“Yeah,” Cubby grunted.
“Cocoa’s up next,” Dawg told him then rounded the bar and headed in the direction Emma disappeared. “Text me if you need somethin’. Gonna be busy for a bit.”
“Gotcha, boss.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dawn scoring a private dance on the other side of the stage. She held one finger up at him as he passed by.
One dance.
Cheap fucker.
Dawg lifted his chin in acknowledgment and, when he hit the back hallway, he saw Moose headed his way. “Dawn’s got one on the line for a song. Green room. Got me?”
“Gotcha, boss.”
The heavyset prospect continued past him to escort Dawn and her customer back to one of the private rooms. And then stand watch outside the door.
He needed more prospects working at Heaven’s Angels. Especially ones like Moose. Though not super tall, the man held some bulk that could be intimidating. He also was a hard worker. He’d have to talk to Z about trying to find more DAMC recruits. They were cheap labor versus hiring people off the street.
He continued down the hallway and pushed through a door that had a sign on it that read “private.” That lead to another short hallway and the first door on the right was the girls’ dressing room.
He shoved open the door and walked in, not giving two shits who was in there.
He’d seen them all naked countless times on stage, so they didn’t care if he came into the dressing room. They couldn’t be a prude and be a stripper...
Cocoa was putting the finishing touches on her makeup.
“Gotta be on stage, woman. Can’t have no one on stage. Get out there,” he barked.
Cocoa took her time as she finished applying her lipstick, rubbed her lips together, put the cap on the tube, threw it on the counter and then gave Dawg the middle-finger salute. “I’m going. It’s not like there’s a crowd out there. Probably be dancing for next to nothing.”
“If you wanna dance later when you’re gonna be rakin’ it in, you better get your ass out there right now.”
“Whatever, Dawg.”
“Don’t fuckin’ whatever me.”
Cocoa stepped away from the mirror and put her hands on her hips.
“Hold up. Let me see.” Dawg inspected her from top to toe. The woman had the skin tone of her stage name. She was a rich chocolate brown with the biggest natural tits in his stable. Her ass was hard to ignore, too. She’d been working for Dawg for years and the woman knew what she was doing and made good money at it. “Lookin’ good, baby.”
Cocoa smiled. “I know it. You don’t have to tell me.” She approached him and lowered her voice. “She’s in the bathroom crying. I tried to give her some pointers.” She shook her head. “Don’t think she’s cut out for this, darlin’.”
“No shit. Told her that. Figured she needed to find out for herself.”
Cocoa reached out, grabbed his dick through his jeans and squeezed. “Mmm mmm. Say it every time... hung like a brotha, darlin’.”
Dawg grinned. “Am a brother.”
“Not that type of brotha. Shame you don’t do your girls.”
Dawg grunted. “Get the fuck out on stage.”
Cocoa laughed. “One of these days, I’m gonna get me some of that.”
“An’ your ol’ man would kick my ass.”
She winked and headed toward the door. “He doesn’t mind sharing,” she tossed over her shoulder.
“Right.” Her husband was about five-six and maybe one hundred fifty pounds soaking wet. He was not kicking Dawg’s ass anytime soon, but he still had to give her shit since she was happily married and would never cheat on her man no matter what she said.
He shook his head as he watched the door close behind her, then sighed. He glanced around the room and saw the women’s clothes, shoes, makeup and all kinds of shit tossed around. It looked like a hurricane hit the dressing area.
“Fuckin’ goddamn.” He shook his head again and carefully headed through the disaster area toward the restroom that was dedicated to the dancers.
Not bothering to knock, he shoved the door open and stopped dead.
“It’s occupied,” came the tearful yell. Emma was perched on the closed toilet seat, her head hanging down, her face in her hands as her body shook.
“Don’t give a shit,” Dawg grumbled back and closed the door behind him.
She glanced up, her mouth hanging open. It was not a good look for her. The thick mascara she had applied earlier had caused black smears down her cheeks. Her lipstick had been chewed off her bottom lip. Her eyes were bloodshot and still rimmed with tears.
“Fuck,” he muttered.
She had thrown on a silky red robe that was way too big for her and she looked like a little girl sitting on the commode as she cried.
His nostrils flared in his attempt to keep from yelling at her for being stupid and not listening to him in the first place. “What the fuck’s wrong with you now? You got what you wanted.”
“I know,” she blubbered, fresh tears leaking out of her damn eyes.
Ah, fuck. He couldn’t handle crying women.
“I was horrible up there, wasn’t I?”
No point in lying and letting her think she had a shot at this. “Yeah, you fuckin’ suck, baby girl.”
Her eyes widened, and her mouth dropped open. “You couldn’t be nice and lie about it?”
“Fuck no. Gotta hear the truth.”
She reached into the robe pocket and pulled out a few balled-up dollar bills. “Two dances!”
“Yeah?”
“Two dances!” she yelled again.
Where the fuck was she going with this?
“Two dances and that’s all I made!” She whipped the balled-up money at him. It bounced off his chest and onto the bathroom floor. “At that rate, I’ll never get the money I need!”
Her body hiccuped and she let out a low wail that almost made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.
Holy fuck.
Emotional women sucked! That was the worst part of working with a whole shitload of them. Especially when they were all PMSing, which they all seemed to do at the same fucking time. Those where the days he needed to wear a Kevlar vest, a cup, and a riot helmet, while arming himself with pepper spray, chocolate and ear plugs.
He bent down and scooped the money off the floor. He unraveled the singles and smoothed them out.
He groaned. Eleven bucks. “This what you got outta both dances?”
“Yes!”
She was not going to like what he had to say next. “Owe me twenty-nine bucks.”
“What?”
Once again her mouth was hanging open like a fish out of water. “Yeah, discounted your stage fee to only twenty bucks a dance. You’re in the red, baby girl.”
“What?”
Maybe she needed her ears cleaned out. “Runnin’ a business here. Can’t afford to—”
Suddenly he was knocked backward. He grunted as his back slammed into the bathroom door and a spitfire was on him, pounding on his chest with her fists as she screamed nonsense, spit raining everywhere.
“What the fuck!” he shouted, trying to snag her swinging arms before she knocked him a good one or kneed him in the nuts. Finally, he captured her wrists and pulled her arms behind her back, holding her still. “Quit it!”
Then her body sagged against him and she began to cry uncontrollably, pressing her wet, snotty face between the opening of his cut and into his shirt.
“Fuck, baby girl,” he murmured as he released her arms and held her tightly against him, otherwise she’d probably collapse to the floor. Her body heaved with each sob and her tears seemed endless.
But he stood there and held her until she was all cried out and became quiet, except for an occasional hiccup. Her arms slipped under his cut, wrapped around his waist and she squeezed him tight. “I’m sorry,” came muffled from his now damp chest.
He combed his fingers through her hair and re
mained silent as she sniffled a few more times. He had a feeling she was using his Sturgis tee as a tissue.
Finally, she lifted her face. She looked like a complete fucking wreck, but she still made his chest pull tight and thoughts run through his head that had no business being there.
“Did I hurt you?” she asked shakily.
“No,” he grunted, continuing to soothe her by stroking her long hair. He wanted to feel that silkiness all over his bare chest again.
“I don’t know what came over me.” Her shaking voice was thin, and it killed him. Twisted his fucking guts.
“Frustration. Desperation. Maybe even a feelin’ of failure, baby girl. Don’t know what’s goin’ on, but you’re gonna fuckin’ tell me.”
She nuzzled deeper into his chest and didn’t say anything for a long while.
“It’s not your fault, and I took it out on you.”
“I’m a big guy. Can handle it.”
“Still...”
He leaned back and peered down into her face. “Go gather your shit. We’re goin’ up to my place where there’s privacy an’ you’re gonna spill it. Got me?”
“Dawson...”
Dawg closed his eyes and blew out an impatient breath. “Haven’t been Dawson for a long time... Go get your shit.” He gently pushed her away and reached behind him to open the door. Then, with a hand to her back, he nudged her out into the dressing room and waited as she gathered her clothes.
“I need to get dressed and wash my face.”
“Upstairs.”
She fingered the robe she wore. “But this isn’t my robe.”
“I’ll bring it back down.”
“But—”
“Seriously, woman, you’re tryin’ my patience. Get your shit an’ let’s go.”
She grabbed her belongings and held her street clothes in a ball against her chest. “I can just go home. You were right. I’m not cut out for this. I’ll send you the twenty-nine dollars when I get it. I’m sorry for wasting your time.”
“Emma,” he growled. “Ain’t gonna tell you again.”
“I thank you for the opportunity, but—”
Before another word could escape her lips, he grabbed her and threw her over his shoulder. She squealed in surprise, but he didn’t give a shit.
The fucking woman didn’t listen. He was tired of talking, so now he was taking matters into his own hands. With her struggling against him, he strode out of the dressing room, toward the back of the club, out the door and up the steps to his apartment. He paused only long enough to avoid taking a foot to the dick, to dig his keys out of his pocket, unlock the deadbolt and shove the door open. He slammed it shut, latched the lock, took two long strides into the living room and then tossed her over the back of the couch where she landed with a bounce on the cushions, her hair flying all over the place.
“What—”
“Shut up,” he barked and moved around to the front of the couch just as she was pushing herself up to a seat.
“That’s so rude!”
He planted his hands on his hips. “Damn right it is. An’ so’s not listenin’ to what I’m tellin’ you.”
“You’re not the boss of me!”
He stopped himself before he shouted that he was. Because in reality, he wasn’t. He needed to remind himself of that.
Just because he stuck his dick in her once, didn’t make her his.
Fuck no, it didn’t.
When she went to stand up, he pointed at her and bellowed, “Sit the fuck down. Ain’t movin’ from that spot ‘til you tell me everything. Got me?”
“Dawson...”
“It’s fuckin’ Dawg!”
She lifted a hand and then dropped it back into her lap. Her head bowed, and she whispered, “Sorry.”
Fuck. Now he felt like a complete shit.
“Look at me. Don’t give a shit what you call me, as long as you tell me what the fuck’s goin’ on.”
She lifted her red-rimmed blue eyes to his. “Why do you care?”
Good question. Why the fuck did he care?
Because he was a stupid shit, and he knew the moment he’d stuck his dick in her his life was going to change.
That’s why he cared.
Chapter Five
Emma stared up at the man who loomed over her with a frown on his face, his brow furrowed, and hands on his hips, just waiting for her to spill her secrets.
“Can I get dressed first?”
“No.”
She raised a hand to her cheek. “Can I wash my face?”
“No.”
“Are you always this bossy?”
His lips twitched slightly, then he grunted, “Fuck yeah.”
Great. She sighed. “Where should I start?”
“The beginnin’.”
“Maybe you should take a seat then,” she suggested, waving a hand at a worn leather recliner nearby.
“Fine where I’m at.”
“I’d prefer you sit down.” She didn’t need a big tattooed biker standing over her as she tried to tell him a story that was painful. “Please,” she added softly.
A look she didn’t recognize crossed his face, then he finally gave her a sharp nod and settled into the recliner that faced the couch. At least now there was some distance between them and she might be able to think a bit straighter.
She cleared her throat. “I have a daughter.”
“Know it.”
She frowned. “Are you going to let me tell you?”
His lips twitched again, and he sat back. “Go.”
She took a deep inhale and began to speak. “I was eighteen when I met him.” Because of her grades and her SAT scores, she had received a scholarship and some grants to attend a college she wouldn’t have normally been able to afford. Especially since her grandmother who raised her couldn’t help her financially, either. But it was a college where her future husband’s family had no problem footing his bill. “I was a freshman and met him at a frat party—”
He leaned forward with a jerk. “Him?”
She shot him a look.
His eyes widened as if he hadn’t realized he’d spoken out loud, and he said again, “Go.”
“Handsome, smart, from a good family...”
His fingers curled into fists on his thighs. “He beat you?”
“Dawson,” she chided him for interrupting again. “Do you want to hear it or not?”
“Sorry. Go.”
“I was too young to realize that I was too young to make life-altering decisions. Like marriage and family and...”
“And?”
She blew out a breath. “I thought I was in love. Anyway, long story short, by the time I graduated college, we were engaged, living together, and I was expecting.” She sat back and chewed on her bottom lip as she remembered how she felt when she found out she was pregnant.
Excited. Elated. Hopeful. That’s how she felt. She couldn’t wait to be a mother. Even though her career would be put on hold for a little while, she thought it would be worth it.
“And then Lily was born.” She would never forget the moment the nurse placed her newborn in her arms. “You can’t know how precious... what a gift...” She glanced up and saw Dawg’s face was as tight as a drum.
No, he couldn’t know how precious bringing a life into the world could be. He never had the chance to see his daughter being born, to hold her during that first breath. To watch her take her first steps. Hear her first words. To create that bond with a life that was a piece of yourself. Her chest ached for his loss. For never knowing the love that you felt as a parent.
Because he was never allowed to be one. He’d been denied that opportunity. Most likely because of who he was and where he came from, how he chose to live his life.
He had been treated as a mistake that needed to be erased.
And that was downright cruel.
She swallowed the lump in her throat. “After Lily was born, our marriage suffered, but I didn’t know why. I mean we we
re young and being new parents was stressful. But something else was going on and because I was so caught up with taking care of my daughter, I missed it. Maybe it was my fault, for being blind, for not paying attention. I don’t know...”
“Emma.”
Her name on his lips and the way he said it drew her attention. His green eyes looked dark, troubled, his jaw tight.
“He cheat on you?”
“It was worse than that.” Because it was oh-so worse. Never in her wildest dreams could she imagine what the man—who she loved, who she married, who she had a child with—was plotting.
In fact, even now, she had a hard time wrapping her head around it. She couldn’t imagine what kind of human being did what he did. A selfish bastard, that was who.
“He have a kid with someone else?”
She made a noise before she could stop it. She pressed her fingers to her lips to prevent anything else from escaping. Closing her eyes, she pictured her baby girl. Her daughter in her crib. Wobbling across the floor taking her first steps. Smashing the cake from her first birthday into her mouth but missing and getting it all over her chubby chin and cheeks as she laughed with glee. Then the cake from her second birthday and the third. Even the fourth.
And Emma had no idea what was going on all that time. None.
In the end, all she knew was that she failed her daughter. She had been too blissfully unaware.
“Emma,” Dawg urged, his voice low and tight, no more than a rough whisper, spurring her to continue.
“No, that’s the funny part.” Which really wasn’t funny at all. “He didn’t have any other children. They couldn’t.”
“What do you mean?”
Emma lifted her gaze to meet Dawg’s head-on. “The woman he was... seeing for years behind my back couldn’t have children. Though they tried. And tried. So they...”
Emma squeezed her eyes shut, stinging tears threatening to spill once more, her throat closing up. She didn’t know if she could continue. It was like ripping the wound open all over again to expose something that was painful, raw, unbearable.
“Betrayed me,” she finally finished, her voice catching.
“How?”
Saying the words made it feel like a knife being shoved into her heart all over again. “They... stole my daughter.”
Down & Dirty: Dawg (Dirty Angels MC Book 7) Page 6