Nathaniel
ITHASBEENAweek since the ball and Malia still will not speak to me and I have not heard from Liam. I did not expect him to believe what I had told him, but I did hope. Tawny has been put back in her cell and I have forbidden anyone to visit her that is not giving her food to survive.
I’m not in the door at Insatiable five minutes before Trina is on me.
“Boss, baby,” she purrs, and I kiss her cheek in greeting. She slips her arms around my waist and smiles at me. “I love that you visit more.”
I smirk, I do not mind the attention despite her motives. If she knew I was here because of a certain dancer she would not be as excited.
“Donovan not treating you girls right?” I quirk an eyebrow knowing he treats them fine.
Trina has been trying to get with my son for years, but it is for the status and security, nothing more. I do not want that for either of my kids, not that Trina offers anything that would be beneficial to an arranged marriage. Stripping is as deep as she gets in the underground, probably hooking as well, however I leave how far they go in the private rooms up to them, it is not a requirement of the job. Not every dancer does it.
“Everything okay with the wife?” she asks me like it is any business of her.
Trina is digging to find out the reasoning behind my sudden constant presence to see how far she can push me.
I pin her with a look, and she drops her hands from my waist, shrinking away slightly realizing she has crossed the line.
“I’m sorry,” she says, casting her gaze down to the floor. She is not, but I will drop it this time. “I just thought since you’ve been hanging around and I’ve seen you watching the girls you were feeling lonely.”
I keep my mask in place, irritation starting to bubble in my veins. “Trina. What I am and what I do are not your concern. You have been here a long time, but make no mistake I will put you out. Do I make myself clear?”
She nods, shoulders slumping. I brush past her as she begins to walk away not willing to waste any more time on her.
The girls are busy, it is a full house tonight. Already in a foul mood from Trina and everything else, I retreat to my office. Plopping down unceremoniously in the large leather chair behind the desk. I turn on the monitor to the computer, pulling up the live security footage in the club.
I look through the different angles, a certain blonde I am hoping is working tonight. I know my presence here makes some of the girls nervous. I do not disrespect women, but I do not tolerate bullshit either.
After going through all the cameras, I come up short thinking maybe my Little Bird is in a private room or off tonight. I should memorize her scheduled shifts even though that borders obsession. Perhaps I have already crossed that line.
It is not lost to me that the anger begins to rise to an inferno at the thought of Chantelle alone in a room dancing for another man. My cock starts to harden remembering the way she swallowed me down after she danced for me. Her suspended on the pole upside down, bound by only my belt and my hands.
Standing at my full height my feet are moving before I can process that they are leading me to the private rooms. All the doors are open, signaling their vacancy, only one is shut and I snarl, picking up my pace and slamming the door open.
One of the newer dancers—Lettie I believe is her name, friends with Little Bird— drops on her heels, the sound echoing throughout the room. The man stands up and rounds on me. I raise an eyebrow and Lettie straightens.
“What the fuck, man,” the customer growls. I nearly chuckle at his bravado. My gun suddenly feeling heavy in my waistline, not appreciating his tone.
“Boss?” she questions, huffing stray blue hair from her face.
“Forgive me,” I respond. “There was an issue in another room and I just wanted to check in.”
She nods, a confused look crossing her face. “All good.”
I shut the door and internally berate myself, deciding I need a quick drink, immediately heading to the bar.
My steps falter when I catch Chantelle working the bar. I had not thought to view that angle of the security cameras since she is a dancer and not a bartender.
I come to a stop, observing from a corner. She is clearly annoyed for some reason, the smiles she gives the patrons are tight and without mirth or enjoyment. It makes me curious what is wrong and why she is not dancing.
The bartender’s uniform is a black pleated skirt with suspenders and a cropped white tank top underneath. It is encouraged for them not to wear a bra but the option is up to them. I always want my girls comfortable. Chantelle has chosen to wear one to perk up her tits and my mouth waters.
She finishes mixing a drink and leans forward to place on the bar for the customer. The man leans forward, placing cash in her cleavage and I see her stiffen as he whispers to her words that I cannot hear. It is not uncommon for men to touch the dancers so long as they welcome it. Most keep stacks in their thigh garters, letting the men place the money to get a small touch.
I can see Chantelle shift uncomfortably on her feet. The man, older than I am, now leans across the bar top to run his knuckle down her cheek. My feet take a mind of their own again, storming toward the man touching what is not his.
My hand slaps off ball cap and before he can turn, I grab a fistful of hair and bounce his face off the hard surface. He mewls as his blood pools while I hold him down.