by K. A. Ware
“I flirt, it’s just a different kind of flirting,” I offered, covering my growing smile by taking another sip of beer.
“How many times a night do you slap a guy across the face?” she asked.
I snorted mid-swig of beer at Quinn’s comment. Coughing, I tried to compose myself, but the chuckle that rose up in my throat was unavoidable. “I don’t do it unless they pay for it, not my fault the pencil dick corporate fuckers get their rocks off being belittled by a hot chick in a G-string.”
“Doubt this one’s looking for any of your kinky dominatrix stuff, he’s got that badass biker vibe,” Quinn sighed.
My spine straightened, and my mouth immediately went dry despite the drink I’d just taken.
Had Butcher found me?
Slowly, I turned, shifting my body off the stool and slipping behind an unaware Quinn for coverage. I felt kind of bad using her as a makeshift human shield, but I couldn’t risk Butcher spotting me if it was him.
It took a second to find who she was talking about in the crowded bar, but when I tagged him, it wasn’t fear that shot through my veins, it was white hot rage.
“Fucking Butter,” I hissed. The bastard must’ve told him where he’d dropped me off and being the stalker Baz was, he didn’t waste time using the newly found information.
“Butter? What the hell?” Quinn asked, looking back at me.
“Nothing,” I grumbled, my eyes never leaving Baz.
He sat comfortably at the second stage rack, a blonde dancer named Gwen had one leg hooked over his shoulder as she played with herself.
Right. In. Front. Of. His. Face.
As if he could sense my anger, his eyes flicked up and locked on me. I don’t know what I was expecting his reaction to be, but a shit-eating smirk wasn’t it.
Quinn gave a little squeal of excitement. “Oh shit, he’s looking this way. I’m going to go see if he needs anything before Cali sinks her claws into him.”
I didn’t respond as she expertly balanced her tray on the one hand and made her way through the crowd of people.
Gwen had moved on to the next customer, but Baz’s gaze never left mine.
He’s toying with you.
When the realization donned on me, the impervious mask I’d perfected over the years slid easily across my face, hiding all previous emotion behind it. I guessed that since overt stalking hadn’t worked in his favor, he was trying to make me jealous instead. Too bad for him it wouldn’t work. At least, I wouldn’t let him know it worked.
“Thanks for the drink, I’m going to go check on Emerald,” I called out to Nic as I snatched my wristlet from the bar top.
Stalking down the back hallway to the dressing room, I silently berated myself for letting him get under my skin. I knew better. I’d been reminding myself for weeks—years actually—that he was just another asshole biker.
So why was the sting of disappointment spreading in my gut?
As much as I didn’t want to admit it, I’d been holding out hope that Baz wasn’t who I thought he was. That miraculously, despite being a biker, I finally managed to meet a decent guy. I’d been testing him without even realizing it. Playing coy to see if he’d give up trying when I wasn’t as easy to get back into bed as the girls he was used to. He’d been doing well up until this point, but a decent man wouldn’t come to my place of business with the intention of making me jealous by letting some chick shove her snatch in his face.
The anger I’d been repressing started to rise as I pushed through the door and into the dressing room. I wanted nothing more than to march my ass back out there and give him a piece of my mind, but I couldn’t. I had to pretend like everything was just peachy.
It’s not that I cared if my man went to a strip club but pulling that shit right in front of me was disrespectful.
But he’s not your man. You made that perfectly clear, multiple times.
“Damn it,” I growled, throwing my wristlet down on one of the vanity tables. Gripping the back of a chair, I tried to calm the fuck down.
What did you expect? You kept pushing him away. You told him he had no right to question your behavior, so what gives you the right to be pissed off about his?
“Fuuuuuuck!” I screamed, picking up the chair and slamming it back down on the concrete floor several times. I wanted to throw the damn thing across the room but resisted the urge with the last thread of self-control I still had.
Stella wasn’t the only one in the family with anger issues. I’d been battling my temper for as long as I could remember and it still got the best of me sometimes. But not tonight, not because of him.
I hated how conflicted he made me feel. Hell, I hated that he made me feel. My body wanted him, my paralyzing fear of Butcher wanted his protection, but my mind kept telling me he was more trouble than he was worth, and my heart, that damn thing wasn’t any help, it had frozen over years ago.
“Um, is everything okay?” a small voice asked from behind me.
My head jerked up, and I caught sight of Emerald’s terrified face in the vanity mirror. I literally just told Nic I was coming back here to check on her, yet in my self-loathing, I’d completely forgotten about her.
Turning, I ran my fingers through my hair. “Sorry, everything’s fine.”
“Wanna talk about it?”
Taking a deep calming breath, I walked to my locker. “Nah, I’d rather drink about it.”
Pulling out the bottle of tequila, I lifted a brow and raised the bottle in her direction. She smiled shyly and nodded, offering me the cup she’d used earlier.
After pouring her shot, I settled myself on the floor and took a long swig from the bottle, luxuriating in the burn the clear liquor caused as I swallowed it down. Numbing my thoughts with alcohol was far from healthy, but at that moment, I was all out of fucks to give.
“Do me a favor, promise me you’ll never hook up with a customer. No matter how nice he seems, he’ll only cause you problems,” I said after a while.
Emerald cleared her throat and shifted in her seat. “Ah, well, I don’t think that’ll be a problem. I’m a lesbian, so…”
Chuckling, I shook my head. “You lucky bitch. In that case, stay away from Nic, the bartender, she’ll eat you for breakfast.”
Emerald’s dark eyebrows nearly hit her hairline. “I have a girlfriend. But for the record, maybe next time you try to warn someone off, don’t say she’d eat them for breakfast, it’s not exactly a deterrent.”
I barked out a laugh, and Emerald followed suit. Soon we were giggling uncontrollably, and I had to fight to catch my breath.
“Jesus. I like you kid,” I said.
Emerald grinned in my direction. “I like you, too.”
My eyes drifted to the clock above the mirrors, and I groaned, my next rotation was coming up. The tequila had done an excellent job of numbing the throbbing in my feet and back but hadn’t done squat for the exhaustion that was starting to overtake my body.
Anyone who said dancing was an easy job had never done it. Even after seven years, I wasn’t immune to the aches and pains that came with walking around in nine-inch heels and climbing a pole three to four nights a week.
My knees snapped and crackled like a bowl of Rice Krispies as I stood, reminding me that I was getting too old for this shit. “I’m up in a few minutes, and then you’re right after me, you ready?”
Straightening the straps on her light blue bra, she offered me a smile. “Yeah, it wasn’t as bad as I was expecting, I think I’m okay.”
“Good, I’ll see you after, okay?”
She nodded, and I headed for the door. I hadn’t thought about Baz at all while I was talking to Emerald, but as soon as I stepped into the hallway, the confusion and anger I’d felt before came flooding back.
My eyes found him as I waited in the shadows for the DJ to call my name. He’d moved to the main stage, but instead of watching the dancer who was finishing her set, he was looking down at his lap, probably at his phone. Cell phones were
strictly prohibited in the club, and it would be so easy to call over one of the bouncers and have him removed, but I wasn’t in the mood to take the easy way out. No, at that moment I was feeling particularly vindictive.
He wanted to come into my club and try to make me jealous? Well, two could play at that game.
“Don’t forget gentlemen. Private lap dances are available in the champagne room for fifty dollars a song. Next up on the main stage we have Hennessey!”
Baz’s head snapped up when the DJ called out my stage name and his moss green eyes tracked me as I made my way up the steps and onto the stage. Deciding that I was going to make him pay the best way I knew how I put a little extra swing in my hips.
Squatting low as I wiped down the pole, I straightened my legs so that I was practically folded in half before slowly bringing my upper body back up. I tossed the rag to the side as the opening chords of Raise Hell by Dorothy started to play.
We got to pick our song choices for when we were on the main stage and while some girls found it difficult to dance to anything without a synthesized beat, I preferred rock music. Something about a heavy guitar riff always made me feel powerful. I started out stalking around the pole, and as soon as Dorothy Martin’s raspy voice started in on the first verse, I dropped down into a squat and popped my ass on the way up, eliciting a few whistles from the men crowded around the rack.
There was no hiding the smirk that pulled at the corners of my lips as I fell into the rhythm of the song. I refused to let my gaze wander to Baz as I danced, stripping off the bodysuit and doing a few pole tricks to whet the customer’s appetite. We did three song sets on each stage, and I had perfected my routine over the years. The first song was all about the show. I did pole work and teased the customers by stripping off my first layer. Sometimes it was a dress, other times like tonight. It was a sheer bodysuit.
The second and third song was where the audience participation came in. Bills lined the edge of the rack as my second song, Don’t Stop the Devil by Dead Posey began. I didn’t waste time, hopping up on the platform around the stage—or rack as most regulars called it—that served as a counter for the customers to set their drinks and line up tips for the dancers. The customers quickly moved their glasses as I stomped my way around, kicking the bills they’d laid out onto the stage.
A twenty-something man in a tailored navy suit sitting a couple of stools down from Baz caught my eye. He was the exact opposite of my bastard biker. I couldn’t have planned it better myself.
Stopping in front of the man, I smiled down at him as I reached back and unhooked my bra, letting it slide slowly down my arms and revealing my breasts, pierced nipples and all.
The look of satisfaction in the man’s eyes had me almost giddy. I didn’t usually relish in getting leered at, but he was playing perfectly into my plan. Dropping to my knees in front of him, I leaned forward, placing a hand on his shoulder for support as I ran my free hand over my newly exposed flesh.
Right. In. His. Face.
It was petty and childish, but I didn’t care. Baz had asked for it by walking into my club when he knew I was working. If he wanted to see me in action, he was going to get the full experience.
Dipping down, I rubbed myself up against the pretty boy and gently grazed his ear with my teeth as I let my eyes wander over to Baz. There was no stopping the wicked smile that broke out on my face when I saw the murderous rage in his expression.
Just when I thought Baz was about ready to jump out of his seat and commit murder, I moved on, crawling my way around the rack as I collected my tips. When I came to Baz, I didn’t stop or even look up, which earned me a growl of disapproval. I stopped at a few more customers, shaking my ass and giving them some attention.
My last song pick, Marilyn Manson’s This Is The New Shit, was always a crowd pleaser. Still, on the rack, I started with a split in front of a blue-collar looking man directly across from Baz. I was laying it on thick, and I knew I was probably tempting trouble, but I was having fun, so I went with it.
Spinning around, so I was facing Baz, I stood. But instead of walking to him like I was sure he wanted, I gripped the stage side of the ledge and leaned back, letting my head fall directly into the customer’s lap as I lifted my legs straight up in the air. Using my core, I raised the rest of my body off the ledge, so all my weight was on my arms and shoulders and brought my legs forward until the man’s head was framed by my thighs.
I could only hold the position for about thirty seconds or so without getting dizzy, so I righted myself and made another trek around the rack, collecting the tips that had gathered since the new song started. When I made it around to the pretty boy again, I decided to go for broke. I still had my G-string on, and since Oregon was one of the few states that allowed completely nude clubs, I had one more chip to play.
Stretching out on my back, I lifted my arms above my head and writhed to the beat of the music. The way I was laying, my head was directly in front of Baz while the rest of my body was spread out in front of at least four other customers. Our eyes locked and my hands glided down my body, stopping briefly to pluck at my nipples before I lifted my ass and slowly shimmied the lacy scrap of fabric down my thighs and over my knees.
We didn’t break eye contact once.
It was the single most erotic experience of my life, the way his gaze bore into mine, a promise of pain and pleasure behind his darkened eyes. What had started out as revenge had turned into a twisted game of foreplay that had me aching with need.
Kicking the lace free of my deadly heels, I turned onto my stomach and slowly rose to my hands and knees, moving along until I was directly in front of Baz. His hands rested flat against the wood, not even twitching to touch me as I wrapped my arms around his neck, dipping my head, so my lips were at his ear.
“Don’t ever come into my club while I’m working again,” I warned.
“Let me take you home tonight, and I’ll leave,” he challenged.
I wasn’t sure if it was the thin control in his velvet gravel voice, or the heat of his breath on my bare skin, or the fact that we had an audience, hell, maybe it was the combination of all three, but my pussy clenched at his words and I had a fleeting urge to free his cock and ride him right there in front of the whole club.
The song was winding down, and I wasn’t even putting on a show anymore, but I couldn’t care less, I was lost in the orbit of this beautifully frustrating man. Swallowing back my rampant lust, I composed myself, pulling back to look at his face.
“Do you even realize how creepy that sounds?”
He lifted a brow, that smug smirk he favored tugging at his lips. I wanted to smack it right off his damn face. It was a stupid face, too fucking perfectly imperfect. That sharp jawline covered in just the right amount of scruff, the scar that bisected his left eyebrow making him look both dangerous and delicious, and those lips. My mouth tingled with the memory of his lips on mine. Men with faces like that made smart girls do stupid shit, like agree to a ride home that they absolutely should not accept.
“Fine, but you have to leave, you’re going to scare off all my customers,” I said just as the song ended.
Baz’s smirk turned into a wicked smile, and I wanted to say fuck it and leave with him right then, but I couldn’t. Not only did I need the money the rest of the night would bring, but I also needed to establish some boundaries. I couldn’t let Baz think he could pull some crazy stalker shit and get what he wanted when he wanted it.
Climbing off the rack, I gathered up the scattered bills on the stage, shoving them into my small purse. He’d kept up his end of the bargain, and when I stood to head to the next stage, he was gone.
I wouldn’t let myself dwell on why I felt a pang of hurt that he’d just left without saying goodbye as I finished my shift. I’d have to unpack that shit another time.
Eleven
BAZ
It took every bit of self-restraint I had not to completely lose my shit in the club. All those moth
erfuckers gawking at her, I knew what they were thinking, all the filthy shit they were doing to her in their heads. I’d been them three years ago. I wanted to gouge every single one of their eyes out. But the thing that got me, what had me on the edge of insanity, was the fact that she wouldn’t even look at me. Not that I didn’t deserve it, I’d started the pissing match by trying to make her jealous with that other dancer.
It was pathetic. I was pathetic.
I just wanted to get some sort of reaction out of her, she’d been so cold, almost indifferent since that first night and it was driving me fucking crazy. But the look on her face when she saw me with that stripper, I wanted to beat my own ass for that.
I should’ve known better. Rabbit hadn’t taken my shit lying down once. She always threw it right back at me. Why the hell did I think that would change?
You were thinking with your dick, you stupid fuck.
Never in my life have I had to work so hard for a woman, but fuck me if I didn’t like it. I craved the back and forth, the fact that she wouldn’t let me bulldoze her no matter what. Even if she wanted what I was offering, she always challenged me, surprised me even.
Maybe that was why I couldn’t get her out of my head. Even with the clusterfuck I was dealing with for my club, thoughts of her filled every spare moment.
My Rabbit.
If I wasn’t already, I was dangerously close to becoming obsessed with the sexy redhead.
Needing something to do while I waited for her to come out, I pulled my smokes from my pocket and lit a cigarette, inhaling the acrid smoke and turning my face to the sky. As usual, the cloud cover masked any stars, but at least it wasn’t raining. The faint glow of the moon and one shitty light were the only things illuminating the otherwise darkened parking lot. I didn’t like the thought of Rabbit walking out to her car after work in the dark.
Logically, I knew she probably had a bouncer walk her out, but my irrational need to protect what I considered as mine, wouldn’t let me accept that as enough.