexy but not revealing, just enough to leave me wondering what her body looks like.

  When she finally turns her face forward, my dick jerks in jeans and my mouth parts on a silent gasp. She’s the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen. Her skin reminds me of the creamiest caramel candy and her lips are full, heart-shaped, and begging to be kissed. And I would. I’d kiss those lips everyday if I could.

  I need a closer look at her.

  I grab my drink and head to the stage and find an open seat right in the front and sit down to watch this beautiful woman dance. She isn’t teasing me. She isn’t goading me. Her eyes are closed as her body listens to the music. She jumps up, grabbing the top of the pole and flips her body upside down and her long luscious locks create a waterfall, nearly touching the stage floor. I get out two hundred−dollars and lay them in front of her, sit back, take a sip of my scotch and watch art being made.

  This is the first woman I’ve seen in a few years that has struck all my chords. I never date because of the stress it will entail at being by my side, but this woman has me rethinking that. She twirls, locking her legs tight around the piece of metal and lets her hands go. I nearly jump up to catch her if she falls, wanting to protect her, but it turns out she doesn’t need me.

  Watching her dance is a privilege. I’ve never seen anyone dance like this before. I wait for her to take off her corset, to pull that ribbon from in the back but she never does. Gabriella jumps on the pole and swirls, doing tricks I’ve never seen before. The endurance this must take, the strength, it’s amazing.

  The men around me are practically foaming at their mouths and waving money in the air for her to come to them. Absolutely classless. I lay three more hundred dollar bills in front of me and sit back. Gabriella has this entire place entranced and she has no idea.

  “She’s hot, right?” the guy next to me says and I clench my fists with how he talks about her. “I have come here so many times, begging her to come give me a lap dance but she doesn’t. What I’d give to have that ass straddling my dick.” The man bites his lip and squeezes the air, acting as if it is her ass.

  American men are repulsive.

  Absolute gobshites.

  I don’t let my eyes stray from Gabriella. I do what I can to ignore the man next to me, who’s shouting disgusting things at her and when she falls to her knees and slides forward, she is in front of me. She flips her hair and a strong scent of vanilla wafts in my nose. I groan, wanting more. She finally opens her eyes as if sensing me, and when our eyes meet, everything stops around us.

  She stops dancing.

  I stop breathing.

  The music still plays and my heart races.

  She has the biggest brown eyes I’ve ever seen, and I know right then and there I have to know this woman more. I need to. A part of her calls to me. I see her beauty, her talent, but I also see how lonely she is, how broken, and my soul reaches for all the damaged parts to want to make it better.

  I place another bill on the stage and slide the cash forward. She looks down and her eyes widen bigger than it thought they could and she grabs them, stuffing them in her breasts.

  Gabriella goes around and takes the money given to her, leaving with over a thousand, easy. If she were mine, she’d never had to do this again. I’m not saying its degrading, but I’m saying that I’d rather she dance like that for my eyes only.

  With that thought, I get up, take my drink and head back over to my booth, hoping Gabriella comes out to the main floor.

  “Would you like another drink, sir?”

  “Please,” I tell the waitress. “And may I buy some of Gabriella’s time?”

  “She doesn’t do lap dances, sorry. Her rules.”

  Oh, so she’s a good girl and doesn’t show her body on stage or share it with men. I like that.

  “I don’t want a lap dance. I only want her time.”

  “I’m sorry but then what do you want with her? She doesn’t have sex with people either. It’s against the rules.” The waitress crosses her arms, causing her breasts to get pushed up higher. “I like Gabriella. She sticks to her rules. I won’t let her get bullied by you if that’s what you’re doing, buddy.”

  Buddy. I snort and then toss my h
ead back and laugh. This little waitress is a fireball. If she only knew who she was talking to…

  Actually, I’m so glad she doesn’t. It makes me feel normal for once. That’s the thing about hanging in certain places in America, people have no idea who I am. It’s nothing like it is back across the pond.

  “I respect your concern for your friend. She can come out here and your boss can keep an eye on me. I really only want to speak to her.”

  “You talk funny. You’re not from around here, are you?”

  “Is anyone?” I ask.

  “I’ll let her know, but don’t be surprised if she says no, Mr.?”

  “Walsh,” I say. It’s a common last name that I use when traveling so that no one will suspect anything.

  “I’ll be back in a jiff then, Mr. Walsh.”

  I watch the waitress waltz down the hallway on a mission and my heart hammers in my chest remembering the moment Gabriella and I shared. I just hope she comes out because I know she had to have felt it too. It’s beyond the typical enchantment strippers have over men.

  My earth shifted.

  My wants changed in an instance.

  I take another swig of my scotch and take a deep breath, watching the large chunk of ice settle in the amber liquid.

  What if she says no?

  Then I guess I’m coming back every night until she says yes.

  Chapter Four

  Ella

  I sit down in my chair and take a swig of water to calm down the heat in my veins. I’m sweaty, my lungs are expanding until they can’t anymore, and my heart is racing. I want to say it is from the workout I just did on the pole but I know better.

  It’s because of him.

  The green-eyed stranger up front, placing hundred−dollar bills on stage as if they were napkins. His eyes locked onto mine and he sucked the air from my lungs from his intense gaze. There’s something in the way he looked at me, something that made the world stop turning and the crowd to disappear, and he made my ambitions come back to life, my drive, my motivation.