by Addison Jane
Thirty minutes later, Dave was leading me up the back stairs. “I know you’ve got rhythm, at least. It’s like you can’t move from one table to the next without shaking your hips,” Dave joked, and I laughed softly. He was right, I loved music, and I loved to move. When a song was on, if it had a good beat, my hips had a mind of their own.
“So, Dakota seemed to think you’d be okay with the visitors we have tonight,” he noted casually, but he looked at me over his shoulder questioningly.
Dave wasn’t like what I expected him to be. I’ve heard horror stories of girls working at clubs, and the owner being a real fucking creep. Dave, on the other hand, he was playful, but also took our safety and respect seriously. He never got too close and made sure we weren’t doing anything we felt uncomfortable with.
“The bikers?” I questioned, letting him know I’d spotted some of the bikers earlier. “No, they don’t worry me, as long as they keep their hands to themselves.” The tone of my voice was more confident than I felt.
It’s true, being around the bikers didn’t make me feel out of sorts. I learned a long time ago that while it was good to be cautious, most motorcycle clubs no matter how bad, had one major rule and as long as you followed it, you wouldn’t have any issues.
Respect them, they will respect you.
That’s the theory I was going to run with anyway.
I liked dancing.
Being around bikers didn’t stress me out.
This should be a breeze.
I stood with Dave at the rear of the small stage while Anika finished her set. She was this tall Amazon princess who had the most brilliant smile. Not to mention she was an absolute sweetheart. I stood and watched in awe as she owned the stage, the men sitting at the tables around the platform were all smiling and enthralled with her as she shook her hips to the beat and flirted playfully.
There was one table in particular that seemed to be less drawn by her presence. Two club members sat with their backs to me, two men in dark suits sitting opposite them, with deep frowns on their faces. One of the bikers with their back to me was young, his inky hair long and pulled back into a short ponytail. The other was older, his hair white-ish but peppered with gray and by the looks, a full beard that shaded his jaw and upper lip. There was no way in hell he looked frail, though, his shoulders were broad and sturdy, and the part of his bicep which was visible was thick and muscular and covered in old tattoos. The ones that had that weird green tinge and were faded and barely distinguishable.
“Make sure you stop at the end of your set and acknowledge the Club President before you leave the stage,” Dave warned, nodding to where Anika was crouched next to the private table with the four men. She murmured something to him, and he nodded, excusing her.
Dave was encouraging but still skeptical, I could tell by the tenseness in his features. I’d only been working here for two weeks, and that had all been waiting tables. The laws in Arizona had only just changed, so eighteen-year-olds were now allowed to serve alcohol which was perfect for me. I didn’t mind mixing drinks and wiggling my butt a little as I moved between tables to get an extra tip or two
This though? I’m pretty sure this was stepping over my line, but it was only a one-time deal.
It wasn’t like I was looking to permanently dance at the club.
Anika skipped off the stage pulling notes from her skimpy outfit. But they weren’t dollar notes. No, these were twenties and fifties, and there were a hell of a lot of them.
Anika looked up and smiled brightly. “Good luck, Meyah. You’ll do great.”
I couldn’t help but feed into her energy.
Screw it. I seem to be on this rollercoaster ride of doing shit that I know my mom and my family won’t exactly love, so why not add stripper to the damn list.
This would make Ham fucking furious.
The thought boosted me just that little bit further past the point where nerves had the possibility of winning out, and I pushed my shoulders back. “Let’s do this.”
“Anika, do you mind hanging out here for a little bit until Meyah finds her feet,” Dave asked, looking at me seriously. “I don’t mean to put you down, Meyah, but I’ve seen good girls like you get out there for a few minutes and freak out.”
I shrugged, not taking offense to his words at all. Honestly, it was kind of comforting to have Anika there ready to save my ass if I can’t handle it.
“Move about the stage. Smile. Look like you’re having fun,” Anika encouraged. “And don’t forget to pick up the money they toss on the stage.”
Bishop Briggs’ song River started to play, and I took a deep breath, lifting my chin high as I stepped up onto the stage. Taking each step with the dark electric beat of the music.
This is just like dancing in my room.
Suddenly that saying ‘dance like no one’s watching’ made so much sense.
I wonder if it was a stripper that made that up?
Unconsciously, I rolled my body to the music, my hips and my feet hitting the beat while I moved my hands above my head, dragging them through my hair. I couldn’t help but smile. This song was dark, and the bass thumped through me, dragging me away from the reality of the situation I was actually in.
Lord help me if my mother ever found out I moonlighted as a stripper.
She didn’t even know I was working at Empire. If she knew what I was doing, that whole calm façade she’d managed to hold onto so far would be well and truly gone.
Movement caught my eye, there was money being tossed onto the stage. I looked up. Men had their eyes glued to me, and just when I thought it would make me feel dirty or cheap—it didn’t. In that moment, I was strong, confident, important, and beautiful.
And it had been a long few weeks since I’d been able to say that.
Since the one person who I thought saw me better than anyone else, showed me he was just like the rest. I forced that thought out of my mind. I’d done enough crying over Ham. I needed to start building my strength so when I saw him next, I wouldn’t feel like my heart was being torn from my chest.
I’d tried to convince myself I was being stupid, that I could find a college guy who was older, who had a future and his head screwed on right.
But the truth was, Ham was never just a teenage crush on the local bad boy.
He was far more.
My heart began to thump harder, and tears welled.
Fuck.
No matter how much I tried, I felt like everything came back to him.
Determined to prove I was stronger than this shit, I plastered a smile on my face as I dipped to the floor and plucked the bills off the stage, seductively tucking them into my bra and the sides of my booty shorts.
As I went to stand up, suddenly some asshole reached out and grabbed a handful of my ass. Dave had strict rules about the men touching the girls on stage. It was a big no, and it was one of the reasons why money was thrown onto the stage for the girls to collect, as opposed to allowing the men to tuck it into the girls’ clothing themselves.
I jumped up in surprise, taking a step back from the younger looking biker who was already walking back to his table across the room, high fiving his buddies and laughing hysterically. Because apparently, these young guys thought they could get away with shit like that, with no repercussions for their actions. In my head, I knew I was being overdramatic, playing up a situation because I was already emotional about things with Ham, but I was sick and fucking tired of these assholes thinking they could treat women like objects.
I wasn’t a club girl. I wasn’t their property that they could do with as they liked. I wasn’t a little girl who could be pushed around anymore.
Heat swept through me, and before I knew it, I was walking down the stairs at the end of the stage and moving through the VIP area with my hips swinging to the beat of the music and wishing I had my gun. Anger had taken over my body, and I was allowing it to burn free, sick of trying to tame it.
No fucking more, hell no.
“Meyah,” Dave called from behind me, but I ignored him, on a direct path toward the young man with blond hair, so light it could almost pass as white.
“Hey,” I called, making him turn in his chair, his eyes lighting up when he saw me walking in his direction. I stopped a couple of feet in front of him and smiled. “Maybe you didn’t know that there’s this thing called a ‘no touching rule’ around here.”
I was actually surprised that security hadn’t already come to back me up.
Blondie snorted. “You must be new. There ain’t no rules for us, sweet cheeks.”
My nose crinkled at the sickening pet name, my body running on pure adrenaline now.
Walk away, Meyah. Just walk away.
My brain was urging me to get the hell out of there, knowing these guys could be dangerous if I fucked this up. But then I remembered what happened the last time I refused to take a stand. I spent how many years at high school being tormented because everyone knew I was a pushover, crying myself to sleep because I allowed their words and actions to hurt me.
Now, I was in Arizona. This place was new, it was fresh, and if I walked away right now, I was starting my journey here exactly how I did at high school—giving people permission to treat me like shit, allowing them to walk all over me and know that I’d just take it.
Not today.
Not anymore.
I plastered on a sweet smile, moving forward and placing my hands on the table behind blondie, caging him in. His eyes instantly lit up as my breasts came just inches from his face.
His hands moved to my hips, and just as he thought I was going to straddle his lap, I placed one of my knees between his legs, the bend in my knee resting right on his cock. I caught the moment he realized he’d gotten himself into a bad situation, and a dark look fell across his face. His friends around the table just watched on, obviously not viewing me as a threat.
“Touch me again,” I whispered in warning. “And I will crush your dick flat, and then pierce it with the heel of my stiletto.”
His fingertips dug into my skin, and I tried not to cringe with the pain. It was like he wanted to throw me the hell away from him, but he was too scared to move in case my threats became a very painful reality. There would be bruises there tomorrow, I could guarantee it.
“Meyah,” Dave growled from off to my right. But even with his angry voice, he sounded a little impressed. “Let’s go.”
I pulled back, my eyes staying connected to the little shithead, but noticing now that I’d drawn the attention of the entire VIP area, a lot of bikers were watching me. Strangely, with different looks on their faces.
I took two steps back, unexpectedly feeling a little overwhelmed and vulnerable.
Suddenly, blondie flew out of his chair. His face red with anger and embarrassment, his hand raised to strike. My heart leaped out of my throat, and I gasped, anticipating the impact and how much it was going to hurt. A flash of movement and blondie’s hand was caught midair allowing me to release the air into my lungs, calming my shaking body, but not for long.
My eyes focused on the hand inches from my face which still held a firm grip on blondie’s wrist, and for a second, I wondered whether my eyes were playing tricks on me.
The hand, the tattoo, the scope of a gun that had the deer in its crosshairs. It wasn’t as perfect as I’d seen in the photo. His skin wasn’t as tight. The tattoo not as pigmented as it once was, but of course, it was almost twenty years older now than it had been then.
“Huntsman,” blondie questioned, confirming my suspicions.
Holy shit.
I finally found the courage deep in my stomach to turn my head and look at the man who I supposedly shared half my genes with. This was the man who should have kissed my skinned knees, who should have taught me how boys were meant to treat me, who I should have run to when I was upset and when I felt scared.
He wasn’t paying blondie any attention, his eyes were focused on me, narrowed darkly and suspiciously. The both of us just watched each other for a few seconds. I took in the shape of his face. The deeply rooted frown lines that marred his skin, but how he still looked reasonably young. The only noticeable difference was how his hair had lightened and grayed with a few remnants of the dark colored hair he once had on his upper lip and in the front of his hair.
“You looking to make a point, little girl… make it somewhere fucking else,” he growled, his voice rough and raspy, like he’d smoked far too many cigarettes during his lifetime. “You’re lucky I have a little respect for Dave here, and I found you trying to break Sprint’s dick kind of amusing. But now I’m done. Get her the fuck out of here.”
Dave stepped in between us, apologizing profusely while Anika grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the back of the stage. “Come on, girl, let’s get out of here before Huntsman doesn’t find you so entertaining anymore.”
I moved with her, but my eyes continued to be permanently attached to Huntsman. He noticed, too. He might be older than he used to be, but he was not a fucking fool. With one last look, I took in his club cut, trying to find the club’s name or something I could go on, but things moved too fast. Well, too quickly to catch their club name, but there was one patch on his cut I managed to read.
President.
Well, that’s different.
Holy shit.
People rushed through the airport, some running with suitcases scraping along behind them and others just holding tickets and looking around frantically like some magical fairy was going to appear and tell them which gate their flight was at. I shook my head and looked back down at my psychology book, my headphones blocking out all the noise around me as I tried to focus on taking notes for a test that was coming up and calming my nerves.
How was I doing at that?
Fucking horrible.
I found myself just sketching small cartoons and animals in the margins of my text book. The movement of my pencil and the way it flowed across my paper was the only thing really keeping me from jumping up out of my seat and catching an Uber back to the college.
Uncle Leo wanted me home next weekend, but my boss at the nightclub Dakota and I worked at demanded we had all staff on hand for some special event that he was hosting. So Dakota offered to take my shift this weekend, so I could head home. I was missing two classes to fly home today, which was Friday, and fly back late Monday night.
It was a weekend early, so I would miss this party that the club had planned, but at least I would still get to see everyone and hopefully satisfy them all with my presence until I came back next month for Macy’s birthday.
I hadn’t told any of them I was coming.
I wanted to surprise them.
That, and the fact I’d worked myself into a frenzy, figuring out what I was going to say to Ham, and how I was going to make sure he heard me. I didn’t want to give him the opportunity to run. I was going to have my say, no matter how much it was going to hurt, and he was going to hear me.
Enough bullshit.
I’d spent the last two months wondering why I wasn’t even worth a phone call, or a text, postcard, or fucking carrier pigeon, and wondering how we went from what we had, to where we were now.
Opposite sides of the country—no contact what-so-ever.
My hand gripped the edge of my thick textbook, and I bit down hard trying to stop the tears from flooding my eyes. Crying wasn’t going to solve anything. I was so sick of crying.
It wasn’t just like a lost teenage crush.
I felt like I’d lost my best friend. He was there when I needed him, and he was there when I wasn’t sure what I needed at all. He was one of the reasons I’d decided to stop letting people walk all over me, and one of the reasons I wanted to be stronger. To fight harder, so I could be like the other women in the club who stood by their men fearlessly.
I’d thought about that the past couple months I’d been here. I’d asked myself whether I’d failed to be the woman he wanted. And then I realized I was fighti
ng too hard to be who I thought he would want me to be. I was trying to be those women who were ten years older than me, who had been through things I could have never imagined, and who had built themselves back up from the ground, well before they met their men.
I was trying to be stronger for him.
But I needed to be stronger for me.
The last couple of months had been hard, and there wasn’t a day that went by where I wished I could see his smile, or where I wished I could tell him about my day. And even after two months, I still had those thoughts, and it hurt every single time.
But these past couple of months had also forced me to be independent.
Ham wasn’t here to encourage me to go to class, or to help me decide which ones I should take. My uncle wasn’t here to organize people to pick me up and drop me off different places or have someone sit at the library with me at night. The club wasn’t around when I was lonely, giving me an excuse not to make new friends, or join social groups or get a job.
Everything was up to me, and even though there was still a part of me, that introverted girl who’d rather sit at home, read a book, and just have a couple of people close to me, I was going out, and I was making friends. I was passing my classes, and I was finding strength within myself.
And I was doing it for me.
I was fighting for me, to be the woman I wanted to be. Not the woman who would make the perfect old lady. Or the woman I thought Ham wanted to stand beside him.
Was it possible to feel empowered, and still so broken both at the same time?
How was it possible to still love someone who hurt you so bad?
A tap on my shoulder made me jump, my textbook flew off my lap and onto the floor. My hand went straight to my heart, and I looked up to see a face I recognized. His mouth was moving, but my music was still blaring loudly in my ears. I reached up and pulled my headphones out, my heart still pounding against my chest.