Erin
Sitting in the dressing room at one of the makeup mirrors bordered by bare bulbs just like every theater dressing room as seen in the movies, I tried to get a rein on my emotions. My mind was flying back and forth between Torch and misters Fletch and O.
On the one hand, I couldn’t suppress my warm hot feelings about Torch—my body still turned on from that lap dance, even after the shit Mr. O. just pulled with his fucking hands all over me in such a grabby, unwelcome, nasty way. And it was like Mr. Fletch had invited it, offered me up for it, the fucker.
Enter Torch again, and the way he pulled me out of the way, then went all Rambo on Mr. O. Warmed my little heart. No, seriously. Made me feel watched over, safer, protected. There wasn’t much a girl could do in this kind of situation to protect herself, working a titty bar and the boss approving molestation by a VIP. I could have been seriously fucked.
And then I remembered his words: “I’m looking forward to taking your ass, make no mistake about that.” Jesus.
Let me be clear: I was no prude, and I was no stranger to sex. Fuck, I was an erotic dancer; selling the idea of sex was my bread and butter. But I was no prostitute, and I made the call of who I slept with and what we did. And no way was I into the idea of fucking Mr. O., in any capacity, least of all letting him take me in the ass. Truth is, I’d never let anyone in there before, and I did not plan on changing that status anytime soon. The way I saw it, we got a hole specifically designed for the cock. And that’s the only hole down there I was interested in filling, ever. ’Nuff said.
Thinking about the way Mr. O. had grabbed me, manhandled me, and threatened me with anal rape, I started to shake. Damnit, where the fuck was the bartender when you needed her? I didn’t have anything back here in the dressing room to calm me down, to help ease me back to myself.
What I really wanted was Torch. Torch’s arms holding me, touching my skin, soothing my shivers. I wanted his power, his strength. I wanted him to make me forget all about Mr. O. But the Stones nailed it: you can’t always get what you want. I tried for deep breathing instead.
It was starting to work when there was a soft tapping at the door, and then it opened. I looked up sharply, but it was only Britt, thankfully. The angel had brought along a tray carrying two shot glasses filled with what I knew would be tequila, along with lime wedges and a couple of beers. She knew me well.
“Baby girl…that was not a good scene.” She set the tray down in front of me, and I popped the first of the shots.
As it burned its way down my throat, I inhaled deeply and looked her in the eyes through the reflection in the mirror. I felt the hot wetness of tears build up behind my eyes and in my nasal cavity, but I wouldn’t let them go. I was not a crier, and I wouldn’t start now. “I know. Just…give me a minute.” I took the second shot glass and bolted that one down, too, then grabbed a lime wedge and sucked it. Another deep breath, and I looked at myself in the mirror.
“What is going on with you and that Torch guy, Erin? He went after Mr. O. like an Avenger. You do not want to shit where you eat, girl. What are you doing? People are talking. You need to know that. And getting involved with one of the security? Those biker dudes don’t play nice, and they are not here for us. You know that, right? They are only here for the Boss. And the Boss is all about Mr. O. That Torch must have a death wish, to go after Mr. O. like that. This cannot end well for you, Erin. You need to straighten your shit out.”
She wasn’t telling me anything I didn’t know. “Listen, B, I know. I hear you. It’s just…I don’t know. Right now, I’m really grateful he stepped in. Did you see what Mr. O. did? But it doesn’t matter, I’m good now. It’s all good. Whatever happens to Torch…well, that’s his business, not mine. I didn’t ask him for anything, and I won’t. I got my plan, and I’m sticking to it. Don’t worry ’bout me, okay? It’s all going to be fine.”
“Oh, honey.” She wrapped her arms around my shoulders from behind and rested her cheek on top of my head. “I do not like your plan.”
I’d known Britt for going on six years; she was my first friend in town, and we’d seen each other through a lot of bad shit. She was my rock through everything that had happened with Thea, and she got me through those first few months after her death, when I could barely think straight between my grief and my anger. And she was the only other dancer here who knew my plan. She may not have liked it, but at least she understood it, and I knew she was not trying to talk me out of it. There was nothing on Earth that could.
I let her hold on to me another several seconds, returning the hug with her forearms in my hands. Then I gave them a squeeze to let her know it was enough. I stood up to get dressed back in my street clothes: a pair of dark tight skinny jeans, an off-the-shoulder knit top in marine blue that did wonders for my skin tone, and my favorite pair of tall brown leather boots with a killer heel.
“It’s all going to work out. Actually, maybe it’s perfect, now. I’ve got the perfect excuse to get Mr. Fletch on his own, without any of the biker guys. I can play the sympathy card; they’ll all eat it up. Don’t worry ’bout me, okay, hon? I think I just need to get out there and let it roll. I can make this work.”
She looked at me and slowly nodded. “I can see you think you will. Just be super careful, okay?”
“Yeah, okay. Hey—can you tell me, did you see where Mr. O. went after I left, out there? Is he still hanging around? I really don’t want to run into him again tonight.”
“Oh, you don’t gotta worry ‘bout him tonight, baby girl.” She let out a single laugh. “His nose was messed up so bad, I’m pretty sure he’s long gone. Gotta fix himself pretty again. He’ll be licking his wounds for a little while.”
“Good. Thanks, B. Really.” I took a steadying breath and stood up again, boots now zipped. I grabbed my shoulder bag, checked it for its most important resident handgun, and turned toward the door. “Okay. Let’s do this. Wish me luck.”
“Always, babe. Do what you need to do. Even if I hate for you to do it.”
I looked at her one last time and nodded with a little half smile and determination in my eyes. “Onward.” And I left in search of my prey.
When I reached the main clubroom, I was ready to finally end this thing. Clearly, my asshat boss had been ready to pimp me out to his VIP, so I was done with this gig. No matter that I hadn’t quite saved up enough money to do what I really wanted to do yet, no matter that I hadn’t planned on tonight being the night. The fact was, it had gotten too dangerous for me here in the club. Torch could not be there to protect me during every shift, and I could not allow myself to have to rely on any man for protection. So, if it was unsafe, it needed to stop, and I needed to go. ASAP.
Looking around, I didn’t see Mr. Fletch, and I didn’t see Torch. It was as if my eyes were conditioned like Pavlov’s dog to always search him out in any new space. I really did need to get my head clear of him; he was getting to be like an addiction for me—one I needed to steer clear of, for the rest of tonight at least. And after that, the likelihood of seeing him again dropped off into an infinitesimally small ratio. All the better, my mind tried to insist. I couldn’t say my heart or body was buying it.
I stopped at the bar to ask Minnie if she knew where I could find Mr. Fletch. As was predictable, he was upstairs in his office. Not my lucky day—I’d have to get through two of the biker brutes to get to him—one just to get on the fucking elevator, and the other at the door. Presuming he was even alone in the office; half the time, he kept one inside as well, guarding the door from the inside. The Boss was fucking paranoid.
Well, I’d do anything at this point—including use my body, in whatever way necessary. It would be worth it. I needed this shit to end.
I managed to get on the elevator without a hitch. The guy standing guard in the lobby was having a smoke at the open door, just eyeballing the space, and he nodded me up. Lucky break.
Unfortunately, the next guy, standing outside Murdering Fletch’s office door, wasn’t inclined to be so easy.
He was a huge, dark, scary-looking guy, with a heavy brow and hooded eyes, so he was kind of hard to read in the semidarkness. And he had a scar like a knife slash crisscrossing his forehead and right cheek, like a sideways V. “What do you want, chica? Boss is pretty busy tonight.”
“Yeah, I figured. I just really need to talk to him, ya know? After what happened…” I let the sentence hang.
“Heard about that. Didn’t see it. How bad do you want it, to talk to the Boss? Why don’t you talk to me first? I think maybe I can help you out, fix that little itch I heard about.” His left cheek raised in a dark smirk, his eyes still half-closed. He stepped closer to me, putting his hands on my waist, and let his gaze drift down to my cleavage, which was showing pretty nicely in the low droop of my top. He slowly ran his hands up, cupping my breasts and giving them a squeeze before stopping at my shoulders. He put on downward pressure, forcing me to my knees, and drawled, “Get ready to suck for your life, chica. Make it good.”
I closed my eyes for a moment, steeling myself for the inevitable, and reminded myself of the greater purpose. I could do this. I was prepared to do this, but it sure didn’t feel good. I choked down a swallow. By this time, he had one hand on top of my head, holding me in place, while the other undid his belt buckle. I watched that hand, not wanting to meet his eyes, not wanting him to see my thoughts or my anger.
Just then, the elevator doors opened again, and Torch was there in the hallway. He stopped when he saw us in front of the Boss’s office door and took in the situation. He scowled and nearly shouted in his deep, gritty baritone, “Manos, get your fucking hands off her. Goddamnit, I am not doin’ this twice in one fucking night. Step the fuck away.”
Manos actually followed the order, chuckling. When he reached us, Torch took my hand in his, pulled me up, and turned back around to the elevator bank, dragging me behind him like a fucking Neanderthal. He didn’t say a word to me; he didn’t even look at me.
“You makin’ a claim, Torch?” Manos called out.
“Looks that way, doesn’t it?” Torch grumbled back ambiguously.
“What the fuck, Torch?” I resisted. I had been so close! Despite the BJ near-miss (for which I was actually grateful), Torch was getting in the way of my scheme, and that was not okay. I needed to get into the office, not extracted away from it.
“Language, babe.” And he shook his head. It only made me angrier.
“Torch, you don’t get it. I got things to do, and they do not involve you. I do not need this shit right now.”
“Babe, yet again I find another man’s hands all over you tonight, and that shit stopped flyin’ about an hour ago. And you and your mouth keep goin’ off. I’ve taken about all I can take. So you are coming with me, and you will shut your fuckin’ mouth. Now shut. The fuck. Up.” Whoa. He was pissed.
The elevator doors opened and he stepped in, pulling me to follow. I crashed into his side, where he pinned me and reached in front to hit the Lobby button. We rode down in angry silence.
When we got down to the lobby, he let go of my side, snagging my hand like I was some little kid likely to wander, and strode swiftly through the club straight to the back rooms. I followed in acquiescence as best I could, not wanting to put on another public display.
Plus, I was just downright drawn to follow him. I loved his scent, his gorgeous big muscular body, his tight round ass. I really could do nothing but follow it. He lured me. And he didn’t even have to do anything special to get me. God, I was a goner.
As we got closer and closer to the private rooms, my body clicked in to what might be about to happen next, and my panties flooded in anticipation. If my mind’s plan wasn’t going to happen tonight, it looked like my body’s plan was. And it was absolutely psyched about it.