Dawson gestures toward the stage. “I have a perfectly good view of all the action right here.”
Actually, thanks to the mirrors, I have a decent view too, even though I’m sitting with my back to the stage.
“I can’t believe I finally get out of Crystal Ball duty and now I’m fifteen hundred miles from New York in another strip club.” Wrath shoots a glare Rooster’s way.
“Hey!” Dex leans over the table and punches Wrath’s arm. “Stop talking shit about CB.”
“All the pretty naked ladies make you grumpy, Wrath?” I ask sweetly. “Or grumpier, I mean?”
Trinity covers her mouth and laughs.
“Careful, Shelby.” He wags a finger at me. “We’re not quite there yet.”
“Uh, Shelby?” a soft feminine voice says next to my ear. A tall, busty brunette with a hesitant smile and breasts about to spill out of her corset sets a tall glass of a pinkish-orange drink on the table in front of me. “Paloma on the house, Miss Shelby. We heard they’re your favorite.” She points toward the bar and the girl behind it waves at me.
“Oh my gosh. That’s so sweet. Thank you!”
“We’re both big fans. Already have tickets to your show in Nashville.”
My mind blanks. Say something! “Thank you. I’m looking forward to it.”
Well, that was dumb.
It’s just…Dawson Roads is sittin’ right over there and she’s talking to me? It doesn’t compute.
Her gaze shifts to Rooster. “You’re her White Knight, right?” She presses her hand to her chest and meets my eyes again. “It’s so romantic. I love that song.”
More heat races over my cheeks and down my chest. “Based on a true story.” I lean into Rooster and he slips his arm behind me, resting his hand on my hip.
“Well, if you need anything at all, I’m Erica. Digger asked me to personally cover your table. VIP service all the way.”
“Thank you.”
Rooster asks for a beer, then she moves to Dawson’s side. “What can I get for you, Mr. Roads?”
So she does know who he is.
Rooster squeezes my hip. “You all right?”
“That was wild. I’m still processing.”
He chuckles softly. “You’re more famous than you realize.”
I sip my drink, savoring the tartness of the grapefruit and lime. Erica returns with the rest of our order and sets another paloma in front of me and I thank her.
Trinity slides closer to me. “You’re popular here.”
“Yeah, that was so weird. I didn’t know what to say.”
“People don’t recognize you out in the wild?”
“A couple of times.” I shrug.
“I think you better get used to it,” she says with a smile.
Chapter Forty-Four
Rooster
Not that it’s a contest, but I’m amused that our waitress fawned all over Shelby while treating Dawson like just another customer. Shelby’s so damn sweet, the attention left her tongue-tied.
At least Dawson’s not some insecure prick who gets offended. If anything, he seems relieved the girls don’t make too much of a fuss over him.
I search the club. Busy but not as busy as I’d expected. The place seems well-run. This shouldn’t be taking up so much of Digger’s time that he doesn’t know what’s going on in his territory.
Across the table, I catch Dex’s eye and jerk my head to the side.
I lean into Shelby. “You mind if I talk to Digger for a minute?”
“Not at all. I knew this was a work outing.” She grins at me and sips her drink. Her cheeks and nose are already bright pink from the alcohol.
“Go easy on those.” I kiss her temple and slide out of the booth. Dex follows me to the bar. On the way over, I send Jiggy a text.
Me: Hey, chucklefuck. If you’re done gettin’ your dick rubbed, could you look after Shelby?
Jigsaw: My pleasure, cock-knocker.
The bartender bounces over to us right away. “Hi, Rooster. Hi, Dex.” Her gaze drops to my VP patch, then Dex’s spiffy new road captain patch. “Those look new.”
Do I know this chick?
“Is Digger still around?” I ask.
“Yup. Want me to text him?”
“Please.”
She moves to the end of the bar and I turn toward Dex. “What’s your professional opinion?”
“Nice place. Clean. Girls don’t look coked out of their skulls. I’d expect it to be busier.” He shrugs. “But I think a lot of clubs are on a downward trend.”
“Is CB?”
“Little bit. What’s the point of going to a club to watch naked girls they can’t touch, when they could just watch porn at home?” The corners of his mouth tip into a smirk. “Your business is literally killing mine.”
I burst out laughing. “Maybe the club’s just evolving.”
“Maybe. I think the point was always to have a good cover to launder money from other activities. Can’t do that with online porn.”
“That’s why downstate has the laundromats.”
He scoffs. “Sway was so literal.”
“What’s up, Rooster,” Digger says. “Everyone treating you okay?”
“Definitely. Erica’s been great.”
“Careful, I think she’s got a little crush on your girl.” He nudges me with his elbow and gives me a dirty old man smirk.
Yeah, not happening.
Since I’m not here to start shit, I humor him with a quick nod I hope doesn’t look too dismissive.
Priest sent me here with a goal in mind, not to take in the nightlife and kick back free drinks. Still, I need to use caution. Club brother or not, I can’t walk into another charter’s territory and start prying into their business.
I lean on the bar and take a sip of the fresh beer the bartender left in front of me.
“How are things?” I ask Digger. “Haven’t been down this way in a while. The area seems more built up.”
“Had a lot of growth in the last few years.” Digger glances around the bar. “Unfortunately, it’s not translating to more traffic here. We’re not as busy as we used to be.”
“Seems to be an on-going decline throughout the industry,” Dex says.
“Yeah? Same for your place?”
“We’ve had a bit of an extended slump.” Dex nods to one of the dancers who strokes her hand over his shoulder as she struts by. “Maybe we can start up an exchange program with the girls. Rotate in new talent,” he suggests to Digger.
Crystal Ball has always prided itself on pulling talent from all over the country. It’s one of the reasons upstate has kept their place as successful as it has for so long. So this isn’t exactly a new and novel concept Dex is suggesting. More like, he’s trying to help me lull Digger into a broader conversation.
While they discuss logistics, I scan the room, searching for Shelby. Wrath and Trinity are in the booth alone. He jerks his head to the right when he notices me.
Oh, Shelby. What the hell are you up to?
I knew I’d let her drink too much. Haven’t seen her touch a drop of alcohol the whole time I’ve been on the road with her. Should’ve known she’d be a lightweight.
It’ll be fine.
The whole point for her tonight was to cut loose and have a little harmless fun, right?
Chapter Forty-Five
Shelby
After their turn on the stage, each dancer walks through the room, sitting in customers’ laps, talking them into buying drinks, accepting tips, and trying to hustle them in the back for private dances.
The men are gross. Constantly copping feels and staring at the girls’ tits. Not much different from waitressing, I suppose.
For the tenth time tonight, I’m thanking Jesus I never accepted any of the invitations I received over the years to “try out” at any of the local strip clubs back home.
Three dancers approach Dawson at once. Two in his lap and one standing behind him to rub his shoulders and whisper in his ear.
The evil bitch in me kinda wants to snap a picture and send it to Glenna Wilson. I’d caption it, “Looks like he’s doing fine without you, bitch.”
But I could never do that. My phone stays in my pocket.
Dawson must’ve reconsidered the private dance because he lets the girls lead him backstage.
“And then there were three,” Trinity sighs. Wrath just shakes his head.
I sip my drink while watching Rooster and Dex at the bar.
“Shelby!” Erica and another girl approach my side of the booth. Together the two of them look like the angel and devil come to taunt me with bad choices. Erica in her blood-red and black corset and the new girl in what looks like the bridal lingerie of a 1960’s virgin, complete with marabou feathered pumps.
The new girl introduces herself as Vanity and holds out her hands to me. “Please, come dance with us.”
“What? Me?” I glance at the stage. “I can’t do any of that.” I play a little air guitar solo for them. “Guitar and singin’ are my only talents.”
Vanity twirls a long lock of ice-blond hair around one finger and pouts. “Please. I’ll show you some moves.”
Why the hell not? How often do you get offered dance lessons from a professional stripper?
Vanity leans over the table toward Trinity, “How about you?”
“I’m good.” Trinity’s amber eyes settle on me. “You sure about this?”
I shrug and finish my paloma, slamming it on the table with a thud. “I think I have just enough tequila in me to give it a try.”
“Yay!” Vanity claps. The sleeves of the filmy white robe she’s wearing slide down her arms. Erica reaches for me, curling her hands around mine and dragging me out of the booth.
“Do you dance too?” I ask her.
“I want to. The money’s better. But I haven’t worked up the courage to take it all off, yet.”
“Oh.” I giggle and stumble, bumping into her. “Yeah, I could never.”
“Why?” Vanity fluffs my hair and studies my body likes she’s measuring me for a new bra. “You definitely have the figure for it.”
Erica pushes her friend. “Don’t you dare talk my favorite singer into another line of work.”
A nervous chuckle spills out of me. “No plans to switch careers.”
“Okay.” Vanity spreads her hands in front of her like she’s about to sell me on the latest multi-level-marketing scheme. “Main stage, you enter from the back. These smaller ones, you gotta haul yourself up onto them and still make it look graceful.”
Of course, I end up scrabbling my way onto the raised platform about as gracefully as a drunk monkey wearing a girdle.
Once I’m on the stage, I stare at the shiny silver pole in front of me. “Can you teach me how to spin around that thing?”
“Easy, breezy,” Vanity says.
She demonstrates the different grips used for tricks, climbing, and spins. I’ll never remember each hand positioning but I nod along, eager to get through the lessons and give it a whirl. So to speak.
“It might be easier with bare feet,” Erica points out.
I plop down on the stage and tug my boots and socks off, setting them to the side.
The two girls share a look. “Let’s start you with the attitude spin. That’s a good beginner one,” Vanity says. “Okay, first you start with the half-bracket grip I showed you.” She demonstrates by curling her hands around the pole with one above her head and the other about chest-level. “Keep your core tight and shoulders back.”
“Lemme see you do it,” I say.
She executes the moves in a slow, fluid motion, then stops to explain. “Step forward with your inside leg.” She pats her thigh. “Swing your outside leg in a wide circle around your body, hooking the back of your ankle onto the pole—”
“You lost me.”
Her mask of patience slips for a second.
Hey, no one told you to offer the drunk girl dancin’ lessons.
“Let me show you again.”
My eyes follow her movements—grip, grip, step, twirl. She does it a few more times but it still looks like a graceful blur of motion.
“Okay, you try.”
Grip, grip—
“No, grip lower.” Vanity repositions my bottom hand.
Step, jump, nothing.
My body doesn’t magically twirl around the pole.
I try a few more times and finally get my leg high enough.
“Good, good!” Erica encourages. “You’re so flexible. Took me forever to get my leg to bend like that.”
“Yoga, baby.” I slap the backs of my thighs a few times.
Vanity smirks at Erica. “Told ya.”
I try the spin again and end up sliding down the pole, dragging my feet on the floor.
“Slightly better,” Vanity says. “Here, move those hips a little when you come down.” She places her hands on me and shimmies from side to side, encouraging me to do the same.
The music seamlessly shifts as a new group of dancers takes the main stage. An Eighties rock song, Candy Jar, blasts through the speakers. Kinda cliché for a strip club, so not unexpected. I bust out some dance moves with the girls, tossing my hair around like a proper Eighties video queen.
“Nice, Shelby!” Erica laughs. “Try the spin again.”
Grip, grip, step, jump, spin. I almost get all the way around the pole, but my heel slips and I land painfully on my hands and knees.
“Ouch.” I giggle and dust off my hands, jumping up to try again.
“I think your jeans are causing you to slip when they make contact with the pole,” Vanity points out.
I may be slightly tipsy but there isn’t enough alcohol in the world to convince me to strip off my pants in a public place. An uneasy feeling settles in my gut. Maybe trying to spin my body around a pole with all the tequila sloshing through my tummy wasn’t the best idea.
“That’s enough of that, songbird,” a gruff voice says behind me. Strong arms wrap around my waist, lifting me into the air and off the stage.
“Stop! I’m gonna puke.”
“A little puke doesn’t scare me.” Jigsaw doesn’t break his stride. Customers barely blink as he carries me to our table, they’re so focused on the main stage.
At our booth, Jiggy gently stands me on the bench, leaving me with a bird’s-eye view of the whole club. “Where’d your boots go?” he asks.
I point to the stage.
“Don’t move,” he warns.
I almost topple over and lean one arm on the back of the booth.
When my vision stops swimming, I search the bar again. No sign of Logan. Where’d he go?
Jigsaw returns with a grim expression. He holds my boots up in front of my face. “Sit.”
I slide into the booth, landing on my rump.
He squats in front of me, shoving my pants leg up while working one sock onto my foot and slipping on my boot. He repeats the process with my other foot, then smooths my jeans into place.
From the corner of my eye, I catch an older man wearing a business suit taking a photo of us.
Oh, that’s not good.
“Jiggy,” I whisper urgently.
“You gonna be sick?” he asks, concern darkening his eyes.
“No…well maybe…but that guy over there is taking pictures.”
He whips around and zeroes in on the wanna-be photographer right away. Leaping into action, he lunges for the phone.
The man jumps out of his seat so fast, his chair clatters to the ground. Instead of running toward the safety of the front door, he tries to dodge Jigsaw and run deeper into the club.
Jiggy sticks his arm out, clotheslining the guy right in the neck. Boom. The man hits the floor with a splat.
Two bouncers who’d been manning the front door come running. Before they reach the guy, Jigsaw grabs his phone, flicking his fingers over the screen, hopefully deleting the photos.
The man struggles as the bouncers drag him away.
“
That was close,” Trinity says. “Are you okay?”
“I think so.”
ROOSTER
Digger waves his hand over his shoulder. “Follow me back to my office so we can talk about this without all the noise.” He follows my line of sight. “She’ll be fine. The girls will take care of her.”
I nod as if I’m not worried but as soon as he turns around, I pull out my phone and send Jiggy another text.
Me: Eyes on Shelby. Now.
We’re already in the hallway leading to Digger’s office when Jiggy responds with a thumb’s up emoji.
Wrath’s out there. He won’t let anything happen to Shelby. But I also know if anything goes down, Trinity will be his first priority.
Dancers scatter out of Digger’s way. Some try to stop and talk to Dex and me. I snarl at a few who put their hands on me or grab my arm.
A young woman dressed in street clothes, carrying a large duffle bag, is waiting outside Digger’s office door. Even though she’s in jeans and a sweatshirt, her teased halo of hair and heavy makeup say she’s finishing a shift.
“What’s wrong, Jenny?” he asks.
“Can you walk me to my car? That guy…” her bottom lip trembles.
Digger sighs. “I’m in the middle of something.” He turns and claps me on the back. “Rooster will walk you out.”
Startled, I don’t say anything right away, which Digger seems to take for acceptance.
“Thank you, Rooster,” Jenny gushes.
Dex shrugs as he follows Digger into the office.
Fuck.
Jenny scans my cut. “You’re visiting from New York, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Cool. I want to get up there for Christmas this year.”
“Well, I think that’s what Dex and Digger are talking about if you’re interested in taking a few shifts at our upstate New York club.”
She quickens her steps to keep up with me. “Oh, yes. That would be perfect.”
I push the back door open but ask her to wait, scanning the parking lot behind the building. All the vehicles appear to be empty. No pedo-vans lurking. I motion for her to follow me outside.
“Which one’s yours?” I ask.
Lyrics on the Wind (Lost Kings MC Book 17) Page 33