Page 1 of Born into Blood

Prologue

Chloe

Twenty Years Earlier

Most women don’t dream about being a stripper when they’re thirty, but I can’t say I’m all that surprised by it. My life was always headed in one direction, and it sure as hell wasn’t to the top. I’m still in the same city I was born in, still dirt poor and barely paying my bills, still living in the same shitty apartment I moved into as soon as I’d turned eighteen. I’d traded one shithole for another, but at least in my own lousy, one-bedroom apartment I don’t need to worry about running into my drug addict mother or one of her handsy boyfriends. My life might still be its own kind of hell, but it’s a hell of my own choosing, and I’ll take that any damn day of the week.

Slipping my heels on, I check the mirror one last time while the music dies down from Katrina’s act. The face looking back at me is one I can barely tolerate to see, so I check my makeup as quickly as I can before averting my gaze. I don’t want to see the desperation that I know is shining in my eyes, the pathetic look that refuses to go away no matter how hard life kicks my ass.

I fix a few loose hairs and rub some glitter on my chest. My face and the tits the universe was kind enough to bless me with are the only reason I got this job when I was barely eighteen. The plan was to use them to get me the fuck out of here, but I learned early on that men promise all sorts of things when you’re half-naked and grinding in their laps. They very rarely follow through on anything, though. I’m not proud of the fact that I’m still having to relearn that lesson.

“Thank fuck that’s over.”

I turn to see Katrina walking in, topless and skin sparkling from the enormous amount of body glitter she likes to use. She swipes the back of her hand across her forehead, brushing away the sweat and stray hairs that have fallen out of place before opening the small bottle of bourbon she keeps at her work station.

“That good, huh?”

She takes another large swallow before letting out a harsh laugh. “The place is nearly empty, and the men who are out there all look like they’re old enough to be my grandpa.” She lets out another laugh. “And not old in a silver fox, sexy kind of way.”

I groan while mentally preparing myself for the usual Thursday-night crowd. Dancing at Lou’s used to be considered somewhat upscale. It wasn’t the best the city had to offer, but it sure as hell wasn’t the worst. Now, it’s much closer to the worst. The city is changing and growing, and Lou’s shitty little dive bar just can’t keep up. A few months ago, a club called Pink opened up a couple of blocks from us, and it quickly became the place to be. I’d tried to get a job there, but was immediately turned down. All the women who were getting hired were young and Russian, so I never really stood a chance in hell.

Giving my body one last look to make sure my thong looks good and the bikini top is straight, I let out the breath I’ve been holding and then paste a fake smile on my face as I walk down the short hall to the stage. As soon as I hear the first sultry beats of my signature song, I step out and start my routine. I’ve done this so many damn times that I could do it in my sleep at this point. I’ll never forget my first night stripping—the fear and embarrassment and shame, but all that had gone away when I’d walked out with enough tips to pay for my motel room for the next few nights. Eventually, I was making enough for rent, and I haven’t looked back since. The world was never going to just hand me a good life. I knew that coming into this, but I’ve managed to claw out an existence that’s tolerable, and sometimes that’s enough. Sometimes it has to be.

My eyes look out at the dark room, skipping over Roger, the bartender who gives me the creeps, before scanning the rest of the bar. When I see Ralph, I feel my confidence start to falter. He’s a retired dentist who’d convinced me that he was going to get me out of here, that he was going to marry me and spoil me rotten. All those private dances I gave him, whispered promises and quick fucks that no one else knew about, and then he tells me he’s been married for thirty years and that he never meant any of the lies he’d told me. After all that, he still has the nerve to come to the club like it’s no big deal. When he catches me staring at him, I quickly look away to the other men and force my mind away from shitty, lying men and back onto my job.

Katrina wasn’t lying about the crowd tonight, and when I start to pull the strings loose on my bikini top, I’m hoping none of these old fuckers stroke out when it falls to the stage. With a sigh of relief that everyone’s heart is proving strong enough, I twirl around the stage, lost in the music until I hear the rowdy group of men who walk in. My breath catches in my throat at the sight of them. They’re clearly already drunk, and I know the type all too well—college frat boys, aggressive and trying way too hard to prove their manhood, shitty tippers, and handsy to the extreme. My wishes for an easy night die an instant death, and I immediately feel bad for not appreciating the geriatric crowd when I had the chance. At least I know I can overpower them if the need arises. The muscular bro-dudes who are a good decade younger than me? Not so much.

I keep a wary eye on them, watching as they load up on drinks and ogle the topless waitresses walking around before finally making their way to the stage. When one of them holds up a fistful of ones, I have no choice but to saunter over to him. As soon as I’m close enough, he paws at my G-string, slipping a dollar in and touching way more skin than necessary. I’m used to men copping a feel, but I’m willing to overlook it if it gets me better tips. A flirty smile and another slow roll of my hips earns me a few more dollars. Hoping his friends are bigger spenders and willing to part with more than singles, I dance my way over to them, offering them each a hip. It isn’t until I really start shaking my tits in their faces that they finally start to part with the fives and tens.

One of them grabs my waist and pulls me into his lap. It’s not a move that’s allowed, but Lou’s bouncers always seem to be looking in a different direction whenever any of the customers break the no-touching rule.

“I want a private dance.”

His words are rough and slurred in my ear while his fingers dig into my hip. I do a quick weighing of pros and cons. The back is relatively safe, and my asshole landlord just raised the rent, so saying no isn’t really an option.

“It’s fifty for a song,” I tell him, not feeling guilty about upping the price from the usual twenty. This may be my only private dance all night, and I need to make the most of it.

Frat boy gives me a drunken smile, revealing the dimple that I’m sure all the girls go crazy for and digs out his wallet. “Lead the way.”

His friends smack him on the back and catcall loud enough for the whole place to hear while I grab his hand and guide him through the crowd. I realize I’ve underestimated him when we hit the dark hallway and he brings his other hand up to grope my ass, digging his fingers in hard enough to hurt.

“Hey, no touching,” I tell him, trying to wriggle free.

His face is right next to mine when he says, “For fifty bucks I can do whatever the fuck I want.”

I’m about to holler for Chris, the useless bouncer on duty, when I hear frat boy groan right before his hand is pulled from my body. I turn around in time to see a tall man wrapping his hand around frat boy’s neck and pinning him to the wall.

“Go back to your fucking friends and pretend this never happened.”

The man’s voice is deep, his accent sexy as hell, and I think I fall in love right on the spot. When he turns his head, and I see the beautiful blue eyes, it’s a done deal. No one has ever stood up for me. No one has ever cared enough to do so, and this stranger has just stepped in, protecting me without a second thought.

My savior lets go of frat boy who buckles over, gasping for air.

“Are we going to have a problem?”

Frat boy looks up at my savior and quickly shakes his head. “No, I’m leaving.”

The man nods, stepping back so the younger man can run back to his friends. He watches him for a few seconds, making sure he isn’t going to come back before turning to me. Even in my stripper heels, this man is taller. His dark hair, piercing blue eyes, and expensive suit have me wondering what the hell he’s doing in a place like this, but I’m not about to complain.

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