Sinless (Deadly Omen Book 1)

by Jenica Saren

  I slapped my cheeks a couple of times to both snap myself from my thoughts and bring some natural colour to the surface. Blush sweated off way too easily. I took one last look at my appearance and attire and felt a sense of pride. Oh yeah, I was totally owning this place tonight.

  I covered my skimpy leather ensembled with my t-shirt and jeans that I walked in wearing and made my way back to the clinical-feeling window where Lani waited. "Ready!" I chirped, my smile betraying my own excitement.

  The house mom looked me over and smiled wide, clapping her hands together. "I love your makeup, but you totally haven't changed, babe!" She chuckled, probably thinking I was a novice in disguise. Nuh-uh, not me.

  "Sorry, I just have some friends with me and I'm sort of playing a trick on them with this because they don't know that I dance." I explained with a casual wink.

  Lani nodded in understanding and grinned mischievously back at me before handing me a small number of papers. "I totally gotcha, girl. Just sign, date, and initial these and we'll take care of the tax forms if you decide to stay through the night, okay?" She instructed. I finished off the paperwork and then headed in the direction she had indicated to find the DJ.

  Once everything was completely settled, I made my way back to the table where my friends awaited.

  Well, not all friends, but mostly.

  "Ria!" Beck shouted unnecessarily. It was loud in this club, but not that loud, and I was practically tight next to him. The dark-haired dancer on his lap seemed to think he was extraordinarily loud also, but, in his defense, loud did kinda seem to be his entire personality.

  I smiled broadly and plopped myself down on the seat between him and Eliam, feeling a bit of sadistic pleasure as the British dick leaned ever-so-slightly away from me. Ha.

  Beck was leaning around his companion to get a better look at me. "Where'd you go? Did you do your makeup?" He frowned. "We didn't want to buy any more drinks without you, but we were bored so we ordered another round for you, too." He said happily.

  I beamed and glanced at the table, looking for a drink that looked like mine. Problem was, there were three drinks on the table that looked like mine, in addition to several shots. "Beck!" I whined. "Which one is mine?" They were all identical, and I totally didn't want a mouthful of whiskey when I was expecting rum. Try it sometime, you're guaranteed to gag.

  Beck laughed and then gestured widely at the table. "All of them. The shots, too." He replied, halfway bending over in a mock bow. "What the lady wants, the lady shall have in excess."

  I giggled like a schoolgirl. "Why, sir," I clutched at my heart dramatically. "Kindness is a virtue, indeed." I gasped dramatically as I grabbed a glass from the table.

  "The excess of a virtue is a vice." Eliam goaded, smirking into his glass of, what I was thinking to be, scotch. He seemed like a scotch kinda guy.

  Beck leaned around me and punched his brother (or friend? I really needed to get this figured out) on the shoulder while I rolled my eyes.

  Not only was the tough masculinity think stupid to me, but Eliam was being an ass just because he could. Why couldn't he pick a half-naked girl like Beck and... Nope, just Beck.

  Whatever, he could have a stick up his ass if he wanted to, it was no business of mine.

  A balled-up napkin hit my cheek as another dancer was called to the stage and I turned to Drea who cocked her head to the side, then at the stage.

  I shook my head at her and grinned. I had revealed to her that I was a dancer, but I hadn't told her my stage name to keep it a surprise. I had already checked with the DJ and counted the number of girls ahead of me so that I would have enough time to excuse myself to the "bathroom" and then strip off - pun intended - my civilian clothes. I was a sucker for the wow factor.

  Which is why I was practically knocked off my ass when I watched a man with a black uniform, white collar, and bible step through the door.

  I get it, I really do; we're all sinners. But a priest? What?

  I watched as he sat in a far corner, angled toward the stage. He was older, maybe in his sixties or seventies and looked worse for wear, his skin pale with a green tint that made him look half decayed. He was decrepit, but it was his eyes that startled me, being pale as the moon, but much more menacing. He set the holy book on his lap and folded his hands atop it, closing his eyes and going still, excluding the minute movement of his lips. And I was so stunned that I almost didn't realize that the dancer right before me was halfway through her set.

  I quickly downed the rest of the drink I held and stood up, looking at the guys. "When a girl's gotta go..." I told them with a shrug.

  Eliam was indifferent, Rafe and Gatlin shrugged back, Beck and Kellan looked disappointed, and Gray just smiled and made a shooing motion with his hand. Drea, however, was lit up like a Christmas tree and practically bouncing in her seat.

  I shot her a quick glare to remind her to stay silent as a mime, then I took off for the curtained back of the beautiful cross-shaped stage. Now that I thought about it, maybe it was the stage that brought the priest here. Wouldn't that be funny?

  With the song nearing its end, I swiftly shimmied out of my clothes and adjusted the leather straps that made up the entirety of my outfit, crisscrossing over my body as if they bound me together and kept me whole. It was a wonderful piece, and one of my all-time favourites.

  The song faded out and I heard the first key notes of Florence and the Machine's "Bedroom Hymns" over the speakers before the DJ's voice boomed out.

  "And now, let's welcome Omen to the stage for her first time at Star Cabaret!" He played a clapping sound effect that faded out into the music as I stepped out from behind the curtain.

  My heart was hammering the way it did every time I was under those lights, feeling like this was my first time performing but thrilled and excited for the potential that I saw in myself and the experience. I slinked out down the stage, feeling the way my body naturally responded to the rhythm and beat of the music and my own heart. My body twisted and twirled of its own accord, desiring freedom and freeing its desire all at once, inviting the world to enter a fantasy with me. I continued to feel my way and let go of my thoughts, stopping just before the pole in the center.

  It felt like it was waiting for me, like an old friend, and I dropped to my knees before it as though in prayer or worship. Before I knew it, it was in my hands once more, the cool metal igniting that spark that I held so near and dear to my heart, that passion, that lust for excitement. And then...

  I was flying.

  My body sailed through the air, the muscles in my arms burning pleasurably with the exertion and my core tightening in anticipation. The music was background noise, the people just paintings in my mind - nothing existed but my passion, my own little world.

  I landed hard on the stage and I felt no pain, my legs positioned in a side split that I had long since mastered with relative ease - and I could faintly hear voices in the crowd roaring and cheering. I spun my body quickly in a move that should have been impossible to do in heels this large and pulled myself into a deadlift handstand which sent the cheers booming louder across the club.

  I considered the other options on the stage, but I just wasn't feeling them call to me, tempt me. I had plenty experience with my other three options, but the pole is what called to me now, beckoning me away from my floorwork and back to it's seductive promises of thrill and adventure. And I allowed myself to be drawn back, pulling myself up it's cool steel and relishing it. I settled myself into a split against the pole, supporting my weight with the inside of my elbow, and then I curled myself into a tight ball, like I was huddling around the shining rod. And I dropped.

  Catching myself at the very last second, I had timed it just well enough to catch the end of my song and the collective gasp that met my ears from the crowd around me.

  The DJ was speaking again and I was grinning as I took a bow, sweat beading on my brow. "Wow, ladies and gentlemen, now THAT was a performance I would pay to see! But I'm ge
tting paid to see it and you're not, so show our girl, Omen, some love up in here!" Cue fake applause and real applause combined.

  I bowed again and collected my tips from the stage. As I started toward the curtain I entered through, the priest caught my eye and a chill ran up my spine like ice. He was staring intently and angrily, a fire burning in those pale depths that left me feeling a little terrified. But I was safe here and he couldn't hurt me if he tried.

  I was safe.

  13

  Ria

  I hadn't even made it completely off the stage before I was surrounded by men. But these were my men, so that was okay. Again, not that they were my men. They were just men that I somehow didn't mind picking me up and spinning me around like we were in some happily ever after in a romantic comedy.

  I laughed heartily, the sound full and untouched by the hurt that had been haunting me over the past few days. I pushed back to see who was holding me captive and found myself gaping at Kellan.

  "Put me down, Beanstalk!" I scolded as I swatted playfully at his shoulder.

  The giant of a man set me on my feet, grinning like an idiot the whole time. "That was amazing, Ria." He said in awe. "Where did you learn to do all of that?"

  I looked around at the other guys - surprisingly, including an impressed-looking Eliam - and figured I'd put them all out of their misery before any of them spontaneously combusted. "Ah, well, I've been dancing for four years." I told them. "Ever since I moved out of my parents' place." Sore subject, abort! Abort, dammit!

  Luckily, Gray unwittingly saved my bacon. "But, I mean, I've never seen a stripper do anything like that - what you did, I mean. Mostly strippers are just supposed to be sexual objects." He froze then and turned a little pale. "I'm sorry, was that offensive? Fuck, that was offensive, I'm so sorry." He muttered, his cheeks reddening as he tried to look everywhere but at me.

  The other guys looked about ready to drop to the floor laughing and I was trying so hard not to join them. "No, honey, it's fine. I'm not about those stigmas. It is what it is, and I know what I am." I soothed, smiling nicely (as opposed to smiling with repressed humour). He smiled back, apparently relieved that he hadn't caught a bad case of foot-in-mouth syndrome.

  "But really," Gatlin interjected. "That's not normal stripper shit you were doing up there. You were like an acrobat."

  The other guys nodded their agreement.

  About to explain my talents, my breath caught in my throat when I remembered how I learned to do the things that everyone else considered a show. What most people didn’t know is that the things I learned to do, I learned out of self-defense. I learned to protect myself. I learned to keep myself safe.

  I was safe.

  I was safe.

  I was SAFE.

  Cue stereotypical traumatic past experience highlight reel:

  * * *

  When I was nineteen, I wasn't of legal age to drink. That, however, didn't stop my customers from drinking themselves under the table while I pretended to drink an elaborate cocktail that I couldn't even remember the ingredients of (spoiler alert, it was always cranberry and Sprite with a hint of grenadine for alcoholic colour).

  One night, I had one such customer, except he was pushy, insisting that the bar was watering down my drinks because I wasn't getting drunk enough. He didn't know it was a fake drink, so I could see how he would be enraged on my behalf, but he was also getting increasingly aggressive and handsy, refusing to take no for an answer. So, I did what any slightly intelligent woman would do, and I excused myself, never going back to his table. I was scared.

  After I got off work that night, it was just like any other. I was the last one out because I liked to use the time during closing to practice and use YouTube tutorials to learn new tricks, and Rory never minded one bit, saying it was refreshing to see such bright spirit. After I was finished and sweating bullets, I walked out to my crappy old clunker that I had got off some guy on Craigslist with a dodgy-looking title. Only, when I got to my car and moved to unlock the doors, I found large hands wrapped around my throat, the aggressive customer's slurred voice in my ear.

  He told me that he knew what I wanted because everyone who worked in this industry must want it. Why else wouldwe put our bodies on display? He told me that I was asking for everything he was about to do to me and called me some things that I wouldn't even call my worst enemy.

  Who also happens to be the one who saved me that night. She had been staying late to catch up with her boyfriend, one of the newer bouncers, and when she saw this brute's hands around my throat, my feet off the ground, legs flailing, eyes rolling back in my head, and hands clawing at his arm feebly, she sprang into action. She dispatched him with ease and called the cops immediately, and she was also just as quickly my best friend. When the cops arrived, they were kind enough to warn me that, should I continue in this profession, I needed to learn self-defense.

  And they were right. Mercedes had learned karate as a child and reserved her skills for life-threatening moments. So, I did some digging and found a class that I knew would benefit me in more ways than one. It took me nearly a year to get good, but once I did, I knew that I would never be unsafe again. Not with my badass skills and my best friend.

  I was unstoppable.

  I was safe.

  * * *

  "Earth to Ria." Someone was saying in our loose circle.

  I snapped out of my reminiscing. "Oh, uh, parkour. I learned most of it through parkour." I responded distractedly. "Where's Drea?" I couldn't see my bushy-haired friend anywhere and it had me worried, given my recent trip down memory lane.

  One of the guys grabbed my hand and started leading me back to the table while I squinted across the club.

  "She's at the table." Gray told me, pulling my arm gently to lead me in the right direction. Even being the second shortest in the group, he was freakishly tall. "You know parkour?" His eyes were wide in amazement and awe, which was a look that was echoed across the faces of the rest of our group.

  We arrived at the table amid the guys' buzzing chatter and I plopped down on the leathery seat behind my adorable friend who was sipping on her drink and staring off into the mass of bodies. My sweat-slicked skin clung to the seats and made me cringe as it made a squelching sound as I moved.

  I waved my hand in front of Drea's face. "Anybody home in there?" I teased.

  She turned back toward me with a frown. Unease settled low in my belly at the grim expression in her eyes.

  Eliam took notice and reached across to grab her free hand before receiving a threatening growl from Kellan. "What's wrong, love?" He queried, his brows drawn in concern. It was kind of bizarre to see this concerned, gently, non-dickish side of him. Drea seemed to be a weak spot for all of them.

  Drea shook her bushy curls and smiled tightly at the two of us. "It's fine. I just saw Mayor Holden over there yelling at a guy." She explained, looking sad and worried.

  I started looking around for Mayor Holden, trying to catch a glimpse of his... Brown hair? Red hair? Purple polka-dotted hair? Green fire hair with pink highlights? Who was I kidding, I had no clue what the fuck the guy looked like.

  I started to open my mouth before my inner self forced me to shut it again. If she was howling with laughter, there was a good chance that any one of the six sick bastards around me would probably do the exact same thing. Only, times six. And sexier.

  Eliam was scanning the area as well, his striking violet eyes narrowed in concentration. After a moment he stopped and wiped his face clean of any thought or emotion that might be flitting through his mind. "I see him. I think we should go." His voice rang with a barely contained rage. He gently, oh so gently, pulled Drea up and dropped a few bills on the table before heading toward the door.

  I cleared my throat awkwardly. "Uh, I'm still working." I stated with wavering uncertainty and determination. All six guys and a poofy head of curls turned back in my direction.

  "Then stay, but we're getting out of here." Eliam repl
ied dryly. He turned, with my friend in tow, and exited the building.

  Dick.

  I looked to the other guys with a question in my eyes, and they all looked terribly undecided. They glanced at each other and seemed to have their own private conversation. Gatlin looked straight up pissed at whatever the other guys were saying - or not saying. Rafe was probably the only other person who didn't look too pleased about their brother/friend's executive decision.

  As their silent debate continued on for what felt like an eternity, I grew increasingly agitated and anxious. The urge to chew my neatly manicured nails was so overwhelmingly strong.

  "Whatever." I finally said, throwing my hands up as I turned to storm off. There was money to make and I wasn't going to let half-developed feelings get in my way.

  I scanned the tables searching for one of the barely-noticed faces that had tipped me on the stage. Finally, I saw one sitting off in the corner nearest the stage, right below a television displaying a sports game that I really had no interest in whatsoever.

  I was mid-stride, heading straight for the customer when a firm arm wrapped around my elbow and pulled me up short. Whipping around, other elbow ready, I smashed it straight into the face of my assailant.

  "OW!" Rafe cried, clutching the side of his face. He looked shocked at first, then pissed as all hell, but then his expression melted into one of confusion. "Ow?" He asked curiously. He turned stormy brown eyes on me, narrowing them to questioning slits.

  I didn't budge an inch, looking pointedly at his hand still wrapped around the crook of my elbow. He released his grip on me immediately, lifting both hands into the air in what I assume to be a peaceful gesture before once again rubbing his stubbled jaw. "How much would you have made tonight?" He finally asked.

  I shrugged my shoulders and took a cursory glance around the building. "I haven't gotten a feel for the clientele yet, but probably about eight." I replied, eyeing a gentleman in a pressed suit and no company in sight.