by Elle Kennedy
“Get off your ass,” Trevor ordered as he strode back into the room in a getup similar to Sullivan’s.
Releasing the sigh, Luke stood up. And hoped that neither of his teammates spared a glance at his crotch. When Sully hooted, it was clear his current state of discomfort hadn’t gone unnoticed.
Giving his buddy the finger, he awkwardly marched out of the living room to get his gear.
* * *
“You’re on after Cora.”
Olivia Taylor shifted her gaze from her reflection in the mirror to see the Diamond Mine’s newest dancer saunter into the busy dressing room. Candy Cane was the name she used, and the costume she’d chosen reflected it: a red-and-white-striped bustier with lace cups and a sheer mesh body, dental-floss G-string, and a garter with red lace trim. She wore crimson lipstick and pink eye shadow, which made her appear both innocent and erotic at the same time. Candy had been working here for only two months, but she was already a big hit with the customers. Even Vince was impressed with her, and the boss wasn’t easily impressed.
As Candy flopped into a chair at the neighboring vanity table and began removing her makeup with a cotton ball, Olivia stood up and adjusted the straps of her dove gray satin cocktail gown. An exotic dancer in a cocktail gown—she didn’t miss the irony of that. But Vince had ordered her to look elegant tonight. He insisted that the customers welcomed a break from the trash every now and then, that they longed for a taste of class. And you, babe, are the epitome of class.
Said the pimp to his whore.
Okay, that was a tad melodramatic. She was not a whore. But as Olivia gazed at her reflection, she didn’t see the subtle makeup, elegant gown, and strappy heels. She saw the skimpy thong, the silver garter belt, and the glitter-dusted breasts that all those men out there were about to leer at.
Her throat tightened. God, she didn’t want to do this anymore. Every night when she left the Diamond, she felt dirty. Dirty and exposed and so utterly drained it was a miracle she managed to drag herself out of bed in the mornings.
When a friend from NYU had hooked her up with this job last year, she’d told herself it was temporary. After her mother’s cancer came back and the bills started piling up, Olivia’s waitressing salary simply didn’t cut it anymore. The rent needed to be paid. Her tuition. Her mom’s latest round of chemo treatments. Groceries, phone bill, utilities. Seemed like there was an unending stream of must-pay in Olivia’s life. The price was never right. It was high. Always high.
Shake her ass, count the bills in her G-string, and graduate. That had been the plan, except now there was no chance of that happening. Not if Vince Angelo had anything to say about it.
“You okay?”
She blinked away the tears threatening to spill over and pasted a smile on her face. When she turned her head, she found Candy staring at her. The concern in those blue eyes had Olivia averting her gaze, pretending to be fascinated with the chaos around her.
The huge dressing room had twenty makeup stations, costume racks against one wall, a luxurious bathroom, and a bank of lockers at the far end of the room where the dancers stored their belongings. All around her, girls were dressing or undressing, chatting with one another or into their cell phones. They were in their twenties or thirties, came in all shapes, sizes, and races, and most of them were here for the same reason as Olivia: money.
Across the room, one of the other dancers, Heaven Monroe, was busy applying makeup to her gaunt face, but Olivia doubted any amount of beauty products could rid the girl of that gray pallor. Heaven was a junkie, had been for as long as Olivia had worked here, and for the life of her, she still couldn’t figure out why Vince kept the girl on.
“Olivia?” Candy was still eyeing her.
“I’m fine,” she lied. “I just have a bit of a headache. I’m worried the spotlight will only make it worse.”
“You sure it’s just a headache?” Candy reached for an elastic band, tied her long blond hair into a ponytail, and rose from her chair. “Every time I look at you, you’ve got the saddest expression on your face. What’s going on with you?”
Uh, other than the fact that our boss covered up a murder for me?
She hastily broke eye contact again. Candy seemed like a nice woman, but confiding in her wasn’t an option. Vince had eyes and ears in every inch of this club.
“I said I’m fine.” Her tone came out sharper than intended, but it got the job done.
With a wounded look, Candy slunk back to her station. An apology bit at the tip of Olivia’s tongue, but before she could voice it, the door swung open and Vince walked in.
“Evening, ladies,” he announced in that silky-smooth voice of his. “Give me and Livy a minute, okay?”
Not a single dancer so much as protested. Even those in a state of undress obeyed the boss, filing out of the room without a word. When they were alone, Vince stepped closer, his dark eyes softening as he looked at Olivia.
The mere sight of him made her nauseous. The fact that he was actually quite handsome made it even worse. In his mid-thirties, Vince Angelo was Italian to the core, with slicked-back black hair, shrewd brown eyes, and a gym-toned body forever clad in tailored suits. He was constantly on the receiving end of appreciative female attention, but Olivia knew better than the women who checked Vince out.
And she didn’t appreciate a damn thing about him.
“You look beautiful, babe.”
“Thank you,” she murmured.
Another step closer. His arm came out as if he wanted to touch her, but then he dropped it to his side and smiled ruefully. “Fuck, babe, don’t look so sad. We got good news yesterday, remember?”
We? No, she’d received good news. Her mother was in remission. But Vince had a habit of acting like they were in this together. A sliver of anger pierced her, but she forced her expression to remain neutral. She couldn’t let him see the anger. It would only provoke his own ire, and Olivia knew quite well what happened when Vince got angry.
So she mustered up a smile and said, “I know. It’s just hard to be hopeful. The cancer already came back twice before. I don’t know how long the remission will last this time.”
“If the disease returns, we’ll deal with it.”
The way you dealt with that customer’s body? she almost blurted out. She stopped herself, though. A part of her still hoped that if she never mentioned the attack, Vince might forget about it. Release her from the debt she owed him. But she wasn’t naive enough to give much credence to that hope. Whether she liked it or not, she did owe him. For paying her tuition, and for taking care of her staggering medical bills, not to mention her mother’s. She hadn’t asked him to do any of that, but he had, and now he owned her.
“Come here, let me hold you for a moment,” Vince said huskily.
He opened his arms. Olivia hesitated before stepping into them. Play along. It won’t be forever. You’ll find a way out soon.
A way out. God, she dreamed of that every night. The salary Vince paid her went toward rent, bills, and groceries, but her tips went directly into her escape fund, and since Vince didn’t monitor those, he had no idea how much she’d already managed to save. She’d definitely amassed a decent amount this past year. But not decent enough. If she’d been on her own, she would have skipped town months ago, but no way would she leave her mother behind. That just made things more difficult, though. She couldn’t uproot her mom unless she had a job to support them both with. Kathleen was still recovering, still required the epoetin injections to help her produce the red blood cells that her damaged kidneys denied her body.
Starting fresh in a new city required money. Starting fresh in a new city while having to pay for expensive medical treatments? They’d end up living on the streets.
Her best bet was to finish school first. She had one more semester, and then she’d have a degree in hand and a better chance of landing a higher-paying job and supporting her mom. Hopefully a scholarship to law school would be in the cards too, and she c
ould always take night classes if need be.
Vince wouldn’t follow her once she was gone. He would find a new pet to obsess over, a new girl to control.
Or at least that’s what she kept telling herself.
When it came to Vince Angelo, she truly didn’t know how far he would go to get his way. What she did know brought a tremor of fear.
Vince stroked her hair and held her tighter. The buttons of his pin-striped suit jacket rubbed against her chest, irritating the bare nipples beneath her satin dress. He cupped her chin with both hands, his dark eyes searching her face. “I’ve been patient with you, haven’t I, Olivia?”
She nodded.
A smile tugged on his full, sensual lips. His lips were the only soft thing about him. Everything else was hard, sharp. Eyes like a hawk, handsome but cold features chiseled out of stone.
“I saved you,” he went on, pride creeping into his voice. “I know we haven’t spoken about it in a while, but I just wanted you to know that everything I did that night, I did for you. Because I love you.”
Her voice wobbled. “I kn-know.”
Inside, she was seething. For her? How had any of it been for her? She’d wanted to tell the police the truth, but while she’d been in surgery, Vince’s goons had dumped the body, and their boss had spun the police a tale about how Olivia hadn’t seen her attacker. When the cops had backed off without so much as taking her statement, it wasn’t hard to figure out that Vince must have paid somebody off. By then, he’d also paid every outstanding debt she’d owed, officially placing her in his debt.
“And that’s why I’m waiting,” Vince said, his soft words jerking her from her thoughts. “I know who you are, babe. You’re not the kind of girl a man just screws. You’re the one he marries and screws.”
Gee, how romantic.
“I’ll wait as long as I have to, Liv. I respect you. That’s why I’m letting you continue your schooling. That’s why I allow you to live with your mother rather than push you to move in with me.”
She wanted to scream. Wanted to slap that handsome face of his, rip his hair out by the roots. Letting her? Allowing her? Wow. And he truly believed that he loved her.
“I’m an honorable man,” he finished, gently tracing her jaw with his index finger. “A patient man. And it brings tears to my eyes knowing that you’re untouched and saving yourself for me.”
Now she wanted to gag. Telling him she was a virgin had been a last-ditch effort to hinder one of his early seduction attempts, and to her shock, it had actually worked. After the attack, when he’d hinted that she could repay him with a fuck, she’d almost thrown up. Instead, she’d played the innocence card, and so far it had served her well. But how much longer? She knew his imaginary honor and supposed patience wouldn’t last forever, which made it all the more imperative to prepare for her escape.
Before he decided to take her to bed without her consent.
“Your honor is my favorite thing about you,” she said in a shaky voice.
A knock rapped against the door, and Cora Malcolm poked her head into the dressing room. Onstage she was Coral Holliday, but to Olivia she was simply Cora, the pretty redhead who sat beside her in nearly every lecture hall. Cora had been the one to set her up with this job, but these days Olivia wasn’t feeling so grateful.
“You’re on, Liv,” Cora announced. Her cheeks were flushed, and sweat coated a pair of perky bare breasts that bounced as she sauntered over to her station.
Vince leaned down and planted a kiss on Olivia’s cheek. “Go on, babe, turn them on, get them nice and hard.”
Said the honorable prince to the love of his life.
She choked down a hysterical laugh and headed for the door, feeling Vince’s eyes burning into her back. In the corridor, she drew air into her lungs, blinked away some more tears, and attempted to regain her composure. After a year of this, she still couldn’t shake the sick feeling in her belly. It wasn’t nerves; it was shame. She hated dancing for the customers out there, feeling all those hungry eyes on her. Her own desperation had brought her to this club, but it wasn’t desperation keeping her here. Now it was fear. Vince had made it painfully clear that he wouldn’t be happy if she quit dancing—not before the wedding, anyway.
And she knew better than most what Vince Angelo did to people who made him unhappy.
Chapter 2
A man could get lost in those eyes. They reminded Luke of the Spanish moss growing in the bayou back home, a lush earthy green that left you feeling calm and sated. And she had incredibly long eyelashes. Probably those fake stick-on kind, but if they were real, then damn. It didn’t escape him that he was sitting here ogling the dancer’s eyes, while all the other sleaze buckets around him were staring at her breasts. Not that her breasts weren’t as spectacular as her eyes. Because they were.
Luke shifted in his seat and took a long swig of his beer. There was something extremely disconcerting about having a hard-on while surrounded by a bunch of other men. He’d never understood the appeal of strip clubs. Why look when you could touch? It didn’t take much effort to walk into a bar, find a willing female, and touch the night away. Looking sucked.
Or maybe it didn’t. He had to relent as the stunning brunette on the main stage began grinding against a silver pole.
Focus.
He drew in a breath and heeded the voice in his head. Morgan might have ordered him to keep an eye on Livy Lovelace tonight, but that wasn’t the only task at hand. He’d paid the extra cover charge to get into the roped-off VIP lounge, which was up on the second floor and offered a perfect line of sight to the stage below. The VIP area boasted a smaller stage with a counter around it, where a voluptuous blonde in a white corset was dancing for a couple of high rollers. A lot of hair tossing, pelvic grinding, and hip jerking going on, but Luke was more interested in the happenings on the main floor.
He rose from the comfortable padded armchair and strolled up to the railing, his gaze sliding over the activity below. Scantily clad waitresses rushed from table to table, while half-naked dancers worked the room, making conversation with customers, sizing them up as if to calculate how much dough they could score from a particular mark. Luke ignored the females, studying the men instead. He examined, discarded, moved on to the next.
Carter Dane’s face was imprinted in Luke’s memory, but he saw no sign of the missing DEA agent. Not among the customers, nor the various bouncers and staff moving through the club. If Dane was here, then he must be in the restricted areas: the employee section in the back or the upstairs management offices. If he wasn’t here, then he was probably dead, which was beginning to seem likely.
Dane had been ordered to buddy up to Vince Angelo as a means of reaching the agency’s real target: Ric De Luca. The Diamond Mine was nothing more than a glorified washing machine—De Luca laundered his money and ran his drugs through there. And if Luke were a betting man, he’d go all in on the wager that Carter Dane’s cover had been blown. De Luca was too smart to let just anyone infiltrate his organization, no matter how outstanding the person appeared on paper.
Okay, he concluded, no Dane in sight. Poor dude was probably six feet under or chained to a cement block at the bottom of the Hudson. But until they had confirmation, the team couldn’t pack up and leave.
Draining his beer, he signaled the waitress for another, then watched the beautiful dancer finish out her performance. The slinky cocktail dress she’d sauntered out in lay in a puddle of satin on the floor. The heels were gone too, but she still wore a silver G-string and a garter belt jammed full of bills.
The waitress returned with his beer. This time he sipped slowly. Couldn’t afford to get hammered on the job.
When he felt a pair of eyes boring into him, he realized the waitress hadn’t left. She stood next to him, watching the stage. “She’s good, ain’t she?” the top-heavy blonde drawled.
“Beautiful,” he heard himself say.
The music died, and his goddess was rewarded by deafening
applause and lewd shouts. He noticed the waitress moving away and cleared his throat. “How much for a private dance?”
She giggled. “I don’t do that. I just wait tables.”
He hooked a thumb at the stage below. “I meant with her.”
Disappointment flashed in the blonde’s eyes. “That one’s expensive.”
“How much?” he asked again.
“A hundred out on the floor. Five hundred in the VIP rooms.”
Luke whistled softly. Five hundred to get the goddess alone? Pretty damn steep.
On the other hand, he pictured her beautiful face, the heart-stopping body, and decided it could actually be considered a bargain. Ignoring the waitress’s amused expression, he pulled out his wallet and did a quick count.
“Arrange it,” he said, his voice coming out gruff.
“You got it, big spender.”
As she flounced off, Luke released a heavy breath. What the hell was he doing?
What you were asked to do. Investigating.
Well, sure. Morgan had ordered him to pay closer attention to the stripper, hadn’t he? Nothing closer than a lap dance.
A few minutes later, the waitress returned and gestured for him to follow her down the wide spiral staircase. With the blonde taking the lead, they wove through the tables scattered around the main room, past several curtained alcoves and the hallway he’d noticed staff members coming in and out of. Didn’t go near the second spiral staircase, which intel told him led up to the management offices, including Angelo’s. Luke suppressed his disappointment. Ah well. The opportunity to snoop around would present itself eventually.
They went beyond the bar area, stepping into a shadowy corridor lined with half a dozen doors on each side. The waitress led him to one at the end of the hall, where a dark-skinned bouncer with massive shoulders stood guard. The behemoth’s sharp gaze pierced Luke.
“No touching,” the bouncer said curtly. “We’ll be watching. You touch, you’re out.”
“Yes, sir.” He appreciated the warning. It told him that the folks at the Diamond Mine didn’t fuck around. Someone was looking out for his girl’s safety.