by Zoey Parker
Accepting the inevitable, I left the average joe with his highball and sashayed my way over to Joey Ronn and Mr. F’s table, wondering what new hell Ronn had in store for me. His face reflected a sick joy in what he was about to do, so I knew to be on my guard.
“Sienna. Don’t get too close to the security. Dom is mine, just like you are. You better remember that.”
“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, Mr. Ronn,” I replied soothingly, trying to adopt an easy manner for show. This man did not like a smart mouth, and he thought all dancers were dumb as bricks. I played it up. “I just gave him a little dance, workin’ just like everyone else. You know I’m good. You got nothin’ to worry about.”
“Good.” He smirked. “Now why don’t you take Mr. F here back there to one of the rooms, give him a little taste of your sweet ass. He’s been waiting for you long enough.”
I glanced over at Mr. F, who was pursing his lips and drinking in my body with his eyes, clearly liking what he saw. His nostrils flared, and he glowered at me. I know I’m hot; I have a dancer’s body with great curves in all the right places, and I’m not surgically enhanced, thank you very much. About the only thing I could ever thank my parents for. But in this case, I was pretty much wishing I was more wallflower material.
Mr. F slid to the edge of the booth and stood right in front of me, sliding his hands around my hips to cup my ass tightly, and jerked my body flush with his own, making sure I could feel his hard-on pushing against my belly. He was taller than me by several inches, but my four-inch stilettos brought me closer to even than not. Then he confidently twisted me at the waist in a practiced dance move, and with his arms wrapped around me, shoving his dick into my lower back, he palmed and squeezed one breast and grabbed my pussy with the other. None too gently. He leaned down to growl in my ear, “I’m looking forward to taking your ass, make no mistake about that. Let’s go.”
Before I could even process that statement or make a move, I felt a strong tug on my arm, pulling me out of Mr. F’s grip, and I cycled sideward in my stilettos, trying to keep to my feet. As soon as I stabilized, I processed the craziest sight: Dom, personal security to the Boss, slug-festing it all over the Boss’s rich and scary VIP. And the music kept pounding.
Chapter Two
Dom
Pound. Pound. Pound. Pound.
I couldn’t tell if it was the baseline of the music or the movement of my arms, or the beat of the punches I was landing on the asshole down in front of me, who was looking less and less like a man and more and more like a bloody mess. Didn’t matter. He had his hands on my girl, and that shit had to stop.
Pound. Pound. Pou…
Slowly I became aware of strong hands on my upper arms, restraining, pulling me back, until I lost my balance over the downed dude and landed on my ass next to him. He didn’t look so good. He was still breathing, but his nose was rearranged, his face covered in blood, and he was coughing kinda roughly. I guessed I must have probably cracked a rib or two, too. Par for the course. He fucking deserved it.
Whoa… wait a minute, sucker. Back the fuck up. What was that I had just been thinking? The girl. Sienna. Fuck. Rewind.
She’s not my girl. She’s not mine at all. Damnit. What the fuck was I doing? Beating up the Boss’s VIP, just because he had his hands on the goods? Aw, fuck fuck shit. There I go again, my temper getting in my way again. Fuck. I did not need this shit, not now, not when I had to keep my head clear and in the game.
But man, I could tell Sienna wasn’t comfortable with this dude—I could read her like a book now, after watching her for the past two months—and I had just reacted. Shit. I might have totally fucked myself right here. But this Mr. F dude was bad news. Rich, pompous, connected. Arrogant as fuck. Not that he cornered that market—hell, I was pretty damn arrogant, too, if I’m honest. But I backed mine with knowledge that I could damn well take care of myself and take care of business, whatever was necessary. This fucker? His arrogance was power-driven, which is the most annoying kind. He was a string-puller and an asshole. He probably had deserved a good beating for a long time. I was kinda glad it was me who gave it to him.
Not that I’d be telling the Boss that. The fucker. I hated him, too. Worse.
“Yo, dude, come back to us, man. Focus. Dom, dude, you fucked up. Fuck.” Shredder, one of my brethren in our MC, Storm, was standing in front of me, hands on his hips, shaking his head and looking at the sniveling pile that was Mr. F.
“Aw, fuck. He had his hands all over her. It’s against the rules. Fuck.” I hoped that excuse would be enough. I didn’t want to look too deeply into my real reason for flipping the fuck out over this asshole’s hands being all over Sienna.
“Dominic. In my office. Now.” Joey the Prick Ronn finally piped up, attempting an authoritarian tone through his nasal cavity.
Ronn gingerly raised himself out of the booth, in which he had cravenly sat throughout the beatdown, then straightened his silverized jacket and swaggered to the elevator bank near the lobby.
I dragged my ass off the floor, checked out my knuckles—bloody and a little sore, but not that bad, all things considered—and followed his lead.
We rode silently up to the second floor, neither of us looking at one another. Out the elevator, down the hall, and into his office, which was lined with a wall of windows overlooking the main room of the club. He seated himself importantly behind his huge walnut desk, which kinda dwarfed him and made him look a little ridiculous, though I bet no one ever told him that. He wasn’t the biggest guy: kinda short, probably no taller than five seven, and a little on the paunchy side. He actually reminded me a little of Joe Pesci, but without the sense of humor or that awesome accent.
He looked at me standing there, towering over his desk, and clearly didn’t like what he saw. He glanced at one of the chairs posed in front of the desk, then looked back up at me and said, “Sit.”
I played the good dog and sat.
The chairs were rigged. They were made to sink your ass way below normal level, so even though I towered over Ronn under every normal circumstance, it was clear that his chair hiked him up and mine sunk me down, so his head was nearly level with mine. I almost laughed out loud; it was such an obvious trick to gain intimidation points, but it still failed ’cause I probably had a good seven or eight inches on him.
“Do you know who that was? What the fuck were you thinking? I can’t believe you just knocked around Jonathan fucking Fielding. I should take you out, right here, right now. You have a big problem, my friend. Better start talking, fast,” he said, thinking he sounded all threatening.
“Listen, man,” I calmly replied, “I didn’t know who he was. Hell, I still don’t know who he is. I seen him around, man, but… Look. He had his hands all over her. You drilled it in with us that that’s not cool. Hands off the dancers. I was just lookin’ out for your girl. I was doin’ my job. If that guy is so all-out important, you should’a given us a heads-up. Who is that guy?”
“I’m gonna let you in on a little secret here.” Joey leaned in. “That guy is Jonathan Fielding. You don’t know that name? Who are you, the goddamned fucking groundhog? Jonathan Fielding, son of Senator Fielding, ring any bells? Stupid fuck. He also happens to be my silent partner in this respectable establishment, so you effectively just beat up your own other boss. You have some serious ass kissing to do now, my friend. Lucky for you, you’re right. Unlucky for you, you are also wrong: the hands-off rule applies to the clientele. Jonathan Fielding is not the clientele.” Finally, he leaned back in his throne chair. “But since you didn’t know, I’m gonna go to bat for you and protect your sorry ass. This time. Just never let it happen again. There are no third chances here. Be fucking grateful for this second one.”
“Yeah, man.” I nodded, pretending gratitude. “I ’preciate it. A lot. Really, I just thought…”
“You didn’t think,” he snapped, cutting me off. “Get down there now, and get out of the building. I’ll talk to him
, make it cool, but I’m pretty sure he ain’t gonna wanna see your face the rest of tonight. And just so we’re clear: you owe me now.” He looked really satisfied with that.
I stood up. “Yeah, man, thanks. I owe you. Got it.” And I turned and left his office, heading down the hall to the bathroom. I needed a minute to get my brain together.
Holy hell. Tonight had turned into a clusterfuck. I shook my head.
It shouldn’t have surprised me. This whole racket was a disaster. And the time was coming close to deal it out to the end with Mr. Ronn, and figure a way—once and for all—to get myself out of this shitstorm. Things were not cool within Storm, and I either had to find a way to break from my MC (fuck but that burned), or turn things around. Our newish president of just four months, Clav, had completely fucked us up and over, forcing this work with the prick porno boss, Joey Ronn, the murdering slime. And the Pres was out there acting like everything was going smooth as silk. I about couldn’t take it anymore.
But before I could go—or pull a gargantuan mutiny—I needed to make sure Ronn would pay for what he had done to Manny. Fucker’d killed my best friend. He had actually killed my best friend. That. Does. Not. Fly.
Aw, fuck. Manny. I missed him like mad. Great guy, great friend. Totally stand-up. The motherfucker had your back. The brother I could always count on, the guy who made you laugh so hard your gut hurt. Damn. Damn, damn, damn. He was six feet under, now.
And justice needed serving.
I still didn’t know the full story. But I did know this much: Joey Ronn had directly caused Manny’s death and then made sure all of us in Storm knew it, in order to “keep us in line” and show him “proper respect.” So, without question, I knew enough to be sure that Ronn had to go down, and go down hard.
My only hesitation came from the question of who had actually pulled the trigger: was it Ronn himself, or was it one of our MC brothers, at Ronn’s order? If it was a brother, things got really, really complicated, because then I would be going directly against my own. To actively work against the MC brotherhood was cause for an internal takedown. And I did not want my brotherhood after me; that’s a sure death sentence, and I had no death wish.
The thing was, ever since Clav had gotten us tied in to serving as Ronn’s freakin’ security service, it was like Storm was no longer a brotherhood. We had lost our purpose, and were basically just serving as muscle and protection to a sleazy porn king. Between running security at Club Hardcore and protecting Ronn’s shiny ass from the freakin’ mafia and cops and feds for all his illicit porno dealings, the MC barely ever had any time for our own anymore. No more “church” meetings (where we used to conference at least weekly, usually more, to hash out business and whatever issues might come up); no more parties, not even hanging out on the Storm compound. Fuck, we hadn’t even had a good ride together in ages. It was like we’d just been transferred into Ronn’s titty bar and porno world, and demoted to muscle without brains.
It was demoralizing, at best. And I, for one, had had it.
The fact that, on top of all that shit, Ronn had actually murdered Manny Fidel—one of our own, and one of the best—without retribution?—No one was saying shit. There was no church meeting, no one even seemed upset, or questioned the rightness… It blew my mind. It didn’t make any sense, but since no one was talking, I felt like I had to bite my tongue and bide my time, figure it out, be smart about it.
There was something darker going on, some reason Pres had gotten us tied in with this shit, but I didn’t know what it was, and I’d bet very few of my brothers (if any) knew, either. We were all kinda wandering in the dark, and I was pretty sure I wasn’t the only one deeply concerned about it.
On top of that, Ronn also had us informing on each other, and it was impossible at this point to be able to figure out who to trust. It was like a fucking Nazi barracks.
So my only choices were to figure out if there were any brothers I could trust, build up a secret coalition, and pull out a full-blown mutiny, or figure out how to buy my exit and bolt.
But either way, I was gonna take Ronn down. And out. Sure as fuckin’ shit.
Once I got my thoughts in order and had my focus back, I flipped the switch and left the gents’, heading back down into the club.
By the time I had made my way into the main room, there was no sign of Fielding, nor of the little ruckus he had caused. Couldn’t even see any of his blood by the booth where it had flown. I looked around for Sienna, wanting to make eye contact with her, check she was okay, but no sign of her either.
Feeling a light tap on the back of my left shoulder, I swung around, only to find Asia, one of the other dancers, looking up at me with a mixture of boldness and trepidation, like she was crossing a line she knew she shouldn’t have but was gonna do it anyway.
“She’s gone, too. I don’t know what game you’re playing, but you should leave her out of it. She doesn’t need your kind of trouble. I want you to promise me you’ll stay away from her from now on.”
What the hell? Who was this chick? “Listen, babe.” I lowered my voice. “I don’t know what you saw, or what you think you saw, or what you think you know, but I can tell you this much: what I do, and what Sienna does, ain’t none of your business. So you stay out of it, hear?”
Asia looked in my eyes, trying to read me, and mumbled as if to herself, “I do not have a good feeling about this. Oh no siree, no I do not. Trouble, like my mama says.” Shaking her head, she walked away.
I looked around once more, confirming that Sienna was indeed nowhere in sight. And I shook my head, too. That woman blew my mind. I lost it around her. Lost all train of normal thought.
She was phenomenal. Beautiful, with deep dark brown eyes like liquid dark chocolate, long wavy blonde hair. A perfect body—slim, athletic, and bodaciously curvy all at once—and sassy and smart, too. About the only thing wrong with her was her fucking mouth, which would not quit with the cuss words.
I cussed. Fuck, I cussed a lot. But I did not like my women to cuss.
Shit. Note to self: Sienna was not. My. Woman. Fuck.
Nor would she be. I had to keep focus on the shitload of business in my face: retaliation for Manny, first and foremost. I could not believe how easily I lost track of that single most important element of my world every time Sienna was around. Man, she was dangerous.
It was only that touching thing. First time I saw her, I knew she’d be the one I’d be getting my lap dances from. The chemistry between us was off the charts, even from that first night I saw her. She obviously felt it, too, seeing as how she didn’t even need to ask me, just took my hand and led me to a back room, like we’d been doing it together forever. And even that first time, she put my hands all over her, begged for it, demanded it.
That was another thing she’d need to learn: I called the shots. Bossy little bitch, but I kind of loved that about her. I’d need to tame her. I would tame her. And have a fucking fabulous time doing it. Damn, it’s like she was made for me. Our bodies sure knew it.
Fuck! Focus, Dominic. Business before bitches. What a fucking mess.
Chapter Three
Sienna
Sitting in the dressing room, at one of the makeup mirrors bordered by bare bulbs just like every theater dressing room as seen in the movies, I tried to get a rein on my emotions. My mind was flying back and forth between Dom and misters Ronn and F.
On the one hand, I couldn’t suppress my warm hot feelings about Dom—my body still turned on from that lap dance, even after the shit Mr. F just pulled with his fucking hands all over me in such a grabby, unwelcome, nasty way. And it was like Mr. Ronn had invited it, offered me up for it, the fucker.
Enter Dom again, and the way he pulled me out of the way, then went all Rambo on Mr. F. Warmed my little heart. No, seriously. Made me feel watched over, safer, protected. There wasn’t much a girl could do in this kind of situation to protect herself, working a titty bar and the boss approving molestation by a VIP. I could have b
een seriously fucked.
And then I remembered his words: “I’m looking forward to taking your ass, make no mistake about that.” Jesus.
Let me be clear: I was no prude, and I was no stranger to sex. Fuck, I was an erotic dancer; selling the idea of sex was my bread and butter. But I was no prostitute, and I made the call of who I slept with and what we did. And no way was I into the idea of fucking Mr. F, in any capacity, least of all letting him take me in the ass. Truth is, I’d never let anyone in there before, and I did not plan on changing that status anytime soon. The way I saw it, we got a hole specifically designed for the cock. And that’s the only hole down there I was interested in filling, ever. ’Nuff said.