Stripped Bounty

by Dorothy F. Shaw

  Adrenaline pulsed through her, and her body hummed from the energy in the crowd. With her hair hanging over one eye, she turned and faced the crowd, finally giving them what they wanted: her bare body. Bare except for the strappy, black G-string.

  Rosie walked forward, stopping to roll her head, swinging her long hair around. She’d missed this. The show. The response from the crowd. The high that came from gaining their attention. All of their attention. The feeling was unexpected but no less true. With a bounce and pop of her hips, she swayed in time with the hard beat of the song before moving to each customer lining the stage. As the song played out, she let the searing sound of the guitar and the deep tone of the singer’s voice roll through her as each man at the edge of the stage tucked dollar bills in the straps on her hips.

  When the song ended and the deejay announced the next dancer, the crowd clapped and whistled right over the top of him. They clapped, for God’s sake! Loudly and with vigor. Yeah, she’d missed this. Unable to stifle the pride that automatically rose in her belly, Rosie gave herself a mental pat on the back and gathered the additional dollar bills that’d been tossed onto the stage for her performance.

  The next dancer mounted the stage and just as Rosie was about to step down, she glanced over her shoulder.

  His eyes were still locked on her.

  But now she could clearly see, he wore that same hardened stare she’d been subjected to that morning. And just like earlier, she felt it like a physical touch. The tingle she’d experienced came right back, too, skittering down her spine. Titillating. The same as it’d done that morning.

  And Rosie didn’t like it. Not at all.

  Chapter Three

  Badger watched her the entire time she’d danced. Yes, danced. Unable to take his eyes from her, he watched her until she disappeared down the hall after she’d finished dancing. Yes, dancing.

  Strippers these days? They didn’t dance anymore. They walked around the stage, took off their tops—almost immediately, maybe did a few spins on the pole, and then rolled around on the floor with their ass in the air in front of a customer, but they sure as fuck didn’t dance. They didn’t “strip,” and they sure as fuck didn’t tease.

  But this girl—this woman, Arianna, danced. She stripped. Jesus, fuck, and she teased.

  Badger had been right; she’d put on the best show he’d ever seen. Even in Vegas. Which was saying a lot because those clubs and those bitches? They cost a pretty penny. But not as pretty as Arianna…or whatever the fuck her name was.

  Leaning toward the bar, he hollered to Sadie for a shot of JD. She slid it his way and he tossed it back. Badger didn’t normally drink while on the job, but he needed something to help settle the fire that’d started in his gut.

  He stroked his palm along the side of his jaw. Strippers weren’t on his “to do” list. He’d seen too much over the years and been burned one too many times by their brand of fucked-up baggage. If he wanted to get his dick wet, he did it outside the scene. If he wanted something more cozy…well, scratch that.

  He didn’t ever want more, and he for sure didn’t do cozy.

  Not like he had time for it anyway, so it didn’t really matter. Except this broad… Christ, she had his cock stirring behind his zipper, all ready to come out and play. And that shit was just not happening. No way. No how.

  Badger glanced to the hall. She’d be coming out soon to work the bird cage stage—the one that was oh-so-close to his perch.

  Which meant, he needed to get ghost…

  As soon as the thought finished its trip through his mind, the brunette appeared at the mouth of the back hall. Badger froze as she glided across the floor—her black skirt clinging to her narrow hips and the black, strappy top back in place. About five guys got to their feet, in steady pursuit of her, while others waved her over, vying for her attention. Shit.

  She paused a moment, a small smile curving her lips as she addressed them. After a moment, she broke through the crowd and continued forward on her black-and-clear platform heels. Badger nodded to one of his guys nearest to her, letting him know to get closer. She stepped behind a customer, out of Badger’s line of sight, but she appeared just as fast before jerking to a halt, her arm extended behind her as she spun around.

  Then he couldn’t see her.

  Badger was up and moving. Someone had grabbed her, obviously, and that someone was about to get his ass tossed out on the sidewalk. After Badger educated him on the error of his ways. His man, Stevie, had gotten there first but hadn’t grabbed anyone. What the fuck? Badger moved around another patron and stopped dead in his tracks at what he saw.

  There was a customer, ass planted in the chair with Arianna bent over him. Dude must’ve grabbed her, but that grab didn’t last long. She was the one doing the grabbing now. She had the guy’s wrist in some sort of twist hold and his face was contorted in pain. Arianna was bent close, almost nose to nose with him, saying something Badger couldn’t hear.

  Wasting no time, Badger stepped beside her, started to touch his palm to her lower back but then thought better of it. “Hey, babe? I got it from here.”

  She didn’t look at him, just kept right on talking. “Listen closely to me. You do not ever put your hands on me uninvited. You got me?” She tweaked her hold a bit and the guy responded with a frantic nod and a loud groan. She glanced at Badger, her dark brown eyes sharp as a hawk, before focusing back on the dude. “It’s your lucky day, asshole.” Then she released him, straightened, and hit Badger with a look filled with black fire so hot that every muscle in his body went tight. “He’s all yours.”

  Frozen in place, Badger watched her. Completely ensnared in all that he saw—but couldn’t decipher—in her gaze as she strutted past him to the small stage.

  Holy. Fucking. Shit.

  He ran his palm along the back of his neck and glanced back at Stevie, who looked about as shocked as Badger felt. “Eighty-six this asshole. Find me when you’re done.”

  Stevie nodded, and Badger turned and walked with measured steps back to the bar. What the fuck. She danced, she teased, she stripped, and she knew how to take care of herself? Who in the fuck was this chick and where in the fuck did she come from? He wrapped his knuckles on the bar top. “Sadie? Glass. Bottle. Now.”

  The bartender jumped and then did as he requested. “You okay, Badger?”

  He poured, drank, and poured another. Downed that one, too. Wiping his wrist across his lips, he slammed the glass down. “Yep.”

  “Oohkay then.” Sadie reached for the bottle.

  “Leave it.” He crossed his arms in front of him on the bar.

  Sadie pulled her hand away and tugged the rag hanging from her back pocket free and wiped the mahogany top down. He glanced over his shoulder to the round stage…and there she was. Of course. Where the fuck else would she be? He turned away and ran his whole palm over his face. After a few beats, he pushed away from the bar and walked toward the front door.

  Stevie was on his way back in and Badger motioned for the bouncer to follow, and they both stepped outside. Badger walked a few feet away from the entrance and pulled his Zippo from his front pocket, his hard pack of reds from the other pocket, and lit up. Once he’d gotten a satisfying drag, he leaned against the brick exterior wall of the club. “What the fuck was that?”

  “That was some crazy shit, is what that was. We’ve had girls shove a customer off, but we ain’t never had a girl put a guy in a hold that damn near had a dude pissing his pants.”

  “Right.” Badger took another pull. “What’d he do to her?”

  The kid leaned against the wall and ran his palm over his bald scalp. “He tagged her arm as she walked by. Near as I could see, that was it, but I’m guessing he startled her or maybe tugged a little too hard on her. But by time I got over there to handle him, she had him like you saw.”

  “Shoulda pulled her off.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. In another second I would’ve, but I was just so fucking shocked.”r />
  Badger took another drag, eyeing his man as he blew out a steady stream of gray smoke. “Fuck.” He shook his head. “What’s her name?”

  “Rick called her Arianna when he announced her.”

  “Her real name?”

  Stevie shrugged. “Dunno, boss. I’ll find out, though.”

  Badger took one last drag of his smoke before flicking it out onto the street. “Nah. All good. I’ll get it. Get back inside.” He moved around Stevie to the entrance and walked into the club.

  By the time he got back to his perch, Arianna had finished her turn on the round stage and was out in the crowd, already doing a lap dance for a customer. Badger did his best not to look at her again. No easy task, considering she’d damn near set him on fire with her gaze when she walked away from him.

  He saw something in her eyes. Something more than the sadness he’d recognized that morning. It’d piqued his interest something fierce and Badger seriously wanted to know what it was but knew better than to dive into the deep end of that particular pool.

  Didn’t mean he wasn’t curious. He just wasn’t stupid.

  Arianna’s pretty, deep-brown eyes and whatever the hell was behind them were going to have to stay a mystery.

  Rosie sat in the corner of the dressing room, ankle propped on a knee, tying up the laces on her twelve-year-old red Chucks. After tipping out the bar, the door, and Evie, plus the house fee, she had over four hundred bucks in her bag. Four hundred more than she had five hours ago. She’d had better nights back East when she worked the clubs there, but overall, considering it was a Thursday night, in an older but clean club in Phoenix, Rosie hadn’t done too bad for herself.

  She stood and slung the strap of her duffel bag over her shoulder. Most of the girls had already left, heading for food or after-hours parties, which, being the new chick, Rosie wasn’t invited to. In truth, being left out stung a little, but she’d get over it.

  Not like she was interested in any of that crap anyway. As a woman in her midthirties, Rosie felt like her party girl nights were long gone. Or should be. Late-night drug parties were definitely long gone. No question about that.

  Regardless, Rosie wasn’t there to make friends. She was there to work and get her rent paid. Perfectly content to just head back to the small studio apartment she’d rented, enjoy a bowl of cereal—because it was all she had in the house—and curl up with a juicy romance novel. And eventually get some sleep.

  She stepped out into the empty hall and moved toward the back exit. Guess she wasn’t getting an escort to her car. Whatever, she could definitely take care of herself. She pushed the drop bar on the door and stepped out into the lukewarm arid night.

  “What the hell was that all about?”

  Rosie had barely made it two steps into the parking lot before the rumble of his voice hit her like a sledgehammer. She didn’t have to look to know exactly who was talking to her as a tingle slid up her spine and spread over her scalp.

  After her first set, she realized he was a bouncer, not a bartender. Later in the night, she found out he wasn’t just a bouncer, he was the king bouncer. She should’ve figured.

  Slowly, she turned her head in his direction. He stood with his ass leaned against the concrete wall of the building. Leg bent with his booted foot propped on the wall. His head was down, a cigarette pinched between his lips and his hands in his pockets.

  Though there was lighting in the parking lot, where they stood had very little light, so she couldn’t see his face, but she was still close enough to make out his features. Even shadowed, he was just as breathtaking as he’d been that morning and every damn time she’d looked at him while she danced. It should be illegal for a man to be that good looking with a body that incredible. Dude probably snagged pussy anytime he wanted it. Especially in a strip club.

  Rosie pivoted to face him and took a deep breath while she did it. “What was what all about?”

  He drew on the cigarette, the tip glowing red, before pulling it from his lips and flicking it across the parking lot. “Don’t play coy. It doesn’t suit you.” He pushed away from the wall and wrapped a bandana around his forehead.

  How in the hell would he know what suited her? Jesus, he was arrogant. A welcome agitation coursed through her; it was better than the unwelcome attraction she felt. Rosie crossed her arms and cocked her hip to the side. “And pompous doesn’t suit you.”

  “Big difference between pompous and confident.”

  “Yep, and big difference between coy and a genuine question, too.” Done with this and him, she turned, heading for her car. Gorgeous or not, king bouncer was an asshole.

  “Arianna?”

  Again barely making it two strides away, she stopped. But rather than turning to face him, she merely looked over her shoulder.

  “You got a problem, you let my boys handle it. We clear?”

  Oh, that. Yeah, okay. Rosie shook her head. So she’d taught some stupid asshole a lesson. Which sent a message to every other dude in the bar that she was not one to be fucked with. It wasn’t a big deal. Not all bouncers were created equal and as a result, she’d always taken care of herself in the clubs—never thought twice about it, either. And because she held her own, the clientele learned not to misbehave with her. Annoyance beat through her and she turned and moved toward him again. “What’s your name?”

  He swung a leg over a motorcycle parked to their right. “We clear?”

  “Sure. I’ll play along. Yeah, we’re clear.” She gripped the strap of her duffel bag and shifted it. “Name?”

  “Badger.”

  Interesting nickname. She rolled her eyes. “How about your real name?”

  “Not something you need to know, Arianna.” Her stage name rolled off his tongue, sounding like something out of a porno, with an added layer of disgust threaded through it. Then he started the bike and rapped the pipes.

  The loud rumble echoed around the empty parking lot and Rosie narrowed her eyes. Was that a sneer pasted on his lips? Why would he be sneering? He didn’t even know her. Fucking hell!

  He jerked his chin. “That yours?”

  Rosie followed his gaze to her green Toyota before looking back to him. “Why?”

  “Get moving. I need to get ghost.”

  Get ghost? She furrowed her brow. “Yeah. Okay, Badger.” She tried like hell to match his tone as well as his sneer before pivoting and walking to her car. He probably couldn’t even hear her over his motorcycle pipes. But Jesus, why was she baiting him? Not the best way to start out a job. A job she freaking needed. Annoyance at her own behavior settled in her stomach like a sour meal. Ugh. She should not care what he thought about her. It didn’t matter. He didn’t matter.

  But dammit, he was watching her. Again. The whole time as she walked away. She knew it. Not only because he was sitting there on his bike and had given her the order to get gone, but because she felt it like a physical touch.

  Again.

  Chapter Four

  Badger didn’t turn around when he heard Rick announce Arianna to the stage. Didn’t turn around when he heard the song start playing, either. Fucking Amy Winehouse—Rosie loved to dance to that stuff. It was so goddamn different, just like Rosie was. All the little dresses she somehow managed to make work while she worked the stage, right down to the insanely sexy G-strings and tops as well as garter belts she wore beneath them. Every bit of it…different.

  “Tears Dry On Their Own” echoed through the bar. The only reason he knew the names of the songs was because he’d had a month of listening to them. A whole goddamn month of Rosie and her brand of different up on that friggin’ stage. Out on the floor, too. Plus, she worked almost every night. The girl never took a break. Translation: Badger never got a break from her.

  He stroked his palm over his beard—which he’d let grow in—scratched his chin and sighed through his nose. Hell would freeze over before he laid one fingertip on that woman’s tight, slender, and completely natural body. But fuck him if there we
ren’t moments he found himself praying for a nor’easter to blow through the scalding desert and make all that touching he kept wanting to do possible.

  After taking a swig of his coffee, he turned and surveyed the crowd, careful to avoid her—but he knew she was on one of the poles, damn near touching the ceiling. It was Tuesday night, so there wasn’t much doing, but Rosie—or Arianna, rather—had started to attract quite a following with her style of routines. For a weeknight, they were fairly busy.

  Business had always been good. But it seemed now, since her arrival on the scene, it was real good. She had to be making a mint, at least as much as anyone could in a club like Deuce’s. Satisfied that his two men on the floor had everything covered, Badger headed out the front door to inject some much-needed nicotine into his frayed nerves.

  The door closed with a whoosh, sealing the sounds of the music away inside the club. Badger moved a few feet down the sidewalk, leaned against the wall and lit a cigarette. Evie had nothing but good things to say about Rosie, not that he cared to know or had even asked. Evie, for whatever fucking reason, found a way to bring Rosie up any time he was in her presence for more than two minutes. The devil herself needed to save him if the woman was trying to play matchmaker.

  Badger finished his smoke and promptly lit another. When he was satisfied she’d be off the stage, he went back inside. Sure enough, she was done with her set and already in the corner giving a lap dance to one of the local patch holders. A flame of jealousy curled in his gut when he saw her long, dark hair splayed across the guy’s arm. Fuck me.

  That was another reason he didn’t fuck with strippers. Badger didn’t share what belonged to him. Ever. He barely even talked to this woman, didn’t know shit about her really, but seeing her rubbing up on some other guy had him ready to spit fire. Not good. Badger jerked his chin to Sadie. “Be back.”