I kissed her pouty mouth. She tasted like rum and lime and I wondered if she was sober enough to consent. Reluctantly, I eased back. It was hard to hold my resolve when her eyes remained closed and her lips were still parted. Her hips swayed over me, barely grazing my pants. It was taking all my effort not to thrust up into her. She’d make a fortune on lap dances.
“Jackie.” I cleared my throat. “It’s getting close to the point of no return here. And I’m about to break my number-one rule.”
“Hmm?” she asked, opening her eyes.
The song faded out and the only sound in the VIP room was our rough breathing. I didn’t want her to stop, but I could see clarity coming back into her eyes. That and a look of horrified disbelief.
“What’s your number-one rule?” she whispered.
“No fucking in the VIP room,” I said hoarsely. “You got your shot on stage.”
Chapter Six
Jackie Mitchell
What the absolute fuck just happened? It felt naughty, but oh so right. I touched my kiss-swollen lips. That was a hell of a dance, one that could have quickly gone nuclear. I had stumbled off him and gotten dressed, not daring to look him in the eye. All he would have had to do was crook his little finger and I’d be back in his lap. I wasn’t sure what would be worse—if he had or if he’d just shrugged off the experience. Things like that probably happened to him every day. Things like that only happened to me in Las Vegas.
Vegas was a temptation. Especially for someone like me. I’d spent most of my life denying myself for others—mostly my sister. I hadn’t been in town twenty-four hours before the reckless feeling of freedom led me into a hot time with a sexy stranger. The erotic haze faded as the cool air-conditioning in the rental car kicked in. My face was on fire, and my body kept playing back how Miles felt underneath me. I’d rubbed myself all over his hard muscles. I squirmed a bit and let out a small sigh. It hadn’t been enough, and I really wanted more with him.
I would never be able to do that with a paying customer. Or could I?
Catching a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror, I looked flushed and a little wild. That wasn’t me. But maybe it was. The last time this had happened, I blamed all the shots we did. I wound up dancing in a bar that had suspended bird cages sized for adults. And then I took a bouncer home for the weekend.
“I have a type,” I said aloud. The GPS piped up that I needed to turn left and the destination would be on my right.
If I was going to become a stripper this week, type didn’t matter. According to Miles and the other dancers I’d spoken with, the only thing that mattered was the money. Lisa hadn’t hustled and they had hated her for it. I needed the dancers at Dalton’s to accept me so that I could figure out what went wrong with Lisa and maybe get a few clues as to where she went next. But I didn’t want to be intimate with strangers I wasn’t attracted to. I doubted Miles would pay me for a lap dance every night—not that I wanted him to. For him, I’d do it for free.
I was willing to dance on stage and do a striptease. I wasn’t ashamed of my body. I had trained hard even when being a professional dancer was out of the question, because in the back of my mind, I knew that I would audition for a show again. Unfortunately between the pressure of school, work, and Lisa those auditions had been few and far between. It had taken Lisa’s accident to slow down both of our lives. And while I felt no guilt about finally taking my shot, I knew I couldn’t do it if my sister needed me. But there were limits to my devotion.
There was no way I was going to bump and grind on a guy that looked more like Jason Voorhees than Jason Momoa. I wasn’t in this for the money. I needed to find Lisa before my vacation time ran out. There had to be a way to compromise so that I could avoid the VIP room and stick to just the stage.
When the GPS said I’d reached my destination, I found a place to park on the side of the road and hoped I wouldn’t get a ticket. I stared up at the lackluster apartment building. It was in a part of town that was crowded with people from all walks of life, reminding me a little of Brooklyn. Lisa would fit right in. Why had she come to Las Vegas of all places, though? If she had wanted to get as far away from my mother as possible, she could have gone to California or Hawaii.
Still, I understood the lure of Sin City.
Groaning, I pressed my forehead to the steering wheel. How did trying to find Lisa evolve into me taking off my clothes and dancing? I had to admit, it excited me a bit. Was this how Lisa felt? Was it the thrill of the forbidden that tempted her to throw off the strict rules and regulations she’d made for herself? Or did she want to dance again and feel the approval of the crowd without straining her knee? And then there was the money. I couldn’t shake the allure of making so much in such a short time.
I checked my phone again. Why wasn’t she answering my calls? I could understand her ditching Mom, but Lisa had to know by now that I would go away and leave her alone once she checked in. Getting out of the car, I locked it up. Please be home.
At the building’s entrance, I rang the bell under her apartment number, but there wasn’t an answer. It was just past eleven. I should have waited until the morning. If she had a day job, she’d be getting ready for bed. If she had a night job, she’d be working. I waited a few moments and buzzed again. Still nothing. I didn’t want to come back tomorrow. I wanted to see her or at least see her apartment tonight. While I was debating what to do, an older gentlemen exited the building and he held the door open for me.
“Thank you,” I said.
Lisa’s apartment was on the ground floor, so I walked down the hall and knocked on her door. I hoped she’d answer and let me inside. We’d have a glass of wine and I’d be reassured that she was just fine and was hiding out in Sin City from our family and her responsibilities. I’d wish her well and spend the rest of the week doing touristy things and convincing myself not to go back to Dalton’s and Miles Carvello.
The door flung open and a woman—not Lisa—glared at me. She wore a half tied robe. “What?”
“I’m Lisa’s sister,” I said.
“She doesn’t live here anymore.” The woman started to close the door.
“Wait,” I said, grabbing the door. “Do you know where she is or how I can find her?”
“No. She left in a hurry and put me in a bad spot for next month’s rent.”
“I can pay her part of the rent for this month, if you can spare a few moments to talk with me.”
The woman glared suspiciously. “How did you get this address?”
“Miles Carvello gave it to me.”
Her face cleared. “Oh.” She opened the door wide. “Come on in. This should be good.”
“I’m sorry for bothering you.”
“I should have been up anyway. I’ve got to go to work in a couple of hours.” She stifled a yawn behind her hand. “I’m Becka, by the way. Your sister left me high and dry for five hundred dollars.”
“I can write you a check or wire it into your account.”
Becka thought about it and said, “Can you PayPal it?”
Once I sent it, Becka brightened up a bit. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”
“Thanks,” I said, although drinking coffee at this time a night would guarantee I’d be up for hours. I pushed Miles Carvello and what we could do to pass time out of my mind. Scanning the small living area, I didn’t see a trace of Lisa. “Was that her room?” I pointed to the closed door.
“Yeah. Feel free to look around, but she took all of her stuff out.”
Inside the small bedroom was a generic futon bed that had seen better days, an Ikea night table, and an empty closet with a beaded curtain. It looked like my college dorm room. I did a quick search of the room, but I didn’t even see so much as a dust bunny. Going back into the main room, I sat down at the kitchen table.
“How long did Lisa live here?”
“This would have been her third month.”
The timing seemed right. “How did you two meet?”
Becka handed me a cup of coffee and then sat down across from me with one of her own. “We met at a job interview for a cocktail waitress at the New York-New York casino. I said I had a room for rent. She paid me cash for the first month. That was good enough for me. I wound up getting the job. She went on to work at the Spearmint Rhino.”
“She doesn’t work there anymore. Do you know where she’s working now?”
“If Miles gave you this address, then you know she was stripping at Dalton’s.”
I nodded. “But she left a few weeks ago. There was a man at the club that came in to see her sometimes. One of the dancers told me he was an older guy. White hair, short beard? Did she ever talk about him or bring him around?”
Becka frowned and shook her head. “She never had anyone over, and I don’t remember her talking about a guy.”
“What reason did she give you for moving out so suddenly?”
“She said she got a gig that included room and board.” Becka looked into her cup of coffee, then back up at me.
“Like a hospitality job. Maybe for one of the hotels around here?”
“She wouldn’t tell me. I got the impression that it was a more . . . private contract.”
I felt an icy chill. “Do you think it was sex work?”
“Why? Because all strippers are hookers?” Becka snapped.
“No.” But it had crossed my mind. If Lisa was willing to strip for quick cash, she could have also convinced herself that she could sell her body to pay off her medical bills. It didn’t sound so farfetched. Lisa hated owing anything to anybody. She was the only person I knew who didn’t have any credit card debt or student loans. “But it would account for why she hasn’t contacted us in two weeks and has been super secretive. Did she ever say why she came to Vegas?”
“She said she wanted a change of scenery and she was sick of the New York winters. She might have mentioned that her family was a little clingy. You look like her, now that I’m more awake.”
“I do?” No one had ever said that to me before.
“Same eyes. Same expressions. Why are you here?”
“My parents are terrified something happened to her.”
“So why aren’t they here? Why did they send you?”
I shrugged. “It’s what I do.”
“Maybe Lisa isn’t the only one who needs a change of scene.”
I thought briefly about Miles. “Vegas does have a certain charm.”
“That goes away after you live here for a while. I don’t know where she’s working now or why she’d leave. She had a good deal at Dalton’s.”
“In what way?”
“How well do you know Miles?”
“I don’t really.” Although, he knew a lot about me from that little dance that I did. I fought a blush, but Becka noticed it.
“He’s sex on a stick, isn’t he? I used to work for him. He’s one of the good guys and takes care of his employees. He’s at that club twenty-four seven and knows what’s going down there. Lisa wouldn’t have left unless she got a better deal with someone she trusted.”
“Is that why you left?”
“I got sick of the groping and the cheap-ass tippers. At least with waitressing you only have to put up with an ass pinch and a stray hand here and there, and the tips are just as good.”
“As good as the VIP room?”
She barked out a quick laugh. “No. I do miss that part. The money. Not the men.”
“Did Lisa feel uncomfortable with it?”
Shrugging, Becka lit up a cigarette. I tried not to make a face. I hated the smell, but it was her house. “She liked the money.”
“You don’t have any idea where she went or why?” She’d already said she didn’t, but I was hoping for a different answer.
“I wish I did. Like I said, she owed me rent.”
“I’m at a dead end following my sister’s trail. The only thing I was able to find out from the dancers at Dalton’s was about that recurring customer I mentioned. I’m going to strip there this week to try and find out where she might have gone.”
Becka smiled. “You’d do that for your sister?”
If I was being honest, I was doing it for me too. I had wanted to dance on the stage and now was my chance. Of course, the men at the club weren’t buying tickets to see my Cabaret number. But the thought of being watched and an object of desire was appealing, and part of me wanted to see the lust in Miles Carvello’s eyes again.
“Once I get an exotic dancer to let me subcontract with them.”
“I’ll hire you for a small weekly fee.”
“How small?”
Becka thought about it. “A hundred dollars a week. Pay me the first week right now and I’ll send the paperwork over to Dalton’s tomorrow.”
“You got a deal.” I shook her hand and handed her a hundred from my rapidly dwindling pile. I hadn’t been in Vegas a full day and I already spent half the money my mother gave me.
“Why do think dancing at Dalton’s will help find your sister?”
“I’m hoping her mystery man will come back and I can ask him some questions. Maybe Lisa will show up.” I shrugged. “I’ve got two weeks before I have to get back home. I’ll be able to gather more clues at Dalton’s than I will in my hotel room.”
“Just be careful,” Becka said. “Miles and his security team are the best, but even they can’t be everywhere. That part of town isn’t the greatest and if it’s not gang problems, it’s the drugs.”
“Was Lisa using?” I didn’t think she was. If I hadn’t taken her to get her stomach pumped, I would never even had asked.
“She had a full prescription of oxy, but I think that was just for her knee.”
If she was taking opioids for the pain, there was something really wrong. When she was working, it had been hard enough to get Lisa to take an aspirin.
“Was there anything out of the ordinary going on with her in the days leading up to her moving out?”
“I’m sorry I’m not more help,” Becka said. “We both worked nights and kept to ourselves. We shared a meal or two and hung out with drinks in front of the television a few days a week, but we weren’t close. I did get the feeling that she was very unhappy and was trying everything she could think of not to be.”
“Did she ever mention money issues?”
“No.”
“Did she leave a forwarding address?”
“No.”
I pushed down the frustration. It wasn’t Becka’s fault that Lisa was Lisa. It just made me crazy. Reaching into my purse, I handed her my business card. “If you can think of anything else, please give me a call. And if you see Lisa, tell her we’re worried, and a quick phone call would go a long way.”
“I will,” Becka said. “And maybe I’ll come by and check out your gig at Dalton’s.”
“You better be a good tipper,” I said.
Chapter Seven
Miles Carvello
I deliberately scheduled Jackie for the shit shift, noon to six p.m. It would very nearly guarantee that she’d have a hard time booking a VIP lounge or a lap dance. Even though it was a Friday, things didn’t get going until later. Unless she was aggressive, she’d collect the tips from the horndogs around the stage and escape their greedy hands mostly unscathed. I wasn’t sure why I cared so much, but the thought of someone else’s hands on her soft skin made me want to punch something.
Of course, I hadn’t counted on Chance and the bachelor party to come in this early. And it figured that they now took up the entire first row around the stage she was going to use. They ordered beers and tipped the waitress a fifty to keep them supplied.
“For someone who’s going to make a killing on liquor this month, you’re not looking too happy,” Highway said, leaning up against the support pole so he could watch both the door and the stage.
“Don’t you have anything better to do?” I growled.
“I want to see the new girl.”
That was the problem. Everyo
ne did. During her orientation yesterday, I tried to stay as far away as possible from Jackie. But it hadn’t worked out so well. Mav had said I hovered like a helicopter mom and Kikki remarked that I’d never watched the girls warm up before. The only saving grace was that Jackie looked as distracted by me as I was by her. In the end, I told myself to find something to do in my office or nothing would get done while she and I eye fucked each other.
But of course everyone noticed and it caused more buzz than I would have liked to have given a newly minted stripper. My off-duty staff was here anyway, working the bachelor party, doing lap dances and keeping the Aussies happy. That should have pissed off the on-duty staff, but curiosity was a great equalizer. Everyone was positioned to see the stage, like sharks scenting blood in the ocean. They were going to make her first dance hell and I hoped it scared her off. Jackie Mitchell shouldn’t have to strip because her sister was an inconsiderate bitch.
“What name did she pick?” Highway asked.
“La Vie Bohème. It’s also the name of the song she’s dancing to now.” The somber strains of the song from the musical Rent started, and Jackie slowly strutted out wrapped in what looked like a thousand scarves. She’d told me she spent most of the day yesterday shopping for costumes.
“This sounds like a dud.” Highway frowned as the tempo slightly increased. Every time the chorus of the song said, “La Vie Bohème,” Jackie did a hip bump and a scarf fell to the floor.
“It picks up,” I said.
“She knows they’re not here to see a ballet, right?” he said as Jackie went up on her toe and spun like a ballerina in a music box.
“Just wait.” Jackie had run the concept by him, but hadn’t actually rehearsed the song in front of anyone at the club, which was another reason why it was standing room only out here.
As the lyrics got more suggestive, her hips went wild and the scarves flew in all directions until Jackie was left just wearing pasties over her nipples and hot red booty shorts. She acted out the voice parts, getting the audience involved. She was a natural and a damn good dancer. She leapt and twirled around the pole and it looked like she was floating.
Tough Guy: A Hero Club Novel Page 5