Page 2 of A Ballad of Betrayal and Beauty

I pull myself up, chest first, then use the pole to stand. I do another sweep as the men hold out their money, stuffing it through the holes in my fishnet over my ass. Turning back to my gorgeous stranger, I wink at him so he knows he’s special. That I’ll be back for him when I’m done with these losers. Sure enough, as the song ends, I make sure to pose right in front of him, lay my body back in a long sultry pose.

There’s an eruption of wolf whistles and applause as I stand, heading for the stairs. The man sits back in his chair as though inviting me over. Good, I was coming anyway. Walking toward him, I finally get a good look at what he’s wearing. Okay, definitely not some douchey clown with a flipped-up collar and pushed-up blazer sleeves. No, this guy is into music. Metal music, from the graphic on his T-shirt and the ghoulish tattoos covering his arms and neck.

But before I can reach my mark, a man in an expensive suit with slicked-back hair blocks my path. “Cherry, baby,” he says, “what’s a guy gotta do to get that ass rubbing my dick?”

Can the mind vomit?

I blink and take care not to breathe too deeply as the amount of cologne wafting off this creep might choke me. I press my lips together in a pained smile and place a hand on my hip. “Oh darlin’, I save that for my private dances, but afraid I have somewhere?—”

“Let’s go then,” he says, then grasps my wrist and pulls me toward the black velvet door.

“Sir, you can’t just grab me,” I say, pulling against his tight grip. Looking over my shoulder, I spot my handsome stranger watching me, the smile on his face vanishing the longer I’m detained by this dickhead.

“Come on, Red, I’m good for the money,” he argues, fanning a display of twenties like playing cards. My eyes latch on the bills, realizing that this guy alone could fill my nightly goal. But that cologne . . . It’s cheap, which means he is too, and however much he has in his hand doesn’t mean he’ll hand it over willingly. Besides, he’s a fucking scumbag.

I manage to wriggle free and step back. His face contorts, as though he can’t possibly understand why I’m not running toward that door with him to “rub my ass” on his dick. “Sorry, but I have another date to see first.”

Turning back, I sigh with relief when I see my long-haired admirer still sitting in his chair, staring down the neck of his beer bottle. I stop when I’m standing between his spread knees, and he does a double take when he sees me.

“Hey, darlin’,” I say over the blare of the next song. “How’re ya doin’ tonight?”

“Much better now that you’re here,” he says, his voice a rich baritone. “I, uh . . . thought maybe you were busy.”

I scoff. “With who? Victor Von Douche?” I ask, tilting my head back to where I’m sure that lump of a man is staring after me, in shock that he couldn’t buy my attention.

He grins, that smile lighting up his face. “He really is, isn’t he?”

“May I sit with you?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Hell yeah.” He gestures at the next chair, but I turn, sitting down in his lap, propped up on his strong thigh. His eyes widen, a smile growing on his face.

I loop my arms around his neck and lean in, my lips grazing the shell of his ear. “Did ya like my dance?” I whisper.

He blinks slowly. “I like everything about you, princess. I could watch you dance all night.”

I wiggle my hips on his lap and watch as the muscles in his jaw tense. It makes this gorgeous man even more beautiful.

“Maybe you’d like a private show.”

“How much will that run me?” he asks.

I hum, then push him back in the chair, leaning forward so that my breasts are flush against his chest. His eyes bounce just enough to tell me he’s hooked. “Five bucks a song. Or three for twelve.”

“Right,” he says, reaching down to his pocket. My eyes widen when he pulls out a stack of cash, and I have to bite my cheek to keep from squealing. “Guess that means I can have you all night then, Cherry.”

Winner, winner, chicken dinner.

“Come with me then, darlin’.” With one last roll of my hips, I stand and grab his hand, easing him off his chair. He follows along behind me as I head toward the private rooms, the heat of him blazing against my back.

“Wait, I should tell my friend . . .” He trails off, stopping to look around.

I follow his gaze. With two, I can make double. But after searching for a solid minute, my new date shakes his head.

“Ah, fuck it. Asshole’s probably already found himself some entertainment.”

Bummer. Oh well, this guy’s got enough cash to make sure I can eat for a month. I wink at one of the bouncers as we approach, and he moves aside to let us through the velvet-adorned black door. Finding the first room free, I lead the man in behind me before shutting the door.

This room, like all the others, has tufted leather bench seats, a table in the middle, and a phone hanging on the wall to call to the bar—or, in rare circumstances, security if anyone gets out of hand. I don’t think my handsome stranger will be a problem tonight, though.

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