It’s a show never seen in Petals before Allie arrived. She is somehow part gymnast, part dancer, and part goddess, elegance and grace woven through every athletic move as she seduces the audience.
And me.
Though she seduced me a long time ago, I find myself entranced once again by the siren song her body is singing to mine. Toward the end of her routine, she leans back against the pole, her knees bent in a sexy version of a plie with her legs spread wide.
Her hands trace her body, her breasts heaving in the corset cups, a sweet smile on her face. Her eyes look up, not at the crowd clapping and waving bills, but at the blacked-out windows to my office. I know she can’t see me, but she must know that I’m watching her, my cock rock hard in my slacks and demanding attention.
I consider palming myself, knowing it’d only take a stroke or two before I’d cum all over my hand, likely saying her name as I did so, but I force myself to refrain.
I need to be clear-headed for the meeting with Pete, not in a post-orgasmic haze.
As Allie leaves the stage, I radio down to Logan.
“Go ahead and send Pete up.”
Only a minute later, Pete sits across from me, my brain zeroing in on business, all thoughts of pleasure and Allie shutting off and getting locked down behind a wall. My cock’s even mostly deflated, although it’s not too happy about that particular situation.
My face is neutral as I greet him. “Pete. Good to see you.”
He nods casually, well aware that his position and age do not get him any special privileges or allowances in my presence, though they may grant him some on his block.
“Dominick. Thank you for seeing me, and thank you for the drink. Truly a delicious treat. How’d you know I like Japanese whisky?”
I merely nod, already done with pleasantries and ready to get to the meat of the meeting.
Sensing this, Pete clears his throat and speaks again. “I’ve got a couple of new guys in my area I thought you’d want to know about.”
“Soldiers?” I question. I don’t like fresh heat in my town without preclearing it.
“Yes, but not in the way you mean,” Pete says, choosing each word carefully. “Not Mob and not my guys. They’re actual military, from what I can tell, out of uniform now, but they ride with a group out of Johnstown. The bikes are what caught my attention. Big, loud motherfuckers, running up and down my streets.”
I choose not to correct his wording, both of us knowing that all the streets of this city are mine, not Pete’s, even if he watches over a section for me. And perhaps a taste of ownership helps him take pride in his work, even if it’s only an image of possession.
He shakes his head in annoyance and continues. “The two guys in my block are Robert Zallow and Anthony Chambers. One’s a former Lieutenant, the other a Staff Sergeant, and the group they’re riding with call themselves the Eagle Raiders. Not exactly a one-percenter group, but they get into enough shit that I wanted to mention it. Especially since these two fuckers are the first ones to set up home base in my area. I want to make sure they’re not trying to expand territory, especially not into mine. I’m doing some looking, and I’ll send you what I have, but it’s not much. I figured you’d want to dig a bit deeper than I can, see what turns up. Hell, they might be useful, one way or another.”
I nod, mentally recording the names and considering what I know about the local MC groups. East Robinsville is unclaimed by any biker group because it’s claimed by me, but it’s a prime thoroughfare to get from the docks to upstate and beyond. If the Eagle Raiders are trying to start a highway run through my city without seeking permission or paying their tolls, they’ve got another thing coming.
I won’t allow it and would kill to prevent it . . . if I have to.
A knock on the door interrupts my dark thoughts.
“Enter,” I say.
Logan’s head pops around the door, not even fully entering. “Pardon me, sir. Just informing you of departure. Proceeding as scheduled.”
I nod, and Logan closes the door behind him. I don’t bother glancing at the monitors, knowing that he’s got the situation handled. The situation being that Allie is done for the night and leaving the club. She’s the headliner, and after that dance, she doesn’t need to work again, especially after the long day she’s had.
Either way, Gavin will follow standard operations and escort her to her car like he will every dancer when they leave tonight. Allie is parked in the back lot, where Logan will be waiting to follow her home and invisibly guard her until my arrival.
Pete grins as the door closes, unaware of the message that was sent.
“Your guys always tell you when they’re headed home for the night? He tell you when he gets his dick wet too?”
He laughs, the lines at the corners of his eyes crinkling at his own joke, but I don’t laugh because it isn’t funny.
“He does whatever I tell him to. Simple as that, same as you,” I say, reminding him that though he may be a high-ranking captain with a territory of his own to maintain, he’s no better than any other man. “Now, give me the rest of your news.”
It’s not until hours later that I finally get to dismiss Logan and settle into my barebones apartment.
I neatly hang my jacket up in the front hall, untuck my shirt, and roll up my sleeves, sitting down with a nightcap of whisky.
I turn on the television, but it’s not some late-night rerun that grabs my attention. No, it’s the night-vision camera feed hidden in Allie’s bedroom. She may be only one floor away from this secret apartment, but I’d needed more. More insight, more closeness, more of her to feed my obsession.
I know on some level it’s wrong, intrusive, and a violation of her trust. At first, it had truly been for her safety. The threat back then was significant, and it was only with a bit of luck and the appearance of an unexpected ally that she never found out just how dangerous it was.
But she’s no longer in danger. I dealt with the fallout from the shooting at Petals months ago. It was only recently that I’ve been forced to admit to myself that my surveillance wasn’t for her.
It’s always been for me.
Chapter 3
Allie
“You want me to do what?” I screech in surprise, my eyes wide and my mouth hanging open.
Donna just smiles back, like she didn’t just set my world atilt. “Look, I didn’t know who she was either, but the publicity from your class is like a tidal wave that won’t be stopped. You’re seriously blowing up on Instagram and Facebook, and the studio’s getting lots of attention.”
I click my mouth closed and swallow.
When Eileen had said Donna wanted to talk to me today, it’d felt a little like getting called to the principal’s office and was sure I was going to get in trouble. I figured some parent had found out about the private class and riled everyone up. By the time I knocked on Donna’s door, I visualized parents pulling their kids from my classes in a mass-exodus of soccer mom hair flips and snarky comments. Maybe even a few I’mma pray for yous thrown in too.
What I didn’t expect was . . . whatever this is. Donna sits before me in her small but tidy office, the walls covered top to bottom with pictures of her with students from the last thirty years. She still looks like a regal ballerina, thin and fit from dancing, with a harshly crisp traditional bun that’s softened by the lines on her face that show how often she smiles.
“What do you mean? What attention?” I ask, scared of the answer. I can just see it now. Tonight on Action News at Six, Dance Studio or Strip Club?
“Allie?”
I blink, realizing Donna’s talking. “Sorry, again?”
“It seems the maid of honor for that party—”
“Jenny. The maid of honor’s name was Jenny.”
Donna nods, snickering. “Yeah, do you know who Jenny Wartham is?”
I shake my head, utterly confused. “The maid of honor?”
Donna sighs, as if she’d hoped I knew. Sorry, Donna,
I’m sort of too busy to keep up with celebrities outside of mainline sports and the dance world.
“Well, yeah. But she’s also a bit of an internet celebrity, apparently. Now, I didn’t know that when I booked the class. But she wrote this whole long Instagram post about your class and the great time they had.”
My eyes shoot wide open in surprise. “She did?”
“Yeah, she didn’t mention you by name, but she mentioned the studio and the amazing brunette who had her, and I quote, ‘feeling like a Sex Kitten Goddess.’ There were some pictures of cats and some various meows, which seemed crazy and weird to me, but the gist was that it was a raving review. And when I came in on Monday, my inbox was flooded, and Eileen has been answering calls requesting private classes and asking if we hold public classes too.”
My breath escapes my chest in a whooshing sound as I slump, something I never do, but I’m so shocked that I can’t even hold myself up for a moment.
“What? I thought it was just a one-time thing?” I say, though I’ll admit to myself that now that I’ve done one, having another class would be fun. “I mean, Donna, I don’t want to ruin the studio’s rep as a ballet school because someone wants to do stripper-robics.”
Donna locks her eyes on me, scoffing. “Not to put too fine a point on it, but this school is mine and I’ll do what I want with it. I’m smart enough to know that people come here for ballet because of my reputation as a dancer and as a teacher. But as a businesswoman, I know how to use my resources, work the strengths, and play away from the weakness. And you are a strength, to me and to this studio. Allie, if you’re up to it, I think it’s time for your encore, my dear.”
I nod like a bobblehead, encouraged. “Absolutely, I’m up to it. What are you thinking? Just private classes, or maybe do a public special event every once in a while? I’m open to whatever you think.”
Donna claps in delight then points at me, grinning. “Good. Remember you said that, though, because I’m going to hold you to it.”
I sit up straight again, feeling like this is Donna’s big solo moment, what she was building up to for the whole rest of the conversation.
“All right, hit me. What are you thinking?”
“Well, like I said before, I want you to teach not just a class, but classes. I’ve been doing quite a bit of research and watched some rather steamy performances too. Everything from burlesque to striptease to pole fitness. And whew, let me tell you, I thought I’d seen some things, but no. Now, I’ve seen things.”
She laughs, and I blush, thinking she’d probably faint at the tricks I pull on the pole at Petals. Thankfully, Donna has known about my other job since she hired me to teach a couple of adult beginner ballet classes, and she’s okay with it. More than okay, considering she’s given me several additional classes to teach. And she is the one who asked me to do the bachelorette party dance class in the first place.
She continues, “I think we’ve been given a golden opportunity here. It’s no secret that profit margins for dance studios are low, but I think this is an untapped niche in East Robinsville. And to be honest, your name brings a certain clout with it.”
Donna looks at me knowingly, and I wonder if maybe she has seen my performances before, though I’m careful to never post anything online. And recording is strictly forbidden at Petals. It’s a rule heavily enforced by Dominick, so I’m almost 100 percent sure nobody would risk his wrath for a blurry, dark video. I don’t even dance under the same name. At Petals, I’m Allie Angel, but here, I’m Allison Bancroft, and only my child students call me Allie.
“I guess.”
Donna chuckles, reassuring me. “I want to begin offering classes a few days a week. Whatever you want to call it and whatever you want to do. We’d work the schedule around our current class offerings, and these would be yours, so we’d split the class fees fifty-fifty. The private classes . . . I doubled the charge for those, and nobody blinked an eye.”
I stammer, shocked. “Doubled?”
Donna’s smile is vibrant, infectious. “Yes, ma’am, doubled them and booked six already over the next three months alone, and we’d split those fifty-fifty like the bachelorette one. You with me so far?”
Holy shit. “Yeah, I’m with you. I’m so with you.”
“Good, here’s where the real fun starts. I want you to rent studio three from me, install some poles, and offer pole fitness classes. In return, I get the rent, low, of course, and ten percent of the class fees. You’d keep ninety percent. We’d be more like business partners.”
Donna sits back in her chair, an expectant look on her face.
I’m stunned, shocked by everything she’s saying. The opportunity, the possibilities astound me. It’s definitely not what I ever saw myself doing, but honestly, I had to let go of that dream a long time ago.
Now I have the chance to not just instill a love of ballet in upcoming stars, but maybe help everyday women feel a little extra special too. It’s heady. I mean, I can actually make a difference in the world, as small as it might be.
“Wow, that’s a lot to take in. I’m definitely in for the private classes and a couple of weekly public ones too, as long as that’s in addition to the ballet classes currently on my schedule.”
Donna nods. “Of course. The company performance wouldn’t be the same without you, and the kids respond well to your teaching.”
I bite my lip, thinking quickly. “As for the pole classes, I’m definitely interested, but I’ll need to do some research to see what the investment costs would be. Money’s always an issue, and it sounds like this could be a big undertaking. But my answer’s yes, if you’ll let me do some homework.”
Donna claps again, happy. “Whatever you need, but I’ll say that we need to strike while the iron is hot. Let’s get this rolling as fast as possible. Even if it’s pole-less.”
She offers me her hand, and I reach across the desk and shake it, the reality suddenly hitting me.
I can do this.
I am doing this.
I spend the rest of the day clicking around online, doing as much research as I can, from vendors to construction. I fall down the rabbit hole of watching videos of classes other studios offer to see what the competition is like too, but Donna’s right.
There’s nothing like what we’re talking about doing within a hundred miles of East Robinsville. It’s an untapped market, and we can be first to fill that need, even if it’s a need people don’t know exists . . . yet.
Hours later, I have what I think is a pretty good grip on what it’d cost to get started on paper. But it’s admittedly a bit daunting and makes me question myself. I need backup. I move my laptop to the coffee table and flop onto the couch as I dial the one person who can talk me through this, my friend Maggie. She doesn’t even answer with a hello but instead launches in full-on.
“Hey, girl! Long time no talk! What’s up?”
That’s Mags. Got me smiling before I even said a word. “Hey, Maggie. I know. It’s been what, two weeks since we talked? I miss your face!”
That’s not really that long, especially in the busy world she lives in these days, but I have missed her.
“Miss you too. But I’ve been out on assignment, and my new contract starts in two days. I’m just trying to decompress before I’m gone again.”
“Wow, sounds intense.”
That’s putting it mildly, to say the least. Maggie works as a sort of ‘researcher’ for the FBI. Considering her past as an investigative journalist, she’s good at her job. She’s kind of the last person you’d suspect because she comes off as sweet and innocent, but beneath the surface lurks a whip-smart brain.
And her brain is what I need. I give her the short version of everything that’s happened and what Donna proposed. Maggie hums in all the right places, tells me she’s pulling up Jenny Wartham’s Instagram, oohing and ahhing over the racy sections.
“Okay, this all sounds great, and your business plans seem sound, especially if you have the mo
ney. Invest in yourself, Allie.”
I hum, waffling even though I know what I want to do. I’m just not sure it’s the smart thing to do, especially when I have other debts that should probably take priority to my chasing a dream I never knew I had. But maybe this dream is the thing that could finally pay off those debts completely.
“You think so?”
She tsks through the line, as if I’m a naughty student. “You said the class went well, the women obviously felt like it did, and you made bank. You can duplicate that experience with no problem, and it sounds like people want you to. Expanding into pole classes sounds solid too, because Lord knows, you’ve got crazy skills on the pole. And it’s a way for you to share that without . . .”
She pauses, and I know what she’s going to say, so I finish the sentence for her. “Without getting naked on stage.” I sigh, knowing she’s right.
I certainly never thought I’d be a stripper, and while I don’t get naked, only stripping down to a G-string and tiny bra tops, there’s definitely something naughty about it.
Of course, I’ll admit to myself that the little bit of exhibitionist in my makeup that makes me a performer is pretty okay with the taboo of stripping. It’s different from ballet, of course, but I do enjoy it. Strutting the stage makes me feel powerful, in command of everyone in the room. Most people think it’s about getting the audience’s attention, but really, it’s about making them hungry for my attention.
It’s very much a symbiotic energy exchange and a total rush.
“You know I’m not judging you, Allie. You’re a beautiful dancer, wherever you want to perform. I just have one question. Did you have fun teaching the class?”
I consider her question because it feels pivotal, maybe the most important part of our conversation.
“Absolutely. I got to witness that switch moment for those women, when they go from an everyday ‘good girl’ who does what’s expected to a ‘sexy siren’ who feels powerful in her body and mind and can do whatever she feels honors that.”
Dirty Secrets Page 3