SIX
Page 1
Table of Contents
Epilogue
Epilogue
Sinclair
Dedication
Sin’s Playlist
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
About Alice
Jagger
Jag’s Playlist
About Dee
August
About Derek
Gio
Chapter 11
About Janine
Darius
Introduction
Dare’s Playlist
About Marie
Dallas
Acknowledgments
About Shelley
SIX
A Men of The Strip Anthology
Copyright 2017 ©
Alice La Roux, Dee Garcia, Derek Adam, Janine Infante Bosco, Marie Skye, Shelley Springfield
All Rights Reserved
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to real events, real people, and real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the authors imagination and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, organizations or places is entirely coincidental.
All rights are reserved. This book is intended for the reader of this ebook ONLY. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the express written permission of the contributing authors. All songs, song titles and lyrics contained in this book are the property of the respective songwriters and copyright holders.
ISBN:
Cover design & formatting: Decadent Designs by Dee
Contents
Sinclair
Dedication
Sin’s Playlist
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
About Alice
Jagger
Dedication
Jag’s Playlist
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
About Dee
August
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
About Derek
Gio
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
About Janine
Darius
Introduction
Dare’s Playlist
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Epilogue
About Marie
Dallas
Dedication
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About Shelley
Copyright 2017 © Alice La Roux
All Rights Reserved
Dedication
For J like always, you’re my rock, my eternity, my inspiration.
Ash, thank you for pushing me all the time ― we’re boss ass bitches!
And finally for Bam Bam who always cheers me on and Zo, stop growing up so fast!
Sin’s Playlist
Boy Epic ― Dirty Mind
Jace Everett ― Bad Things
Tinie Tempah ― Frisky ft. Labrinth
Santana ― Smooth ft. Rob Thomas
Camila Cabello ― Havana ft. Young Blood
Britney Spears ― Gimme More
The Weeknd ― The Hills
Duke Dumont ― Ocean Drive
Imagine Dragons – Believer
Foreigner ― I Want To Know What Love Is
1
“She’s dead. It’s over Beaumont.”
I hang up without saying a word, I don’t need to. I knew it was coming. In fact I was surprised that the old bitch hadn’t died sooner. She’d been fading for a long time, a ghost that was sucking my wallet dry.
I don’t want to think about her right now, I just want to get drunk and fuck myself into oblivion. I won’t let her win this time. I grab my bag and throw it into the back of my beat up old truck, my shift at the strip is due to start in an hour and I need to get my head in the game, then the fun can begin.
I drive like a maniac, but that’s not out of character for me. I’m the wild one, the cheeky one. You need someone to test the boundaries and push the limits then I’m your guy. I’m certainly not the fucker who gets tangled up in emotions. Her death is not going to taint me. I pull into the carpark and see the cars already here, this is my tribe, my family— not that waste of space. It’s almost show time and I can’t seem to muster up that excitement, the adrenaline rush I get before every show. I try to psych myself up but it just isn’t there.
So instead of heading in the back door, I walk in the front, sit at the bar and grab a bottle of tequila from the shelf. Betty shoots me a look, that old bat never misses a trick, but she says nothing. That woman knows everything; nothing goes down in this town without her hearing about it. Lighting up a cigarette she pours herself a shot and gives me a small salute before she downs it. I’ve never seen a woman drink the way she does, it’s like alcohol doesn’t affect her. Jag likes to joke that she was born with two livers. That or her blood is now pure ethanol, but I’m hardly one to judge.
When I see Darius on stage I know it’ll be my turn soon, so I drink another shot trying to find that buzz. Trying to feel alive, but it’s like sand slipping through my clumsy fingers. I can see him gyrating on my periphery, and the ladies scream as he takes off another article of clothing, probably his trousers. Normally I’d be scanning the room for the warm body who’d be sharing my bed tonight. Well... we’d go to their place because no way in hell was I letting anyone near my apartment. Stalker Tiffany had taught me well. When that nut job refused to leave the next morning I’d spent two days hiding out at August’s place and since then the only vagina that crossed my threshold was Jag, especially since he was all tied up over Vida.
The six of us made this club. Gio, Darius, Jag, August and Big D. They are my family, and I was finally in a place I loved. Pussy literally walked up to me and sat on my face, the pay was good and the guys always had my back. But the phone call had shaken me, and I can’t seem to find my bearings.
I get through the show, barely. I don’t know how. My feet are all over the place and instead of losing myself to the music, I zone out. I love my job, my body is my own and
I reap the rewards— but tonight is different. Today I’m lost… I know Betty’s watching me from the bar as she puffs on that stupid vape of hers. It’s pointless. We all know she goes out the back for actual cigarettes, sometimes a sneaky cigar. I avoid her intense gaze as I pull on some jeans and head towards her. I order another shot. And another. We stare at each other, neither saying a word in a strange little standoff. I fucked up. I know it, she knows it, but I’ll be damned if I let the old coot tear me a new one. It’s just a one off and I know she’s aware of the reasons behind it, even if she hasn’t said anything yet. Fuck this, I refuse to feel guilty. I refuse to feel sad. I down another shot. I refuse to feel anything. I push away the anger that’s building in my chest and head back to the dressing room. I need a shower and maybe I’ll see what trouble I can pick up to take my mind off my shitty dancing.
I mingle and work my way through the crowds at SIX as I make my way back towards the stage. It’s a Friday night and we are almost full. It’s always super busy on the weekends, but that’s not surprising. We are the hottest club on the strip with the hottest men. That’s not me being big headed, it’s an undisputed fact. Have you seen the fuckers who work here? We are some damn fine men and everyone in this city knows it.
A blonde lady with the strangest lips pulls me towards her friendship group. They all squeal and run their hands over my bare arms and chest. I tune them out, my mind going fuzzy as I find myself focusing on this woman's lips. What the hell has she done to them? It looks like she got them stuck between elevator doors. Does that shit hurt? Every word she says looks like a struggle, and as she pinches my arse I realize I’ve switched off again. Focus Sinclair. I flash them a cheeky grin, dimple and all, as I make my apologies and move on. I need something to push me out of my head, my thoughts are toxic. Another gaggle heads towards me, this one louder and again I smile.
A guy pulls me to one side as I try to pass them, he's here with the group of rowdy women and I know he's going to ask for a private show even before the words fall from his lips. He's cute, nothing special but I need to relieve some of this stress— it's fucking with my routine.
“I want to suck you off,” he says brazenly as he leans into me, pushing us towards the VIP room. My smile is genuine now as I feel the tequila working its magic. What better way to liberate my mind than to indulge my body? And a warm mouth is still a great feeling regardless of whose lips are wrapped around my cock. I’m not fussy on where I get my pleasure.
“Go for it,” I say lazily with a wave of my hand as I take a seat and lean back into the plush leather seats. He’s like a puffed up peacock, winking at me as he unzips my jeans and pushes them down. We’re both clearly feeling the effects of alcohol tonight as he does this strange breathing thing on the head of my cock before flicking out his tongue and teasing me. He probably saw this in a porno once. One hand fondles my balls as he keeps toying with my dick, slurping and sucking at my length before pulling away and kissing it. He's not bad, but it still doesn't break through my despondent mood. I need more.
After deciding he's taking too long I fist my hands in his hair and face fuck him. I'm brutal, forcing him to take me deeper, faster and he loves it. The muffled moans coming from him give me the go ahead to tilt my hips, pushing him further onto my cock. I see his shoulder moving and look down to see him beating one out, in a place like this everyone wants to let loose, unleash their inner slut.
He may be good but I'm better, and as I feel my balls tighten I know I'm about to shoot my load, so I pull out and come on his face. My jizz spurts across his mouth, cheeks and chin and he barely even flinches, as his own orgasm is close. Not even two seconds later he explodes, trails of cum dribbling down over his hand.
“That was intense,” he breathes as I hand him some tissues from my back pocket. He zips his jeans back up and stands, “Here's my number honey, call me.”
He writes it on one of the tissues he used to wipe up and I raise an eyebrow, “A memento,” he says with a wink.
I take his number but I'm never going to call him― I never do. He was just a means to an end. Men. Women. It's all the same. Pleasure is all I want to feel, and sin is the name of the game.
2
Jack and Jameson are my only companions when I finally roll out of bed and get ready for work. Something about the sting of whiskey as it goes down makes me feel like I’m not dead yet, like this fight isn’t over, even though my body is switching off and my mind can’t process what’s going on. Tonight we’re doing the old fireman routine before learning a new one for next week. Dancing is everything, I love learning the new routines, stretching my body to its limits but today I couldn’t care less. It’s like someone has put a hazy filter over my eyes and I can’t shake it.
Pulling into the carpark I curb my truck, bouncing around like an idiot as it finally rolls to a stop. August shoots me a sharp look from across the lot and I know I should have walked, but logic wasn’t exactly my strong point right now. My night was off to a great start and it was only going to get worse.
Two hours later I miss my cue to turn around, my steps are too slow and as I go to pull off my trousers, my feet get tangled and I stumble barely catching myself before I faceplant next to D. I’m centre stage and I’ve just bumbled around like a fucking fool. Gio shoots me a look that says “WTF dude?” before he takes his place in the centre, gyrating in his thong and shaking his ass for the screaming crowd.
As the song dies down I make my way off stage, my legs like jelly. My mistake was a rookie one and I know I’m going to get shit for it. I’m trying to keep my head down as I go into the changing room, avoiding everyone’s concerned glances but I end up walking straight into Jag’s back.
“Fuck man. What is your problem?” he shoves me through the door in front of him, but says nothing else as he changes ready to head home. That disaster of a dance was the closing one and usually we’d stay and mingle with the customers but tensions are running high with all my fuck ups lately, and the guys have their own problems too.
“Dude, what was up with that shitshow out there?” Big D says as he pulls on his jeans and shoves a hoodie on over his head.
I avoid looking at him as I wash the flecks of glitter off my chest. “What’re you on about?”
“You looked like a monkey flailing around playing with his banana.”
I throw my t-shirt at D, hitting him squarely in the face. He doesn’t look like he’s playing around though as he frowns at me. “Quit riding me. I’m just dealing with some stuff is all,” I say, ignoring his glare.
“Yeah well, you’re fucking up the routine and making us look like tits out there. You need to get it together man, this isn’t just some fun or a joke— it’s my life. It’s my job and I take it seriously.”
“Look asshole, I said back off.”
D huffs as he throws his bag over his shoulder and goes to the exit, “You need to get a grip, lay off the tequila and maybe you wouldn’t be such a dick.”
Darius, who’s been sat at the mirror in silence chimes in, “D, Sin’s always been a dick. That ain’t ever going to change.”
Jag snorts in response as he leaves. I want to defend myself but it’s pointless, I know that I’m off my game. I fucking hate this. I don’t know why I can’t focus. I need a drink but I know that they’re starting to take note of what I drink at the club. No doubt Betty’s starting up a tab and at the end of the month she’ll hand me a bill. I pull on my clothes and go to call a cab since I’m in no state to drive— my handy little hip flask between dances saw to that, but Gio offers to drive me home where I’m sure there’s some vodka left at the back of a cupboard somewhere. Tomorrow is another day, and I don’t think I’m ready to face it just yet.
Rehearsals the next day are brutal. I literally want to shove screwdrivers into my eye sockets because my head is pounding that much. But I can’t just call in sick because today we’re starting the new routine and I’ll be fucked if I have to play catch up.
“Res
entment ruins routines,” Betty says as I keep missing beats during practice.
What the hell have I got to feel resentful over? My torment is over. My devil is in hell where she belongs. This is freedom. But why does it feel like my head is a snow globe someone's shaken too hard? I try to force myself to concentrate but I can't find my rhythm. I down a shot, but there's no buzz, only missed steps and slow moves. What use is an exotic dancer who can't dance? I stomp my foot on the stage angrily and Betty glares at me for a moment. She knows my heads not in it. I can't follow the routine, I can't make my body obey— it's turning on me, the fucking traitor.
I storm off the stage and head to the changing room. I’m done. I can’t think straight today. I’m not surprised when I hear the door open and close behind me, followed by the dull scent of cigarettes and gin.