by Skye Warren
His jaw tightens. “I want you like this. Spread open. Waiting for me to do whatever I want to you.”
His hand returns to my pussy, and I feel relief. Disappointment too. It hurts that he’s stopped kissing me, because for some reason I liked it. And I know, most likely, it won’t happen again. Not tonight. Not ever again. But it’s for the best. I shouldn’t get used to this.
He pulls more wetness from my core and paints my nipples—first one, then the other. I shiver under his touch. It’s more like shaking, really. Because I know what comes next, the same thing he did to my mouth.
He pulls me up so my breasts are in front of his face. He licks the wetness off my nipple, sucks me until I moan. Then he gives my other breast the same treatment.
And I can’t say anything. Can’t demand to know how he wants me. He dips his fingers one more time, deep inside me, pulling out all the wetness he can find. I clench around his fingers and hear his breath catch.
He doesn’t put my arousal on my body, not this time. Slowly, deliberately, he unbuckles his pants and pulls himself out. He’s as hard as I imagined. As big. As slick at the tip. He runs a fist down his length, mixing my arousal with his precum over his cock.
I can’t say anything, but I don’t have to. How do you want me? I know how he wants me, and I slide to the floor. The floor that’s cold and dusty and damp at the same time, unforgiving against my shins. I’m more comfortable here. Safer. Because this is for sale. And I have the upper hand now. Sex is a battlefield, and this concrete floor is my country to defend.
“What’s your name?” His voice is low—and desperate? That can’t be right. He doesn’t need anything from me. He could have gone to a bar. With that hard jaw and hard body, he would have had his pick. Any girl would have hopped on the back of the motorcycle I suspect he has. And yet he’s here.
He can pay for my mouth. He can even pay for my orgasms. He doesn’t get my name.
“Honey.”
He laughs, a little coarse, a little bitter. But his eyes, they understand. They’re almost soft, tender as they look down at me kneeling. “Pretty little liar.”
But when I lean forward to take him in my mouth, he pushes me away. He fists his cock, fucking himself, still slick from my pussy. He’s taking himself fast and hard—almost like a punishment.
He took his time with me, but not with himself. Now he races himself to the finish line, fist and hips at war until he tenses and comes, spilling into his own hand while I kneel before him and watch.
He collapses back onto the chair, still sprawled but truly relaxed now. Not tense or wary. Not carefully banked power like I felt before. Now he is an animal in repose, a lion spread across a rock, bathing in the sun—even if the rock is a creaking wooden chair, straining under his force. Even if the sun is the flicker of fluorescent lights from the edges of the velvet curtain. It’s still primal.
Still beautiful.
His eyes are closed. His head falls back.
And for some reason I almost tell him my name. I form it with my lips and tongue, but he can’t see. I don’t know why I’d ever tell him…except that I want someone to see me here. To know me here. So that I don’t have to feel alone.
But he isn’t here to know me. He isn’t here to save me either.
Alertness breathes into him again. His expression is sated and…grateful. “C’mere,” he says on a grunt.
And before I can do what he says, he lifts me into his lap. He tucks my legs over the side of his and kisses me—slow, languid swipes of his tongue against mine.
I push away from him, staggering back. I don’t have my balance yet, but it doesn’t matter. I shove aside the velvet curtain and run. He hasn’t paid me, but I don’t care.
“What the hell?” Blue asks, grabbing my arm.
But I break free and keep running. I don’t care what happens behind me. I don’t care about Kip or the fact that I’ll never see him again.
It’s better if I don’t.
I read my mother’s diary until the day she left. That’s how I knew about her affair with the guards. More than one, although it was the last man who got her killed. She thought she loved him.
And she was planning to leave my father.
In that diary I saw her ticket to Tanglewood, West Virginia. There were two words scrawled on the ticket—The Grand. I’d never heard of it then, but it became a kind of North Star for me. As a teenager I had to stay with my family.
And when I’d finally run, I’d known just where we’d go.
I just hadn’t known it was a strip club until I arrived.
Chapter Three
A stranger looks at me from the mirror.
Black thong and red lipstick. They’re my costume, but sometimes it feels like I don’t need them. I’ve been hiding long enough that it feels more natural than honesty. My green eyes and black hair and pale skin are a costume too. I use them to disguise myself when I strip—just another set of tits and ass. How deep does that costume go?
Is there anything underneath?
I’m not sure anymore.
Lola crosses the room toward me. I watch her in the mirror, even when she perches on my vanity table. She wears some kind of red-leather strap bodice that shows more skin than it covers. It looks sexy and almost alien. “What happened?” she asks.
I blink. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t play dumb. That’s Candy’s routine. I know something’s eating you. And I know you left early last night. Some guy get fresh?”
Yeah, some guy had gotten fresh. But it had happened before and never affected me like this. It’s a good sign that she doesn’t know what happened though. It means Blue probably collected the money and made excuses for me. I’ll owe him one now. “I wasn’t feeling well.”
Her expression is knowing—and sympathetic. It’s the sympathy that hurts the most. “If you want to talk about it…”
I don’t want to talk about Kip and how strange he made me feel. Lola doesn’t even know why I’m here, who I’m running from—and I want to keep it that way. She doesn’t know any of my secrets.
“Where’s Candy?” I say instead.
“If you want to talk about it,” she says more sternly, “I’m here. The offer stands. And anyway, maybe there’s something going around, because Candy didn’t show today either.”
But Lola and I both know there isn’t any real sickness. “Did she call in?”
“No, but you know Candy.”
I do know Candy. I know she sometimes goes home with guys who promise her a good time, even though Ivan has rules about that. I know for Candy a good time means alcohol or drugs or both. It’s a dangerous game she plays, but I can’t judge. I just worry. “Maybe we can stop by after our shift.”
Lola snorts. “And get attacked in that fucking rat trap she lives in? No, thanks. I’d rather get attacked here. At least then I get paid.”
All the girls live in crappy places, but Candy’s place is actually the worst. Part of the ceiling in the hallway has just caved in, and there are always guys sitting in the stairwells. It looks more like an abandoned building that squatters use.
I kind of can’t believe she pays to live there. “Maybe if she doesn’t show up tomorrow, we’ll go.”
“She’d better show up tomorrow. Ivan’s already pissed.”
Shit shit shit.
Dread forms a large knot in my stomach. Ivan is our boss, and the second-scariest man I’ve ever met. Maybe Blue did tell on me. Though Ivan doesn’t visit often, and it seemed weird that he’d come just because I’d left early. And also acted strange with a customer, running out before getting paid. But even if I wasn’t the reason for his visit, I still might get in trouble now that he’s here.
Another part of me tensed in anticipation. Maybe he had information for me.
“Ivan’s here?”
“Just talked to him in his office.” Lola winks. “Oh, did I not mention? He wants to see you.”
* * *
If t
he Grand is the murky underwater, then the basement office is the sea bottom, far enough down that no light can reach. The railing keeps me from tripping and falling down the stairs. At the small landing, I knock on the door and wait.
There’s a framed painting of the Grand hanging on the wall. Its brick was once a deep, startling red. For some reason, the painting hasn’t faded, entombed here in the basement. But the real brick did fade. It turned dark the way blood does when it dries. That’s all the building is to the city now—a scab.
A minute passes, and then I hear Ivan inside. “Enter.”
When I go inside, it’s the opposite of a stage. There are no spotlights to blind me. Just a dim stillness to wade through. The room is mostly unfinished, with a concrete floor and exposed vents from the ceiling. It’s the kind of place where I wouldn’t be surprised to find a person hanging in chains in the corner. A dungeon.
There have never been chains down here. I have an overactive imagination.
Or maybe a good memory, of a different time and place.
“Mr. Kosta,” I say.
“Sit.” He doesn’t look up from the paper he’s reading.
I’m not sure how the small lamp provides enough light to see by, but he’s absorbed in his work. Then his gaze flicks to me, and I understand. Because his pale blue eyes are like spotlights, making me feel exposed.
“How are you, Honey?”
I suppress a shiver.
The first time we met, I came to him for a favor. I needed information. Why had my mother planned to come here? What was waiting for her here? And some small part of me still hoped she’d arrived, that she’d escaped some other way.
Ivan had made me dance for him.
He watched me impassively. The hardness in his suit pants told me he liked what he saw, but his eyes were flat. He made no comment on my body, made no move to touch me. Instead he said I would work at his club. I would only have to dance. Not fuck anyone. And in return he would look for the information I needed. He was the most well-connected man in this old city.
And he named me Honey. Similar to my own name, but the opposite really.
I hate the name, and I think he knows that. It’s a hammer. Every time I hear it, I sink a little deeper into the wood.
I think he knows that too.
“Fine, sir,” I say now.
That earns me a faint smile. “So respectful. Are you this respectful with everyone?”
Yes. I’ve always been the good girl. “I don’t know.”
I remember avoiding Blue’s gaze. I remember kneeling at Kip’s feet. I probably do look respectful, but mostly I feel afraid. Maybe those are the same things.
“Do you know why I called you down?”
I shake my head, hopeful. “You found something?”
“Yes.” He leans back and crosses one ankle over his knee. “But that’s not the only reason. Someone was asking about you.”
My throat seems to close up entirely. I can almost hear the metal clang of a gate falling around me, trapping me where I sit. He already knows way more about me than is safe. I had to tell him in order to stay here. Had to tell him to get the information I need. Had to tell him to keep my sister safe. Clara.
If he tells someone else, I’m fucked. And so is she.
“Who? When? What did you tell them?” My words come out soft, almost like a shuddery breath. That’s all I can do now. Count my breaths and stare down the barrel.
“I told them you’re one of my girls.” One corner of his mouth lifts. “I told them you’re valuable to me. And loyal. Aren’t you?”
All I can think about is running again. That’s the opposite of loyalty. “Yes.”
He laughs softly. “You’re a nice girl. A good girl. You’ve always done what I need you to. I like to reward good behavior.”
Does he mean information? Protection? The former is why I’m here. But the latter… God, we need protection. I can’t imagine he would do that. No matter how much I earn onstage, it isn’t worth using his resources to guard me. No, I can’t rely on Ivan.
We’ve been found. We’re in danger. My mind is already mapping bus routes out of the city. Where would I go next? Far. That’s the answer.
As far as the money I’d earned stripping would last.
He looks thoughtful. “You’ll be safe enough here. His name is Kip. And I think…” A smile now. “I think he wants to fuck you.”
Relief pours through me, so hot and potent I feel faint with it. I can’t even be angry that Ivan has been taunting me with this. It’s not Byron. It’s not my father. It’s just a man interested in a stripper—nothing special here, move along. “I’ve danced for him.”
Ivan’s eyes narrow. “Interesting. Actually, I found something you might be interested in. In my own records. It turns out the man you asked about used to work here. Security. This was before I came to own the place. From the file I have, he’d been fucking around with the girls one time too many.”
I flinch. That is the man my mother had believed herself in love with. That is who she’d gotten killed for. “When did he stop working here?”
Ivan reads off a date from a paper on his desk.
I imagine this man getting fired and looking for work elsewhere. He could have gotten a job with my father in a different state. He had fallen in love with my mother—or at least pretended to. They’d hatched the plan to steal the jewels. He never could have pulled it off alone. My mother would have helped him.
An inside job all the way.
A few days later my father told me she was in a car accident, even though she wasn’t allowed to leave the mansion any more than I was. She certainly wasn’t allowed to drive herself. It was clearly a lie, but what was he hiding? Her murder? Or her escape?
A man with his pride might have said that to save face. I’m here because of simple, stupid hope. Maybe she did use that ticket to leave Las Vegas. Maybe she’s still alive. Maybe she’s living in a cute little house with her lover—with spare bedrooms for me and Clara.
Okay, that last part is just a fantasy. But there’s something here in this city. The jewels? The truth? I need to find out if my mother made it here. I need to find out what happened to her.
“My mother?” I ask.
He shakes his head. No. Not yet.
And I need to keep stripping if I want him to keep looking.
“Can I go now?” I whisper. It’s a weakness, I know that. If I were stronger, I could bluff. I’d pretend I didn’t care and walk out with a flick of my hair, like Candy can do.
I’m not bluffing though. I can’t. My whole body is a tell—tense and terrified.
“Why would I keep you?” The question isn’t innocent. He doesn’t mean I’d never keep a woman against her will. He means, You’re valuable to me. I can use you. His casual tone is a block of cheese set inside a trap, something to lure me inside. I’m a mouse in a lion’s den. He’s playing with me. It’s only a matter of time until he pounces. But if I leave the cave, I give up any chance of keeping Clara safe.
We’d be found eventually, but we wouldn’t have the leverage to fight my father.
My chest is tight. “I’m doing what you asked me to. Dancing.” Fucking.
In that, he’s just like Byron. Just like my father. They want my body. They want vacant eyes and a small clay smile. They want a doll.
He nods, accepting my obedience as if it’s his due. “And I’ll keep looking for information on your mother. But I want you to stay away from Kip.”
What? I stare back, silent. It’s bad enough to have to dance for these men at the flick of his fingers. Now I have to stop. There’s something deeper going on here. Why does he know Kip but dislike him? He seems almost afraid… and yet, he’s the most dangerous man here.
So what does that make Kip?
Ivan smiles, predatory. “It’s interesting that he’s here at all, but then you’re an interesting woman. I knew that the first time I saw you, when you showed up desperate for a job and much too thin
. But you certainly know how to make the customers hard, don’t you, Honor?”
I flinch, more because he uses my real name than anything else.
I can’t deny that I was desperate. I’d have done anything for this job, but Ivan’s never fucked me, never touched me. He’s never watched me dance beyond the initial interview I did for him. In that respect I’ve been lucky to be here. But I know male appreciation when I see it. If I have to use that to stay off the grid, I will. If I have to use it to save Clara, I will.
After all, that’s what I’ve been doing all this time.
“I’ll do anything.” I’m not even sure what I’m begging for. Answers? Sanctuary?
But he seems to know. His eyebrows rise. “How about giving me your sister?” A beat. “No? I didn’t think so.”
I swallow hard. He doesn’t want my sister, not really. He wants me desperate.
And that’s what he’ll get.
I can do this. Hadn’t I just done the same thing last night? But it feels different, when I stand up. It feels different because when I did this to Kip, I wanted to. No matter what I told myself, it hadn’t been fear I’d felt behind that velvet curtain. Not fear of him, anyway. I’d felt desire, and that was the scariest thing of all.
I don’t feel desire now, but I still know how to move my hips, how to kneel in front of him, how to run a hand across his thigh. His legs part to give me access, but I need more permission before I can continue. Overstepping my bounds with a man like him can be fatal.
“Let me,” I whisper.
Let me touch him, suck him. Let me go.
He catches my chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing me to look him in the eye—in a similar position to what Kip had been in last night. But Kip’s dark eyes had been hungry and warm and concerned.
Ivan just looks curious, as if I were an animal performing some mating act he finds faintly distasteful. “If you suck me off, what then? You’ll walk out that door, and I’ll lose one of my best dancers.”
I flinch, unable to deny the truth.
If he let me go now, I’d be gone. On the run, again and always. But if Ivan has figured that out, then he won’t let me go. My stomach turns over.
