Blood Revealed (Brimstone Lords MC Book 6)

by Sarah Zolton Arthur

  It’s a day of washing clothes to make sure my thongs and pasties dry in enough time. They’re hand-wash only and air dry. Then, because it’s been a while, I head down to my stylist, Trudy. She’s always able to fit me in, miraculously. But I could use a trim and a freshening up of my highlights.

  Finally, it’s off to the club. I’m welcomed back by the other girls with warm hugs. Elise is there. She’s technically my boss as the club’s general manager.

  “Didn’t expect to see you back,” she says when I walk into the office to clock in.

  “Why not? A girl needs them dolla-dolla bills.”

  “Yeah, but now that you and Blood are married—”

  “I still need a paycheck. He makes good money, but I’ve been taking care of myself all my life. I can’t just live off him.”

  “Girl, I get it—trust. That’s why I’m here. You remember I was in college when my stuff went down. I’d worked hard for that degree and planned to use it.”

  “Well, I’m going to warm up. How late are you here?”

  “Only until five. With Beau gone, I need to get Gun from daycare.” I find it weird to hear her call Boss, Beau. As old ladies are the only ones allowed to call their respective Lords by their given names, I’m sure it’s weird for her to hear me call Blood, Raif. After seven years of calling him Blood, it’s still weird for me.

  “Give Gun kisses for me,” I say as I head for the door.

  Then I spend the next several hours dusting off my pole skills. It’s been a few since I’ve been to work, what with Elise’s kidnapping and then mine, and then going off to get married. It’s time to work out a new routine.

  Before the end, I sport a nice sheen of sweat and have quite the crowd. The other dancers and some of the bar and waitstaff, even the security, watch me strut my stuff across the stage. It feels good to stretch my muscles again. To push myself as far as I can push.

  Finally, the time comes to get ready. As I’m their main dancer, the other warmup acts go on first for each set. I do four sets a night. This new routine will end the evening for us. Since I’m sure it’ll be a showstopper, I figure it’s a great way to stop the show.

  Tonight, I have on my pink sequin thong and bikini top to start the night. They don’t get all the boobs until the final notes of the song. It keeps the allure. Other girls don’t get it, but it’s creating this character that the men desire but come just short of having. It’s a fine balance. And my tips allow me a comfortable life, especially not paying rent. But even if I paid two grand a month for rent, I’d still have a comfortable life.

  The dancer before me runs off the stage to grab her robe hanging over a chair to cover up with. The prerecorded MC announces that the time has come for “the captivating Crystalline.” That’s my stage name. I run onto the platform made up of dark stained, waxed, wooden flooring and stop abruptly to slide, spinning so my ass faces the crowd. I give it a shimmy. The men begin to whistle and hoot. The music moves me. It’s “Pour Some Sugar on Me” by Def Leppard, a classic that gets them so pumped up, bills begin littering the stage before I ever take to the pole. That’s where the magic happens. My dance moves are something to behold, but my pole dancing kills.

  I swing and tumble, hanging upside down, then grabbing the pole. My back arches out and I swing my legs down, straddling the shiny, metallic rod, circling it as I slide the rest of the way down. Pushing up with my heels, it looks like I’m about to crabwalk, but I bring my legs up over my head until I’m flat on my belly and undulate like a snake or a wave. I throw myself up into a sitting position, swinging my legs around, showing off the goods covered in thong, thrusting my hips forward. The men go crazy.

  It’s always like this. Three-quarters into the song, I reach behind me to unclasp my sparkly bra, letting the fabric fall to the floor. Two hot pink, sequined flower-shaped pasties cover my nipples. The bills go from fives and tens to twenties and fifties. The men know the score. They’re saving the really big bills for my final set. That’s the one where I throw out all the stops.

  After a couple more spins on the pole, I slide to the center of the stage, stand with my feet shoulder-width apart, fold my arms over my chest, then peel off the pasties for a glimpse of full boobs, shaking them for the crowd before the last note hits and the lights go down.

  The lights stay down until I’ve gathered all the money the men have tossed on the stage and run off. I pluck my robe from the chair where I left it before heading back to the dressing room.

  All I do is stage dance. I’m good at it, but also, the thought of lap dances scares me. The thought of getting that close to a man I don’t know reminds me too much of the life I barely escaped. Plus, even if I wouldn’t let him claim me, I’ve been in love with Raif for years and it didn’t seem right to get that intimate—even if only dancing and with clothes on—with a man who wasn’t Raif.

  At the end of the night, I’ve cleaned up with the tips. The men reacted to the new dance exactly as I knew they would. I shower and dress in my regular street clothes, my tips locked in my locker along with my purse until I’m ready to leave.

  The bouncers are responsible for walking us to our cars at night, making sure all the dancers especially, but the waitstaff, too, get home safely. It’s almost 3 a.m. before I’m able to get going. The prospect opens the gate for me when I reach the compound and I am so ready for my nice, warm bed.

  I send Raif a quick text to let him know I’m home. Apparently, that was a mistake. His response comes back immediately.

  Raif: Where were you at?

  Me: Just got home from work.

  Raif: WTF?

  Me: I’m sorry?

  Raif: We’re married. You’re done at the club.

  Wait—what? It’s what I’ve done for seven years. I don’t have any other skills. I never even graduated from high school.

  Me: Raif

  Raif: Talking when I get home. Too pissed now.

  No goodnight. He simply stops texting. What exactly did I do wrong? He’s the one who helped me get a job dancing in the first place. Whatever. I don’t have the headspace tonight to deal with his drama. I’m tired. As we’re legally bound, I’m assuming we’ll talk once he gets back.

  I change into my nightie and climb into bed. I lie there for what seems like forever, my brain not getting the memo that I’m tired and don’t have the headspace to deal with Raif’s issues.

  Eventually, I do doze off, but it’s a fitful sleep that has me tossing and turning the entire night. A constant back-and-forth of my eyes popping open and drifting shut until the light begins to skim the darkness and I call it, getting up to get on with my day.

  My first instinct is to go make food for the brothers until I remember that A. the brothers are gone right now, and B. it’s not my job any longer. I cooked and cleaned for the brothers in return for a safe place to stay. Now that I’m an old lady, I don’t have to do shit for the other men anymore, though I will still sometimes because I care about these lunkheads.

  After splashing water on my face and pulling on a pair of black leggings and an oversized sweater, I slip on a pair of ballet flats, throw my hair back in a ponytail, and go search out food.

  It’s too quiet in the clubhouse. Only the other hot mamas who live here semi-permanently lope around, getting on with their days. Most of them either work at the club with me—they’re still sleeping like I should be—or have day jobs.

  I whip together a breakfast casserole of eggs, cheese, and hash browns, wrap foil over the top, and take it over to my sister’s place mostly to check on her, but if I’m being honest, it’s to have company, too, because that conversation with Raif still bothers me.

  Two knocks. Three knocks. On the fourth, a bleary-eyed Brinley answers the door. It looks like I woke her up—oops. She has work anyway. I lift the casserole pan and give her a sheepish grin. “I brought a gift.”

  Brin sighs and steps out of the way. “I’ll start the coffee,” she says.

  It’ll take a few min
utes for her oven to heat to temperature. While we wait, the coffee drips into the carafe, filling the space with the dark roasted aroma. When the red light on the oven blinks off, signifying it’s ready, I slide the casserole onto the middle rack, shut the oven door, and turn to see my sister holding out a large mug of steaming brew for me.

  “How’re you feeling?” I ask. “Sorry I woke you up, by the way.”

  “It’s all right. I have to get ready for work anyhow. Feeling better, actually. The morning sickness seems to be easing, which is good because I’m hungry all the freaking time now.”

  I shrug. “You’re growing a person. I’m going to guess that burns calories.”

  She chuckles. “You’d think I was a glass china doll; I mean, Levi won’t let me do anything—except in the bedroom. It’s to the point that I’m starting to feel useless.”

  “Who would’ve thought?” I ask, though not really asking. “You must have magic in your vagina.”

  “Hey!” She shoves me while laughing.

  I give her my big ‘what?’ eyes.

  “Nobody was supposed to know about that,” she says, eliciting a barking laugh from me, giggling from her.

  When the timer goes off, I serve both of us up heaping platefuls, setting one in front of her and one in front of me. We eat and chat until she looks over to the clock on the coffee maker.

  “Shoot,” she says. “I have to get dressed.”

  “I’ll get going,” I offer.

  “Trust me, I’d rather be here gabbing with you today. I’m still tired and I miss Levi. He’s comfortable.”

  “It’s amazing how used you get to sleeping next to another person so easily. It sucks without Raif.”

  “Did I hear right that you went back to the club last night?” Since we were having such a nice, light conversation, opening that can of suck doesn’t get me giddy. Elise is a gossip. Good to know.

  “Yeah. It was great. I came up with a new routine. My tips were crazy good.”

  She’s silent for a moment, biting her upper lip.

  My sister has something to say. She needs to just say it already. “What?” I ask.

  “Well… it’s just that Levi would blow a gasket if I took my shirt off in front of other men. Not that any other men want to see all this.” She runs her hand up and down her torso and God, I wish she wouldn’t talk about herself like that. She won. She snagged the unsnaggable Hero. How much more convincing does she need? “Blood doesn’t mind?”

  “He’s the one who got me into it in the first place,” I say, defending myself.

  “Right. I know, but you weren’t his old lady then. And you certainly weren’t his wife. Does he know?”

  “I texted him last night.”

  “How’d that go?” she asks.

  “Not well. He stopped texting me.”

  “I’m surprised he didn’t call to yell at you.”

  “Brin, what else am I supposed to do?”

  She shrugs, her sadness toward my predicament clearly evident. “Sissy, you’re so smart, there’s nothing you couldn’t do if you put your mind to it.”

  “You should get dressed,” I say in lieu of a response. She gets what I mean, leaving the table to shower. While she’s in there, I clean up the dishes and wrap the rest of the casserole in a container, putting it in the refrigerator, and slip out without saying goodbye.

  No one understands. Yet at the same time, I get what she’s saying and that’s the shit part.

  Now I don’t know what to do. I have a shift tonight, but risking my marriage for a job isn’t remotely worth even the great tips. Not when I’ve been in love with my husband since I met him almost a decade ago.

  As the day draws on, I’ve cleaned the clubhouse, done laundry, and pretty much twiddled my thumbs knowing I’m going to have to make that call to Elise—the call I’m dreading—when the door to the common bangs open, hitting the wall behind it, and Raif storms in.

  “What are you doing here?” I sort of screech, startled.

  “Needed to get home before you left for the club,” he growls.

  “I’m not going to the club.”

  “What?” It’s his turn to startle.

  “You didn’t like it. I’m not ruining our marriage over a job. Although I don’t know what I’ll do now. Where are the other brothers?”

  Raif stalks toward me, wrapping his strong arms around my waist, trapping my arms. Those beautiful, dark eyes search my face as he cocks his head. I think I’ve stumped him. Did he think I was going to argue?

  “Still out on the ride. Took off last night. We needed to talk.”

  “You left the ride?”

  “Carver would understand. What made you decide not to go?” he asks. He’s definitely stumped, all right.

  “You want me to go?”

  “Fuck no. But you sounded like you were doing it no matter what I thought.”

  “I love you, Raif. There are times I’ll need to push an issue, but this just didn’t seem like one of them. I decided, since you seemed so upset, that I wouldn’t go back to stripping. Though going back to minimum wage is going to suck.”

  “Why would you need to go back to minimum wage?” he asks.

  “Stripping is all I’ve done for seven years. You know I have a limited education. What else am I going to do? If you think I’m staying home to be your ‘little woman’ you’ve got another thing coming, buddy.”

  He outright laughs. “My Han, a ‘little woman?’ If that was what you wanted, I’d take care of you, no problem. But I know you. Let me talk to Elise. You’ve been there, been helping the other dancers for years. They trust you…”

  “I don’t want special favors, babe.”

  He stares at me incredulously. “Han, what’s the purpose of fucking a Lord, aside from getting to play with my world-famous dick, if you don’t take advantage of special favors?”

  We both laugh and I twist to hip-check him. “World-famous dick,” I mumble. “You’re an ass.”

  “Yeah, but I’m your ass, baby.”

  That he is.

  And because I’m not going back to dance tonight, Raif takes his time getting me reacquainted with his legendary dick, as if I’d forgotten any vein or ridge of skin in the short time he was gone.

  Although I’ll never tell him—I mean, I don’t want him to get an even bigger head—I’m glad he’s home. I missed my human body pillow. My biggest cheerleader. My best friend.

  After three days of unemployment, I got the call from Elise. As the club GM, she decided to create a position for me. I never expected a position just for me, but I wasn’t about to turn it down, either. My new job title: Dancer Liaison. It’s my responsibility to take care of the dancers specifically. Basically, it’s what I’ve been doing for years, only now I get paid for it to keep me off the pole.

  I’ll miss the applause. But Raif’s happy and I’m happy because my hours have normalized, not needing to stay at work until 2:30 a.m. I’ll be out by 11:00 every night. Today, Elise asked me to come down to the club early because they’ve had ads up for a new dancer to replace me. Not to toot my own horn, but there was a reason I made the tips I did.

  Oh, and bonus, depending on how good the new girl takes to my training, my income shouldn’t go down. Which means I’m training her like my wallet depends on it because I’ll get a cut of the nightly take above what I used to bring into the club as the headliner. Hell yeah.

  With Raif at work, I take my Jeep down to the club. Chet, the daytime bouncer, is on duty. The club opens at lunchtime. Though you want to be a primetime dancer. That’s when the real money exchanges hands. He has a crewcut. Only about 5’9, Chet’s as wide as he is tall and it’s all muscle. I think the dude lifts weights with his neck.

  “Hey, Chet,” I say, patting his arm as he opens the door for me.

  “Hey, sweetheart. How’s it going?”

  “I’m here to help Elise interview a new dancer. Should be fun.”

  “No one dances like you,” he say
s.

  I playfully swat at his shoulder. “Don’t let my husband hear you say that.” Chet’s face turns ashen green. It doesn’t matter that the man has at least fifty pounds on my husband; they all know not to mess with the Lords.

  Elise sits at the table closest to the stage when I walk in. “Girl, I think we got a good crop of talent to go through. It’s gonna be hard.”

  “Well, I’m glad to hear it.” And I am. A good crop means bank for me.

  I order a Coke Zero on ice from the bar and take my seat next to Elise. “Okay, Reggie,” Elise says. Reggie is the club’s daytime sound guy. “First up is Nelly Grace. Fingers crossed,” she says.

  The music begins and Nelly Grace strides onto the stage. She’s—whoa! Gorgeous doesn’t begin to cover it. Her dancing could use a little polish, but the brunette beauty has a quality that we find admirable here. Namely a sweet face and big tatas.

  “She could work,” I tell Elise something that she can clearly see.

  At the end of her dance, I catch a glimpse of the next dancer, who sneers at Nelly Grace as she leaves the platform. I don’t like that at all.

  “This is Sexy Sable,” Elise says next.

  She struts onto the stage like she already owns the place. She might have the body of a goddess and her dancing might even rival mine, but the look she shoots me and then Elise is more than I’m willing to deal with. It’s fine to think yourself hot shit; it’s not okay to try and rub that in the faces of the women who’ll be employing you.

  When she’s finished, Elise looks at me and at the same time we blurt out, “No way in hell.”

  We go through four more dancers and decide on two. But Sexy Sable isn’t on that list. I plan to make Nelly Grace my project.

  “Are you sure you want me?” she asks. “I saw Sable dance.”

  “Yeah,” Elise says. “We also saw her attitude. This club is a family. We don’t have time for anyone who thinks her shit don’t stink. You’ll be working directly with Hannah here.”