by Lynn Rider
“That girl was fearless. I never saw anyone stand up to Jimmy the way she did.”
“She was probably high. Paul eluded she stayed that way quite a lot.” I internally cringe at the memory of that night.
“Thanks to him!” she snickers sardonically.
11
Chance
The blonde waitress smiles, giving me those blue fuck-me eyes before she slides another bourbon on the ledge in front of me. She intentionally presses her tits against my arm briefly before stepping back with a coy smile.
Her tongue darts out, running the length of her pouty red lips. I can tell they’re firm, probably gel injected and more than likely as hard as Gigi’s fake tits, but my dick still stirs, betting they’d work well enough for a blowjob.
She steps closer, leaning into me again. “I was thinking you and I could spend my break together,” she purrs and steps back, batting her eyes slowly. My dick stirs again glancing back at her lips. “I’m new here. You’re Chance McKnight, right?” Her eyes drop, roaming down my arms and landing on my crotch. I’m partially hard, and by the dark flush of her light eyes, she knows it. She draws her plump lip in between her teeth and I know by that look, she knows the score here. She wants me and knows I can give it to her good.
I should yank her into the bathroom and fuck her senseless right now, but I didn’t come to Jimmy’s for her. I came here to see the natural beauty that’s been filling my mind since the first night I saw her. I lift my drink and drain it, holding it up. “I need another one of these, sunshine. Make it a double.” I turn back to the talent on the stage.
I feel the weight of her gaze on the side of my face, probably standing there in disbelief. Every girl in here has wanted to be in my pants, and for the most part, the ones I find attractive have. But after close to three weeks of nothing from the courts and realizing getting Matthew and Brandon back is going to be harder than I thought. All I want to do is hit something…and it’s not a pussy. I’d be too rough.
“It’s probably not a good time for us, sunshine,” I say stoically, turning my gaze to hers.
“That’s too bad. I’m wet just thinking about you.” She slides against me, closing the distance as her finger wraps around mine, leading my hand to the warmth of her pussy.
“Tell me something good, kid!” Vic’s voice immediately shrivels my dick, throwing all thoughts of fucking this girl right out the window. Just when I was about to change my mind. The girl’s eyes flash over my shoulder at Vic before letting go and stepping away.
Vic slides on the next stool, looking up toward the stage. The expression on his face looks like it’s the first time he’s seen a pair of tits. I lean in. “Close your mouth old man, you’re gonna catch a fly.”
“They didn’t make women like that in my day.” He shakes his head as if he’s forcing his eyes to dislodge from the raven-haired beauty on the stage.
“You said the operative word. She’s made. Fake hair, fake lashes, fake lips, fake tits, and if I had to bet on it, I bet her ass is fake too.” Vic’s eyes dot around, assessing. “She gives one hell of a blowjob…that’s a talent that can’t be bought.” I grin when the look of disgust covers his face. “What in the hell are you doing here?” I ask.
“Smith thought you might be here.” Smith knows exactly where I am. “I can’t believe you hang out in a place like this. Is this really how you want to spend your time?”
He opens his mouth to say more, but the waitress steps back over with my drink. This time she just flashes me a seductive smile, followed by a wink in Vic’s direction when he waves her off without ordering.
My eyes track her ass as she walks away and wonder if she’d left me sink into that. Pussy fucks are fun, that’s where it’s at most of the time, but a girl who’s willing to let me in the back door? That’s a special treat.
“Chance, are you listening to me?” The exasperated expression on his wrinkled face tells me he was talking.
I shake my head. “No, I really wasn’t. I’ve already had three of these.” I lift my amber-filled glass. “There are tits and ass all over this place. I came here to look at those.”
“That’s what I was saying. You need to clean your act up.”
“What?” I sober with his demand. I narrow my eyes, his stern expression stares back, and I wonder where this is coming from. Vic is old-fashioned, but has never tried to run how I spend my personal time. Eating right, training hard, keeping a clear head, and getting rest is where his advice starts and stops.
“What are you doing about the boys?” His question feels like a knife in my chest that no amount of alcohol can numb. I’m waiting, that’s what I’m doing. That’s what my attorney said I had to do.
“I’m doing everything I can!”
“What are you doing about them, Chance?” he asks again, more forcefully this time. His hands fly out in front of him, motioning toward the stripper on the stage before his eyes level with mine. “Edward told you to have a plan. What have you done?” I stare at him blankly. I’m waiting. “That’s what I thought, son. You’re a fighter so let me put in your terms. You have two rounds to get it right. You can’t afford to wait around and let her make the next move. She hit you with the first jab by taking those boys. You hit back by appealing it, but you’re waiting around for her to hit you again. You don’t win fights taking turns and you damn sure don’t let her beat you at your own fight! Jab her ass again!”
“You’re going to have to give me more than that old man. I’m either too drunk or not smart enough to understand your cryptic-ass speak.”
“I’m saying he told you that she has to be proven unfit while proving you are fit.” He ticks off on two fingers. “Two rounds Chance, not twelve!” He shakes his head as he stands and walks away, leaving me frustrated with his riddle.
I turn my attention to the stage, numbly watching the girls finish their set and trying to sort through Vic’s words. Two rounds…prove her unfit…prove I’m fit…jab her ass again. Why couldn’t the old fucker just tell me what he wanted to say instead of making it a fucking brainteaser?
The lights dim as the girls leave the stage. In the shadows, I see the electric blue glittered heels take their place next to the pole. Knowing this is what I came for, I lean back in the stool. “The graceful stripper,” I mumble to myself.
The beat picks up and the glow of colored lights brighten behind her. With her hands on the pole, she flings her head back, letting her long blonde hair graze her perfect heart shaped ass as she slowly swings her hips to the beat of the music. She spins, prancing to the side of the stage, shimmying lower and opening her legs. She’s been studying. I smile, feeling genuinely proud of this beautiful wallflower. She’s come a long way in a short amount of time.
My gaze falls from the stage to the meatheads that are throwing money her way to lure her performance closer toward them. She struts their direction and lowers seductively. That’s new. As quickly as a tinge of protectiveness washes over me, she squelches it when she struts away just before the guy touches her. I smile, liking that no one gets to touch her. Her blonde hair sways and the desire to wrap my hand in it as I fuck her from behind takes over, springing my dick back to life.
A man in a dark coat and low set hat steps to the edge of the stage and stares up at her. Frequently spending time with strippers, I’ve learned that beyond the bright lights of the stage, they can’t see anyone. He’s pressing against its edge, wanting to be seen. My eyes bounce between the two. She’s beautiful, I think so and so does my dick, but he’s creepy as fuck, standing there concealed under his outerwear. Her eyes widen with recognition, shock, fear, what the hell is that? Her arms instinctively shield her body as her movement comes to an abrupt halt. I glance back to the man, he tips his hat, turns and walks deeper into the dark bar.
Seconds, maybe a minute or two tick by, but without her dancing, it seems like a fucking eternity. All eyes are on her frozen figure, standing there, arms crossed, covering the very thing everyone
here paid a lot of money to see. The music still blasts, and despite it being painfully obvious she’s been seized by a panic attack, no one is coming to her rescue.
“Fuck…” I mutter, leaping onto the ledge and running to her aide. I grab her top from the floor before I wrap my arms around her shoulders and lead her toward the side of the stage.
12
Mia
I’m pressed against a hard chest and thick arms wrap around me, holding me tightly. They’re strong, clearly capable of destruction if necessary, but for some reason I’m not afraid. I should be. Despite my semi consciousness, I know they’re not the boney limbs of Paul, although they could be guiding me to him.
In my current state, it doesn’t matter. Maybe it’s better to just get it over with. He stepped to the edge of that stage to send me a message. He’s watching. That means he knows I’m not going to have the money. The thick arms tighten, pulling me down another hall. I hardly register the black linoleum floor tiles that pass as he leads me into a familiar room.
“Mia! Oh my God, you’re shaking. What happened to her?” I hear Brittany’s voice as her blonde hair swings into my line of sight. Her pretty face gets within inches of mine, caressing my hair. I want to answer, but the words won’t come.
“She was on stage and froze. I think she’s having a panic attack.” A deep voice answers, vibrating the wall of muscle I’m being held against. I attempt a deep breath, trying to seize air into my lungs so I can pull away and see the masterpiece that saved me, but it’s futile. My lungs only accept short ragged breaths and I feel like I’m drowning because of it.
“I’ve got her, Chance. Thank you,” Brittany says and gathers me into her arms. The coldness of the transition brings air into my lungs and I cry out. “It’s okay, Mia. You’re not on the stage anymore.” She holds me tight and continues to pet my hair.
“I knew that bitch wasn’t cut out for this. Will you listen to me now?” I register Gigi’s voice from the corner and I hate that she’s seeing me this way.
“She gonna be okay?” the deep voice asks, its volume fading with distance, seemingly not interested in waiting around for the answer.
I feel the nod of Brittany’s head, but she doesn’t say anything. Maybe she’s already figuring out how fucked I am. He didn’t lead me to Paul, but it’s only a matter of time before I end up back in his clutches.
“Chance, wait up!” Gigi calls out just before the music filters through the doorway with the open and close of the door. He’s gone.
Brittany’s attention falls back to me. “You’re okay, Mia. I promise. We’ll figure something out. You can’t let it do this to you.” Brittany’s tone attempts to soothe, but there’s an underlying desperation in her voice and I hate that I’ve somehow drug her into caring about the choices I’ve made to help Audrey. I close my eyes and will myself to pull it together.
I knew that if I saw Paul here, it would wreck me, but I never dreamt it would thrust me right into a full-on panic attack. My only other one I’ve had was the day I woke up in the hospital and was told both my parents didn’t make it.
I take a deep breath, surging cool air into my dry lungs and push away from Brittany’s grasp. “I’m okay,” I breathe. Her eyes narrow, knowing it’s a lie.
The music blasts through the doorway as the door smashes against the wall. Jimmy stands there with a cigar hanging from his mouth and a hard expression I’ve never seen on him before. He looks to Brittany. “My stage is empty. Get your shit together and get out there!” Brittany looks back to me, as if she’s on the cusp of arguing, but I know she needs this job. I nod, forcing the corners of my lips to tilt just enough to convince her to go. She slowly removes the last of her hold and slithers by a very pissed off Jimmy.
He closes the door and pulls the cigar from his mouth. “What happened to you out there, kiddo?” His gravelly, smoke ridden vocal chords are surprisingly soft, almost nurturing—a complete one-eighty of the man who came barging in here.
I force a hard swallow. “I don’t know,” I lie, knowing exactly what crippled me in front of an entire club of people.
Jimmy walks over and sits on a stool next to my chair. “I think you’re in over your head, here.” He couldn’t have hit the nail on the head any harder. If he only knew what kind of shit I was drowning in. “Drugs?” he says questionably.
I shake my head. “I’ve never even smoked a cigarette.”
“Then what brings a pretty girl like you to the trenches?”
“I needed a job.” I can’t tell him I’m in deep with Paul because of Audrey. Brittany made it clear he doesn’t like the likes of Paul coming around his club. What would he say about either of us if I were to admit we were involved with his kind?
“I’ll admit when your sister Audrey asked me to talk to you about dancing, I was a bit skeptical. That sister of yours has a mouth on her. There’s an air of defiance that surrounds her. But you…when I met you, I knew you were the sensible one.” He chuckles softly, his big belly jiggling. “Don’t get me wrong, your sister is okay. She’s young and has a lot of growing up to do. Sadly, she won’t until she stops blaming everyone else for her shortcomings,” he says the last quietly, almost to himself. I should take offense. She’s my sister. There should be some sort of sibling code that says, I can talk bad about my sister, but you can’t, but I can’t bring myself to disagree with his observation. It’s what landed me here in the first place.
“You’re a beautiful girl, Mia. Something tells me that’s not only on the outside. You don’t belong here, in this world.” He motions his hand around the room and my heart starts racing again. He’s going to fire me.
“I need this job,” I inject desperately, hoping he hears the pleading of my tone.
He shakes his head. “I can’t have you in my club, dancing the way you dance, and then having the possibility of you freezing up like you did tonight. My club shares this general area with more than a dozen others. Honey, as much as you are a good girl, you’re not good for business.”
Gigi’s words come back to mind and I wonder if she got to him. Told him those same words. I fall back in my chair, knowing that’s a little bit of Audrey coming out in me. Gigi didn’t have to tell him I suck…I do suck, it’s obvious every time I take that stage. I’m not good enough to be a stripper.
Jimmy stands. “I’ll have Wayne bring back your money and I trust you can see yourself out.” I meet his eyes. “One day you’ll thank me for this.” He turns and is gone before the first tear falls.
“Fuuuuck,” I cry, sinking onto the cold asphalt next to my flat tire. As if this night couldn’t get any worse. Maybe I should just scream out for Paul to finish me off. He’s probably lurking in the shadows anyway.
“You okay?” A deep voice says from the darkness. A small whimper comes from my throat as I jump, but I’m on the ground and helpless to an attacker. I don’t even try to get up. He steps into the beam of light that radiates off the parking lot’s one shitty lamppost. I hold up my purse, offering it and the twenty-eight dollars inside that I made on tonight’s dance. I guess I should be happy. I broke my twenty-dollar record and who knows, if I hadn’t frozen with panic, I may have hit thirty. I’ll never know now.
“I don’t want your purse,” he says, stepping forward. His outline framed tightly in the glow of the light, but his face is concealed. He’s big, both tall and muscular. The cold wind picks up, blowing a hint of his cologne my way. It’s sweet with a hint of musk. Familiar.
He stays a good six feet from me, but crouches down, looking at my flat tire first then swinging his gaze at me. “You okay?” he repeats, softly.
“I’ve had better days. How are you?” I ask sardonically. He’s the politest mugger I’ve ever heard of…and smells good too. He’s probably a serial killer. Those are often handsome. Although, I can’t really make out his face, but with a body like that, he has to be.
He chuckles softy and I like the sound. It’s good to go out on a happy note, I suppose.
“I guess you could say I’ve had better days, too.”
Great, I’m probably not good enough to be his next kill. Not good enough to be a ballerina, a stripper, and now I add serial killer victim to the list.
“Are you going to kill me? If so, will you just get it over with? I’ve had a shit day. I’ve just been fired so if you can do it fast and put me out of my misery, I’d appreciate it.”
“Jimmy fired you?” I hear the surprise in his voice.
“Yep. You know anyone looking for a way under-qualified stripper?” I don’t know why I’m sassing off to this guy. He could probably snap me in two at any point and leave me for dead in this shitty little employee parking lot.
His smooth chuckle sounds through the darkness again. “Damn, you were just getting good.”
“You think so?”
“No,” he deadpans.
“Gee thanks. Kick a girl while she’s down.”
“I’m messing with you, I’m not here to hurt you. I had a feeling Jimmy was going to send you home after your performance in there.” My pathetic groan interrupts him. He did see it. “I also know that Jimmy doesn’t spend a dime on security that he doesn’t have to provide and I was worried he’d just shoo you through that back door when you were done.”
“He was nice about firing me, even said I’d thank him for it one day. But you’re right about him being cheap. It is scary as fuck in this dark parking lot.”
“You gonna be okay?” Recognizing his voice with that question, my eyes fly up. Even in the darkness, I know they’re connected to his.
“That was you that pulled me off the stage?”
“Chance McKnight.” He extends his hand and I quickly take it, allowing him to wrap his large grip around mine and dismissing some of my previous apprehension. The girls talk about this guy all the time. Gigi is in love with him…or the idea of him.