To Burn In Brutal Rapture

by Nyla K

  Then my head snaps back to my best friend’s daughter. “Trixie?”

  Her cheeks flush deep pink, but she ignores me. “It’s okay, Dante. This is a friend of my dad’s. He was just leaving.” She pins me with an evil look that I ignore, because is she fucking serious right now??

  “I’m not going anywhere without you,” I grumble in a no-nonsense tone she doesn’t seem to get. “I’ll throw you over my shoulder and carry your ass out if I have to. Now, Tracien.”

  “Listen, asshole, the girl isn’t leaving with you,” the bouncer says. “Time for you to move along.”

  He places a hand on my shoulder, and every muscle in my body stiffens. I know he’s much bigger than me, but I have the anger-induced adrenaline working in my favor at the moment.

  “Get your fucking hand off me before I break it,” I hiss.

  He steps to me, so I turn, still gripping Traci’s arm.

  “Alright alright! This isn’t necessary.” She maneuvers in between us. My right eye is twitching as I give the big fucker a death stare that could turn someone to stone. “Lazarus, you can’t just show up here and bark orders at me. This is my job. Now please, leave me alone. I’m going to get in trouble.”

  At that, my head pivots down to the tiny stripper, and I swallow. “None of these losers can tell you what to do, Traci. You shouldn’t be here. Jesus fucking Christ, you’re not even eight-”

  “Lazarus! Go!” She shrieks, eyes wide.

  Now I’m getting it. They don’t know she isn’t eighteen yet.

  I mean, her birthday’s in ten days, but who’s counting?

  Thrusting my fingers through my hair, I yank it hard. “I’m not doing this, Traci. I’m not leaving here without you, and I’m not letting you out of my sight. Not with all these fucking creeps around…”

  The bouncer snorts a sarcastic laugh, and I glare at him.

  “Trixie, what is going on over here? You’re on shot duty! Get a move on!” A new male voice blathers, some douchebag in a tacky suit stalking over to us. I’m guessing he must be the manager.

  “I’m sorry, Kurt. This is, um, one of my customers…” Traci explains to her boss. “He was negotiating some time in the Champagne Room.” She peeks up at me and gives me a pleading look, to which I squint back at her.

  Champagne Room?? You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.

  “Ain’t no negotiation, pal,” the dirtbag folds his arms over his chest, addressing me. “It’s fifty for a private dance. Two-fifty for a half-hour.”

  My head cocks to the side, hardened gaze landing on him. “Is that right?”

  “Damn right,” he smirks. Motherfucker has a gold tooth.

  Where the fuck am I right now?

  Expelling an aggrieved breath, I glance at Traci for a moment. She has the nerve to be grinning.

  So we’re playing this game, are we?

  “What time you guys close?” I ask Kurt, who looks momentarily puzzled.

  “Three-thirty.”

  I check my watch. “It’s one-thirty now.”

  Removing my wallet, I take out a thousand dollars in hundreds, holding it up in front of the scumbag’s face. His expression falls from irritation to greed in the blink of an eye. It makes my stomach turn. Money talks.

  I shove the cash at Traci and she accepts it warily, appearing more perplexed than anything.

  “We’re leaving.” I’m speaking to Traci, but my eyes are still set on Kurt, the asshole grungy strip club manager.

  He shakes his head. “Not happening. She has a shift to finish. You paid for her time.” He nods to Traci, “Take him to the Champagne Room.”

  Something inside me snaps, and I push up to his face. With a solid five inches on him, he looks pretty nervous, and I’m so irate I’m actually vibrating.

  “The fuck you think you’re talking to, prick?” I snarl in his face, and then suddenly he’s yelling.

  Then I’m yelling. And the bouncer is holding me back while I’m swinging at him.

  I’m seeing red. Honestly, I have no idea what’s going on, I just know I’ll murder everyone in this place if I have to.

  Traci left my best friend alone, guilty and broken, to come here and work in a place like this? Taking her clothes off for perverts in exchange for petty cash?

  Damien Wright has more money than championship-winning sports players, award-winning actors and singers… He’s richer than Elon Musk, for God’s sake.

  Why on Earth would she ever feel the need to work here?

  I just can’t comprehend that she needed to leave to get out from under Damien’s thumb, just to come and work for a bunch of misogynistic needle dicks.

  I don’t get it at all.

  Before I can further object to what’s happening, Traci yanks me to the back of the club, tugging me behind a velvet curtain. We’re now in an even darker corridor, illuminated a deep red, with doors lining each side of the hall.

  She opens one and shoves me through it, stepping into the room with me and closing the door behind her.

  So I guess I’m ending my night with Trixie in the Champagne Room.

  Send help.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Traci

  Breathless.

  I physically can’t catch my breath.

  Everything happened so fast, and I barely even know how to process it all.

  Lazarus is here.

  I want to know what the hell he’s doing here, of all places, but honestly I’m still stunned to be seeing his beautiful, angry face right now. To be standing next to him, smelling him again… It’s surreal.

  Not that I thought I’d never seen him again, but I thought I’d have to go more than a couple weeks. I was prepared not to come in contact with him for at least six months, maybe a year.

  And now here he is, hovering in front of me in the Champagne Room at the strip club where I work, looking completely furious. I’m actually a little scared.

  Maybe a lot scared.

  I back up, and he takes a step toward me, the gray in his irises looking like the sky during a hurricane. I can all but hear the rumbling thunder. I think that might be him growling at me.

  He’s pissed, and it’s not the time, but I’m wetter than I have been in months.

  “I. Can’t. Believe.” His words come out slow and calculated as he steps closer. I back up into the wall behind me and flinch. “You’re. Working. Here.”

  “Lazarus, it’s really not what you think…” I squeak, trying to steer the conversation to a safer place, so I can try to explain myself.

  He’s like a venomous cobra, about to strike and kill me any second. He’s assuming I ran away from home just to turn to stripping like some cliché little braindead fool. And that’s not at all the case.

  It’s only my third day working here, and my first day on the pole. I took mostly shot girl shifts, but I wanted to try pole-dancing, just to see if I was any good. Judging by all the money on the stage, I’d say I did alright.

  Before the lunatic with the crazy eyes showed up and terrified everyone.

  “Traci,” his voice is low, a deep rumble from the back of his throat. It’s scary, and also insanely hot. He shakes his head slowly, “You’re taking your clothes off for money. How can you possibly be arguing this right now?”

  “I’m not arguing that,” I peer up at him, watching his jaw tick visibly, dusted with that day-old stubble I want to feel rough beneath my palm. “I am taking my clothes off. I mean, not all the way off. I don’t take off more than this.”

  At reference to what I’m wearing, or the lack thereof, both sets of eyes drop between us. I’m wearing only pasties, cheeky silver panties and fishnet stockings, not to mention the heels that put my face in line with his throat. I see him swallow.

  His gaze comes back up to mine, and he looks even angrier. “You’re practically… naked.”

  The word naked comes out strangled, and he clears his throat.

  “It’s just a job.” I blink at his pretty, livid face.r />
  “A JOB?!” He roars and slams his palm against the wall by my head, rattling the drywall. A startled gasp flies from my throat and I press my lips together. “Waitressing is a job, Tracien. Are you fucking insane?? This is what you choose to do when you leave home? Do you know how fucked your father is right now? Do you know what you’ve done to him?”

  My stomach falls at mention of my dad being upset. I refuse to cry in front of Lazarus, especially now, but there’s guilt tickling the back of my throat, and remorse building pressure behind my eyes.

  “Lazarus, please,” I take a chance, placing my hands flat on his chest. His eyes widen, startled that I’m touching him. “Please don’t tell my dad. I’m begging you.”

  “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” he scoffs, turning his face away from me, but I reach up to take it in my hands, bringing him back. Our eyes connect, and his are still burning, but softer than before, like flickering flames rather than a merciless inferno.

  “I have an actual job,” I explain, keeping my tone calm and rational. “I’m working as a yoga instructor at a great little studio by my place. I only started doing this for some extra cash.” His lips part, but I cut him off before he can speak. “I know I don’t need it. But I refuse to take any more of my dad’s money. I want to make my own way. And honestly, this job makes me feel… powerful. It makes me feel like I’m my own person.”

  Breathing out slowly, I let my fingers run down his neck, where I trace that number 4 tattoo I missed so much.

  “I’m soaring, Lazarus,” I whisper, pleading with him through my eyes. With my gaze, I’m begging him to understand what I’m saying.

  He licks his bottom lip slowly, sending a tremor between my thighs as his eyes leisurely skim my lack of sufficient attire once more.

  “I’ll never be okay with this.” His voice is quiet; subdued even. He still sounds angry, but now it’s mixed with some curious fascination, and maybe even a little relief.

  Maybe he’s relieved to see me. Maybe he was affected by my leaving, too…

  “You don’t need to be,” I shrug. “It’s not your decision to make. I’m an adult.”

  “Not for ten days.” His brow lifts and my mouth drops open.

  I’m not sure why I’m surprised that he remembers my birthday. He always gets me a gift. But I guess I always assumed it was because my dad reminded him.

  “Close enough.” I smirk, growing ballsier with his revelation, gliding my index finger down the length of his torso. He catches my hand before I can get to his belt.

  “Don’t push it, Trixie,” he rumbles in that signature Lazarus annoyance tone, though he doesn’t let go of my hand, his large palm and long fingers wrapped securely around my much smaller ones. “Just because I’m not dragging you out of here by your hair and depositing you back home where you belong, it doesn’t mean I’m encouraging this. I just don’t want to break Damien’s heart. I still haven’t quite decided that I won’t tell him.”

  I accept his words with a hesitant nod. If he’s going to tell my dad, there’s nothing I can do to stop him. But I’d prefer to tell my father about this later on in life, when I have everything figured out and it’s just an anecdotal quandary for future Traci to deal with.

  “What are you doing here, anyway?” I ask him.

  “Business dinner gone awry,” he answers in monotone, dropping my hand and going to step back.

  Panic seizes me and I rack my brain for ways to get him to stay in this room with me. I just got him back. I can’t lose him again.

  Removing the wad of hundreds from the waist of my panties, I hold it up. “You paid for two hours…” His eyes scold me, but I can tell his mind is working it out. “Look, I’m obviously not going to keep this, but I also need to stay until three-thirty to finish my shift. So either you stay in here with me, or I’ll have to go back out there.”

  Lazarus clenches his hand into a fist at his side. “Tell me you haven’t done this before, Traci. Brought a man back here…”

  “No, of course not,” I answer casually and his hunched shoulders drop a bit. “It’s only my third day working here. I’m usually just a shot girl, but I wanted to try out the pole to see if I could do it.”

  “Looks like you figured it out,” he murmurs, then presses his lips into a thin line, as if he wasn’t supposed to say that out loud.

  I step over to him, and this time he backs up. I have to say, I love this dynamic between us. It’s almost like he’s as afraid of me as I am of him. There’s a strange power struggle, and I think most of it comes from him struggling against whatever power I seem to have over him, while I give in easily to his power over me.

  It’s odd, but I can’t ignore how hot and hazy the air is around us all of a sudden. Thick with tension, most of which seems to be coming from him. I wish he’d let me help him relax…

  “So…” I hum, brushing my fingers over the tattoos on his right hand. The letters H U R T across his knuckles in gothic script, and a beautiful wilted rose on the top of his hand that I’ve always pictured crawling across various parts of my body. “What should we do for two hours?”

  He chuckles in contempt. “Nothing. Let’s just sit quietly.”

  “No fun,” I pout, and this time he lets out a genuine laugh.

  When I glance up at his face to peep that beautiful smile of his before it disappears, I catch him gawking at my tits with an obvious hunger in his eyes. He’s practically drooling. When his eyes come back up to mine, he looks nervous.

  It’s about the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life.

  “At least let me give you a lap dance,” I press my breasts into his arm and he releases a swift breath. “You paid for twenty of them.”

  “Nice math,” he teases, and I giggle. “In your dreams, Trix.”

  “I’m making my dreams a reality.” I yank at his stiff arm and place his hand on my hip. “It’s part of my plan as a free bird.”

  “You’re not free if you’re doing degrading things for money.” His fingers gently caress the curve of my ass and I shudder.

  “I’m not a hooker, Lazarus,” I take his left hand and place it on my other side, slowly moving my hips to the music. “This is my choice.”

  To my shock, he doesn’t take his hands away. So I use the opportunity to grab the wad of cash again, this time stuffing it into the front pocket of his pants. When I do, my hand grazes an impeccably firm object and he grunts. My face springs up to his, and he pulls away fast, turning from me so I can’t see what I now know is an erection.

  For me. Wow.

  Lazarus stammers away, having a seat on the small chaise that’s in here. I follow him, and he watches me coming his way, sashaying my hips as I do. He always looks delicious, but right now, in this dimmed glow, he’s the deadliest sin personified.

  His silky black hair is all tousled about, my fingers twitching to sift through it, and maybe pull it a little. His eyes are deep, bottomless; lips curved into his little scowl. That jawline haunts my dreams, long neck leading to broad shoulders and a wide chest that’s moving up and down with heavy breaths.

  His expensive clothes have been tailored to fit his immaculate body perfectly; barely hiding the contours of his muscles, tapered waist and full ass I’ve always wanted to grab and hold. His long legs are parted and bent at the knees, making him look every bit as tall as he is, even while seated.

  If I weren’t trying to put on a show, I’d be running to this gorgeous hunk of man. This man I’ve known all my life and is now the object of my only fantasies. The only man I’ve ever desired, and the prime cause of every ounce of lust coursing through my veins.

  It’s just Lazarus. That’s it. He’s what I want. He has been for years.

  I come to a halt standing in front of him. Over him, actually, with one of his knees between my parted legs.

  “What are you doing, Trix?” His rough voice sheets my skin with goosebumps, as the crooning beat of the music flows through the speakers to give me a s
oundtrack to play with.

  Dropping to a kneel over his hips, I hold on to the traps of his shoulders like handlebars. His eyes widen for a moment, but when I slip a fingertip to trace the curve of his bottom lip, they droop shut, and he lets out a ragged breath.

  “Giving you your dance,” I whisper by his ear, then slowly build to grinding my hips against his to the rhythm of the music.

  His hands stay planted flat on either side of us, not touching me at all. Not because it’s a rule of the club during lap dances, but because this is me and Lazarus, and I know he’s still terrified of touching his best friend’s daughter.

  I press my tits into his chest hard and he hums.

  “You can’t…” He leans his head back, giving in the tiniest bit, watching the sight of my bare breasts smooshing his chest. “Don’t do this.”

  “Why?” I toy with his hair at the nape of his neck, which brings a quiet groan out of him. “Don’t you like it?”

  “It’s not about what I like, Traci.” His eyes stay locked on my tits as he licks his lips. “This is wrong.”

  “Mmm,” I purr, gyrating and really working myself against his growing erection. It feels sublime. “So wrong.”

  “I’m serious. You’re Damien’s daughter.”

  “Mmhm.” Flick of the hips in a fluid motion all the way up his long, hard shape.

  “You’re too young,” he breathes, dropping his head forward to rest on my shoulder. “God dammit, why can’t you find someone your own age? Someone who isn’t…”

  “Who isn’t what, Lazarus?” I push all the way up on my knees until my tits are right in front of his face.

  “Why are you doing this to me?” He rasps, and I’m sure the question is rhetorical, because suddenly his large hands are sliding up the backs of my thighs, cupping my ass.

  “Because… It’s what I want.” I take his jaw in my hand. “You are.”

  “Why me?” His eyes meet mine, and they’re anticipating. Downright starved, maybe not even just for sex. Maybe he wants something more from me, and my words.

  “I told you before,” my voice shivers at the feel of his breath on my skin. “I see you, Lazarus Weston.”