Vance looks over to her. “Why? You don’t even like that guy.”
“I do like Mario, but I don’t like you.” She huffs.
Vance’s jaw tics, his eyes darkening. “Watch it, Angel.”
“I’m not your angel,” Primrose snaps.
I decide against intervening since she didn’t like that the last time. So instead I pop a sour cherry candy in my mouth and watch. Until someone sits next to me. I look over, meeting the same eyes that watched me earlier. Beckett’s eyes trail over my body if as envisioning me naked. And then he smirks. He reaches over, hand skating over mine, and my breath hitches, my body stills. Is he going to touch me? Instead, he snatches a piece of my candy from my open bag. My mouth drops open, eyes narrowing. He wiggles the candy in his hand. “Thanks.”
I glare, shoving my bag of candy deeper into my bag, and move it out of his reach. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you it’s rude to take what’s not yours? Don’t touch my stuff.”
He leans in close to me, his breath tickling just below my ear as he whispers, “This will go a lot smoother if you do as you’re told and stay the fuck out of my way.”
I turn my head, our eyes inches apart and our breaths mingling. “Fuck off,” I whisper.
Beckett chuckles, the sound vibrating through my soul like a melody of a harp. “Very well.”
He said it lightly, but the underlining tone is threatening.
Our eye contact breaks as the professor begins the lecture. No matter how hard I try, I can’t focus.
The class is almost over when I see Primrose’s bag move from the corner of my eye. “What the hell?” I mumble.
It moves again and my eyes narrow. What the hell is in there? But then a tiny meow reaches my ears, and my eyes widen. “Prim… please tell me you didn’t.”
Her smile is small as she reaches for her bag, slowly bringing it to her lap. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Meow.
Vance frowns, looking to the bag in her lap before a slow grin breaks across his face. “Maybe you’re afallenangel.” She makes a gagging face—that only makes Vance’s eyes sparkle.
Maybe in the beginning I was wary of these guys, but after witnessing the police investigation today, I think catching their attention was the worst mistake Prim and I could have made. Although Prim doesn’t want my help, I’m afraid she’s too naïve to notice the way Vance tracks her movements as if she belongs to him. And lastly, she doesn’t know these guys might be killers.
And maybe I’m going to prove it.
* * *
My heels clipover the black carpet as I strut up to the stage. It’s weird, smoking is not allowed in the building due to the secondhand smoke law, but for some reason, it always smells of cigars and cigarettes in the clubs I work at. As if no matter how hard they scrub, the smell refuses to be diluted. I duck around the side of the stage behind the curtain. Then I walk to the front, positioning my body on the pole. One hand above my head, my neck arched back as it rests against the cold pole, my font leg propped up. The curtain begins to rise as Doja Cat’s “Need to Know” bumps through the speakers. I curl my ankle around the pole, throwing my body around it to spin, bringing myself higher. I drop my body back, only holding on to the pole using my ankle as I spin upside down. My hands travel up to my breasts, squeezing the sequin-covered flesh.
The crowd of drunk spectators go wild, throwing bills on the stage. I flip my body so I slide down the pole, landing on the stage in splits, bouncing my ass. I crawl down the catwalk, tossing my head in a circle. It’s a crowd favorite for whatever reason. I sit at the edge of the stage, my legs on the stairs. I roll my shoulders, spreading my closed legs open and tossing a wink to the crowd. I struct back to the pole, dancing around it, rolling my body over it. It’s exhilarating, the energy, the lust-filled stares all for me. The fact that I can make all these people throw money at me, fucking empowering.
I slide down the pole again as the curtains close. The crowd erupts in catcalls. My smile doesn’t waver as I pick up the money, stuffing it into my G-string. Usually, I’d let them touch me, stuff money in my panties, but I wanted to feel the crowd of this place out first. Honestly, this is the most respectable crowd I’ve ever had.
Jerry nods, tossing a thumb over his shoulder. “You got a private dance request. Red room.”
“Already?” I ask.
Jerry doesn’t say anything. Just stares at me like the stoic bodyguard he is.
“Okay,” I mumble, going to my locker to keep my money safe. I quickly switch outfits. It’s a tight cut-off mesh top with long sleeves that stops just below my breasts. It’s covered in rhinestones and has a matching G-string. I grab a pair of heels and slip them on in a hurry as I make my way down to the red room. I don’t knock, I walk in. The walls and the carpet are a deep red, the couch black leather. There is a pole in the center, a small platform stage under it. Without looking up, I begin strolling to the iPad attached to the wall that controls the light and music. “Pick your poison,” I say.
“Something with a heavy bass and soul.”
I nod, pressing Play on Bishop Briggs’s “River”. I position myself on the pole, waiting for the heavy bass to begin. If I do this right, I can make a lot of money off a private dance. But then I look up, and there he is. Eyes heavy, lustful, but his lips are thinned. My body freezes. Suddenly, I have no clue what I’m doing. Beckett looks up to me, smirking at my deer-caught-in-the-headlights look, I imagine.
“I don’t much care for pole dancing.” He pats his lap. “Come on, Rabbit. I don’t bite… much.”
I swallow, my hands trembling as I let go of the pole and make the short distance to him. I go to sit on his lap, facing away from him, but he trails one finger down my spine. “Face me,” he commands.