But I don’t.
So, it causes anger and disappointment. Like right now, Destiny is lifting her dress wanting to sink her used-up cunt on me. Instead I zip my jeans and spank her bare ass causing her to shriek in surprise. “Get me some fresh coffee. We need to do this.”
Rip sinks into the chair Destiny was occupying, a stupid smile on his face. Obviously he’s been sampling our latest stock for breakfast. Porsche, one of our best dancers, is right behind him.
I shake my head at them. Good thing she’s a big moneymaker and has a professional attitude. She doesn’t use hard drugs and is our most striking dancer. She gives great head and has a fairly clean cunt. Absently I watch her reapply her lipstick and think I should have waited and fucked her instead of having Destiny and Crystal, but whatever.
“Just got a call from Prez. He wants to know how long you think we’re gonna be.” Rip brings my attention back to him.
He grins at me as if he can read my thoughts, then snickers. I pull my hands through my hair and look at him. His brown eyes are slightly bloodshot and hold nothing but amusement.
“I guess we’ll find out.” My voice drips sarcasm. Ripper is like a brother from another mother. I met him through my baby sister Gia. She was starting her freshman year at Berkeley. When I went to visit her, Rip was the guy who supplied her and her friends with his weed. I smoked some and the rest is history. He got patched in a couple of years ago. We’re partners and close. All my other brothers are completely pussy whipped, married… shit, most have kids.
All but me and Ripper. He’s a genius when it comes to horticulture and I’m a genius at knowing it. See, strength and weakness, that’s how you become king of your own castle.
Blade made the executive decision to stop selling drugs. We voted; it passed. Now we’re in the process of making most of our businesses legal after David’s mess.
That left the market wide open. Meaning me and my boy Rip upped our game. We grow our own supply and have two particular strain blends that are hugely popular. We own five medical dispensaries and you can only find those blends at our places.
It’s smart business. I’ve gotten wealthy, though I’m not sure I like it.
It was always supposed to be me and my bike—the open road with my brothers and my guitar.
Simple. It’s what I gravitate toward. The less drama, the better. That’s why I’m the one who takes care of shit when others can’t seem to get it done. Always stay detached and nothing can fuck with you. It gives you an edge that 99 percent of people don’t have or even understand. I don’t allow unnecessary shit in my life.
Money’s the only thing that seems to plague me. It’s like a curse that makes you greedy, sloppy, and turns people into something they never would dream of becoming, yet they seem to fall down the rabbit hole anyway.
“Here.” Rip hands me a joint. His dishwater-blond hair falls in front of his eyes. All the women go crazy for him. He has that surfer boy laid-back personality. If they only knew he’s as deadly as all of us, they might run the other way. Probably not though. Women are stupid when it comes to nailing a Disciple. None of us are nice, or safe.
We’ve fine-tuned ourselves. It’s why we rule the West Coast. We’re the most dangerous MC… because the bottom line is might makes right in our world.
My world especially.
All my brothers have something to lose these days. I don’t. It gives me the superiority the club needs. I’m the vice president and I love every fucking minute of it. That is, besides today, when I have to deal with the Pussycat. Sure, it’s necessary, but that doesn’t mean I’m happy about it. Fucking Edge and Dolly.
“Thanks, brother.” I light up, trying my best to ignore the terrible music exploding from the sound system.
As I inhale, Rip leans over.
“It’s Plain Jane. I think it’s exactly what you need today.” He grins.
Grunting, I hold the magic, letting it burn down my throat and esophagus. He shakes his golden hair, laughing at me.
“Lighten up, Axel. In two minutes, you’re gonna be happy.” He laughs and leans his head back to wink at Porsche.
Exhaling, I yell to the room, “This fucking day… are we starting?”
“Yes, Axel. I’m checking one more thing.” Crystal leans over and I blow the last residual smoke in her face, causing her to roll her eyes and wave that clipboard I’m starting to hate.
“I’m excited.” Rip smiles as he crosses his arms, settling back into his chair.
I eye him and let out a laugh because he does look like he’s excited. He glances at me, nodding at the joint.
“Keep smoking, trust me.”
I take another deep drag, and thank fuck, sweet happiness. I love getting high. Leaning my head back, I let it roll to the right and see Crystal and Destiny in deep conversation.
“What’s the holdup?”
Crystal puts her hand up, displaying her long spiky nails. “Some of the girls are being cagey about their information.” Her voice sounds accusatory.
“Who gives a fuck? Deal with it later. Let’s go.” I motion to the empty stage.
“Fine.” She huffs. “Mac, are you ready?” she yells at him as she looks at her clipboard as if we’re holding tryouts for a Broadway show.
“I’ve been ready, bitch,” he snarls loudly into the microphone. She whips her dyed red hair around and flips him off.
“Clearly I’m the only professional here,” she mumbles, shooting Mac and me a death stare.
“Jewel, you’re up.” A medium-height blonde scurries onto the stage and over to the pole.
“Finally.” I light up again, praying this will help me survive the next couple of hours. Fuck that. Let’s be real—I need to get through the next two weeks.
Song after song, legs and asses twirl around the pole. Tits and pussies blend together. Crystal leans over and I smile because I’m still high and we must be at the end by now.
“So, this last one is an iffy. Her info is all wrong.”
I nod because I don’t care. “Whatever, let’s do this.”
She rolls her eyes again and waves her hand for DJ Mac.
What starts blaring through my speakers, invading my ears, is nothing compared to the sight in front of me.
“What. The. Hell?”
Crystal goes to stand, but I grab her hand and jerk her back into her seat. If I live to be a hundred, I’ll never understand why. Or maybe I do because on my stage is a girl… woman, who’s robbed me of my speech, maybe even the ability to think clearly.
I turn to gripe at Rip for giving me shitty weed. “I’m hallucinating, asshole.”
He’s not even looking at me. The dick sits up in his seat as though transfixed.
“What the fuck, man?” I say.
She stands in the middle of the stage dressed in nothing but a tight black dance shirt that stops under her small breasts allowing me to see her flat defined torso. And I guess dance shorts on the bottom? Not sure because they barely cover her ass. Her platinum-blond hair is pulled in a tight bun showing her long neck and waifish body.
“Jesus, is she wearing leg warmers?” I growl at anyone.
“Fuckin’ A. She is.” Rip nods, still not looking at me. “And ballet slippers, pointe slippers.”
“Like that means shit to me.”
I feel like punching him. At least that would stop him from staring at her. The infamous eighties hit “Maniac” spills out of my sound system. I’m not even sure she’s real… no, she’s dancing so she must be real.
“Is she doing the Flashdance dance?” It’s been years since I saw the movie. Actually I don’t think I ever watched it, but I’ve seen scenes.
“She sure is.” Rip moves his head to the music and follows her moves.
I glare at him. “What are you doing?”
“I’m watching my next downfall.” Not only is his head jerking to the crappy song, but now he’s tapping his foot.
“It’s like Jennifer Beals is in our clu
b… only with blond hair and—”
“Shut up.”
He’s right though. She’s dancing exactly like fucking Jennifer Beals… or Jennifer Beals’s stunt double.
“What the fuck?” I mumble, and again, Crystal goes to stand. I guess I never let go of her wrist because she hisses for me to stop it.
I can’t tear my eyes away from her… I’ve seen hundreds of strippers in my life. But this—this is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. The way she moves to the music, as if it’s inside her needing to come out and her thin legs obey.
“She’s magnificent.” Rip states the obvious and I’m seriously two seconds from taking him down.
“Jesus.” He whistles as she leaps and spins like a fucking ballerina. “I call her. She’s mine,” he announces as he raises one hand like he’s in grade school.
“The fuck she is.” I glare at him. “Put your hand down, Rip.”
He puts his hand down but continues to stare and starts singing the lyrics.
“Are you kidding me?” I roar, my pulse beating so hard I feel it in my temple.
“That’s it.” The music’s still playing and the girl keeps dancing until I’m almost close enough to grab her. Touch her. To see if she’s real and make sure my mind’s not playing a sick game with me. For a split second, I’m worried all the drugs I’ve taken throughout my life are catching up with me. Is my mind conjuring up the perfect woman for me?
She stops midspin and I stare down at her face, taking in her startled expression. She’s striking, no she’s beautiful, fucking stunning. As I grit my teeth, my cock hardens and I lean forward to inhale her. Vanilla, and something else, maybe citrus… grapefruit? My eyes dip to her puffy red lips. I want to kiss those lips.
“What are you doing?” I barely register Crystal’s incredulous voice as I continue to stare down at the girl. Her skin is flawless. Like cream.
“Name?” It comes out harsh and I’m surprised that someone this delicate wouldn’t cower.
She doesn’t, though, and holds her ground, raising her face. Our eyes lock. Big blue eyes that have an almost purple tint blink at me, and I see everything. She’s unsure—even with her proud stance, this one has a vulnerability that calls to me. I smile at her, and though she seems nervous, she doesn’t look away.
I want to kick everyone out, rip off her dance shorts, and sink my mouth into her fucking honey core. Suck and lick her cunt until I replace my mouth with my cock and fuck her for days.
I bet she tastes as good as she smells. I lean closer and inhale. Yeah, I like the way she smells—
“Axel! What the hell are you doing? Are you smelling her?” Crystal’s annoying voice slaps me out of my drugged-up fog. Jesus Christ, I’m high as a kite.
“What is happening?” She sounds aggravated and the vulnerability that I thought I saw is replaced with a haughty stare.
What the fuck am I doing? I’m going to kill Rip. I tear my eyes away to focus on the room. There he sits, shaking his head at me. I scrub my hands up and down my face to get the blood flowing away from dick. Ignoring Crystal’s sanctimonious expression, I return my gaze to the girl who is half my size yet looks like she’s the Queen of England with her hands on her hips and nose sticking in the air.
“You’re not right for the Pussycat,” I state.
“What?” She looks at me then Crystal who stands staring at me with her stupid clipboard.
“Excuse us.” Crystal pats the girl’s arm and spins to grab a hold of my cut, moving us a few feet away. “What are you doing?” she hisses.
“She has a beauty mark.”
Crystal blinks at me then looks at the girl. “So?”
“So… I don’t like it,” I say, causing her eyes to narrow. Then she smiles, not even trying to hide the gleeful look on her face.
“So, let me get this straight.” She taps her long pointy nails on that damn clipboard. “You want me not to hire her because she has a beauty mark on the top right side of her lip.”
We both turn to stare at the girl.
“Christ.” This woman has affected me. It’s making me uncomfortable and I’m never uncomfortable. My eyes go up and down her body. She doesn’t fit.
“Yes,” I hiss.
“Um no. I’m the manager of the girls and talent. I have final say. Look it up in my contract.” She turns her back on me to stare at the fucking ballerina. “Anyone who can dance like her and looks like an ethereal princess is a sure thing. Sorry, Axel.”
“Crystal, I swear to God. Not today. I’ve put up with hours of—”
“I don’t want to take this up with Blade or Derrick. But…” She sighs, letting her voice drift.
This time I grab her arm to snarl in her ear. “Two minutes ago, you were thinking the same thing as me. Now, because I say no, you have to be a bitch and say yes.”
“Shhh.” She rips her arm away, straightening her shoulders. “She’s a little… well, she reminds me of someone, but still…” She waves her hands. “She can dance and she’s beautiful. She’s got the innocent angel thing going on. That’s what we could use.”
She turns and smiles at the girl who takes her leg and extends it straight up. Again, I blink because what in the ever-loving fuck is happening? This kind of shit doesn’t just happen. A fucking ballerina doesn’t walk in off the street and want to be a stripper.
“Oh wow,” Crystal purrs. “Can you use a pole?”
“Of course.” She smiles and lowers her leg, completely ignoring me.
“Good. Okay, come on, Axel, we need to make our choices.” Crystal reaches for me again.
I don’t move.
“Whatever.” She huffs and marches down the stairs. I step closer, forcing her to turn and look at me. “What’s your name?”
She bites her lower lip; her eyes dart around. “Cookie.” Her voice… it’s slightly raspy.
“Cookie?” It’s impossible to hide my smile. She blinks and her cheeks flush. I’m borderline obsessed with the way this girl moves. Fuck, the way her nipples harden as I stare.
Her breath stutters and I know. I’m gonna fuck her. Take her, ruin her and her uptight persona. I’ll unleash myself on her if only to see if she can take it.
“Yes,” she snips. “That’s it—that’s my name.” She clears her throat as her hand nervously checks to make sure her bun is still tight.
She’s like my fantasy woman, except that I don’t have a fantasy.
Ever.
This is fucked up, and I’m pissed that I smoked Rip’s shit.
“You do know that you’re in a full-nude strip club, right Cookie?” Her eyes dart up to mine.
“Of course.” She frowns.
I nod, letting my eyes explore her body. She’s all wrong, and someone needs to tell her. I need to tell her. Instead I say, “Fine. I need to see your moves.”
“My moves?” She swallows.
“Yes. And this time, all clothes off.”
She looks around the room. “You want me to dance… for you?”
“Yeah, Cookie. I’d love you to dance for me.”
ANTOINETTE
Two days prior - Los Angeles, CA
Sweat pours down my face and I relish every drop of it. This is by far my favorite dance class. The instructor is amazing, even if she is five months pregnant.
“Toni?” Wiping my face with my last clean towel, I turn. I need to go to the laundry, but I’m too broke. It’s come to the sad fact that I either have clean clothes or food. So, I guess I’ll be washing my dance clothes in the sink for the second time this week.
“Yes?”
Tilly stands holding her dance bag over her shoulder, smiling at me. “A bunch of us are going across the street for some beers and a burger. Want to come?”
At first, I look around because no one ever invites me out. And then reality slaps me in the face. Even if I could go across the street for a beer, which I can’t because I’m only nineteen, I have no money. Instantly my cheeks, already flushed from jazz class, bur
n hotter.
I straighten my shoulders. “I can’t,” I snip, then force a smile despite the look of surprise on her face. “I have another class tonight.” I should turn and leave, but I can’t stop from saying more. “Also, I don’t eat meat.” It sounds accusatory, and my stomach rumbles at the lie.
She cocks her head and her eyes travel down my body all the way to my beat-up, barely held together jazz shoes. They’re more duct tape than shoes.
“Are you sure? I’d love to pick your brain on where you studied. You’re an incredible dancer.” She’s being sincere, even nice, which, let’s be honest, is way worse than if she’s a bitch.
“Thank you, but no. I… can’t.” Turning, I walk to my corner and grab my dance bag.
“Wait.”
Straightening, I heave it onto my shoulder and take in her appearance. She’s tall, with firm muscles from years of vigorous dance and dark brown hair and pretty brown eyes.
“I’ll buy.” She smiles again and I notice a diamond stud in her nose.
“I have money. I’m busy, that’s all,” I say, wanting the ground to swallow me up. I love this studio. The woman who owns it used to know my family, so she always lets me dance and take classes for free. My mind races. Will I have to switch back to ballet? It’s a sure way to segregate myself. None of the latest group of dancers I’ve been hanging with would be in ballet.
Ballet. I can barely think about it, much less step foot in a class.
“Okay, maybe next week.” She smiles again.
That feeling—like an elephant is pressing on my chest—makes me ignore her as I look at myself in the large mirror. Big cat eyes blink and stare back at me as I give her a curt nod.
“If you change your mind, we’re across the street.” She motions with her hand.
“I won’t.” It sounds rude and I make it worse when I smooth my tight bun, which is already perfect, and don’t even acknowledge her as she leaves. I let out a sigh. My body does need a cheeseburger or ten. I’m thin, even for a dancer, and that’s saying something. I have to get another job. This is ridiculous. Waiting tables is not cutting it.
I need cash, and I need it fast.
Ignite (The Disciples Book 4) Page 2