Page 1 of Quadruplets for the Vipers

Chapter 1

Leah

Mondays at the club are always quiet, especially as it’s only early. I’ll never know why they bother opening this early or on Mondays at all. But aside from a lack of tips, I don’t mind it as it’s less of a hassle. The only patrons are a few regulars—lonely men desperately seeking comfort from their favorite girl, content to pretend their relationship isn’t purely transactional—and a couple of businessmen from out of town. Later on, we might get some drunk tourists coming here hoping to buy a beautiful woman’s company for the night.

I’ve worked as a waitress at the Sugar Shack strip club for almost six months. While it isn’t exactly my dream job, the tips are good, the management is decent, and, more importantly, it’s discreet. Unlike the bigger, flashier clubs, the Sugar Shack is a little rough around the edges and is located further outside the city. Which suits me fine since I know it’s the last place he’ll ever look for me.

“Can I get you a top-up, Earl?” I ask one of our regulars.

“Please, darlin’, and a dance, if you’re offering…” he asks, his gaze fixed firmly on my cleavage.

I laugh it off. Earl’s asked me practically every day since I’ve worked here if I’ll give him a lap dance, and it’s become a running joke between us. “We could never! You’d break poor Honey’s heart,” I say, pulling a sad face and pointing over at Honey, his regular girl, gyrating on the pole on stage.

Honey has the typical stripper look, gravity-defying breasts that are too large for her skinny frame, bottle blonde hair, and pouty blow-job lips. That and bags of confidence. One thing I’ve learned from the girls here is that when you believe you’re the sexiest bitch in the room, you are.

I think Earl’s sweet requests are more platitudes than any real desire to see me naked. I’m the total opposite of Honey and definitely not stripper hot. For starters, I’m about three dress sizes bigger than half the girls, and I have no desire to be the token ‘big girl’. Secondly, I also have zero confidence about my body, my ex made sure of that.

After taking Earl his drink and checking that everyone else is happy, I head downstairs to the basement for supplies to stock up the fridges. “I’m just grabbing some more stock. Keep an eye on the floor for me?” I ask my colleague, Big John.

“Sure thing,” he replies without looking up.

Big John had been a bouncer here since the place opened, but recently, he became a grandfather and decided a safer, less active role as the manager would suit him better. He’s pretty useless at bartending, and we often have to stop him from getting involved with kicking out rowdy clients, but we wouldn’t have it any other way. John is part of the furniture here. His safe, solid presence is part of the reason why many girls choose to stay, even though there are busier clubs out there. He’s the father figure they crave in their lives.

When I return to the main floor a while later, I notice two new patrons sitting by the front of the stage. Immediately, I can tell that they’re members of a motorcycle club—the tattoos and leather vests are a dead giveaway. I recognize the patch on theirvests, I know they’re affiliated with the Steel Vipers, one of the most notorious clubs in town.

There’s a palpable tension in the room that wasn’t there before. The Steel Vipers don’t come here often, but their reputation precedes them. We’re not affiliated with any particular gang, as we’re in neutral territory. This usually means they don’t come here unless they’re planning a meeting with a rival gang. Neutrality can quickly go out the window when alcohol and naked women are involved.

“Everything good?” I ask Big John, slipping behind the bar, where he’s watching the men like a hawk.

“So far. Supposedly it’s just the two of them. Said they wanted to come someplace quiet and asked for every girl in the house to perform on stage,” he murmurs back. From his tone, I can tell he’s not buying it.

“You think they’re up to something?”

“Mmhmm… that one right there is the President,” Big Joe says, pointing out the older of the two, a man with a giant barrel chest and a big bushy gray beard.

I watch with curiosity as, one by one, the girls perform for them. After dancing, each girl tries to talk with the men to ask them for a private dance. They all flirt outrageously, some choosing to sit on the lap of the president’s companion, while others, sensing the president is the cash cow. The second man ignores them all completely, leaving the president to do the talking. Some, the older man dismisses immediately, while others he speaks to briefly before dismissing them, too. Each girl is given a tip for their trouble before walking away, looking dejected.

“What do you think he’s asking them?” I whisper to Big John.

“I don’t know, and I don’t like it. If he’s trying to get these girls to sell drugs for him…”

It wouldn’t be the first time drug dealers have approached the girls to get them to deal or mule. Since the owner of the place is never in town, the running of the club falls to Big John. He runs a tight ship and is adamant that it remains a clean, respectable, and safe space for the dancers to work. Anyone disturbing the peace will see a side to Big John that is nothing like the gentle giant he appears to be.

Just then, the second man looks up, his eyes meeting mine. Even from a distance, I can tell this man is stupidly attractive. No wonder the girls have been simpering over them and are desperate to give them a dance. He tilts his head to the side curiously before whispering something in the president’s ear. The president looks over at me, and I feel hot under his intense scrutiny. Both completely ignore the girl on the stage, their focus is entirely on me.

“Big John, is it just me, or are they talking about me?” I whisper nervously, hoping it’s all in my head.

Big John watches them for a second, one predator sizing up another. Without saying another word, he steps out from behind the bar and strides over to the men. They exchange tense yet civil words before Big John nods, seemingly satisfied, and returns.

“Grab them another drink and take it over to them, will you, Leah? Two double whiskeys and two beers.”

“Sure,” I reply, feeling a little off-balance but confident that Big John wouldn’t throw me to the wolves.

“Here are your drinks, gentlemen,” I say politely as I set them down on the table.

It’s only now that I get a proper look at them both. The president has a surprisingly kind face for a man of his reputation, but it’s his companion that holds my attention. He’s even more handsome up close. Dark hair pulled back from his chiseled face, a strong jaw highlighted by a smattering of stubble, muscles that I thought only existed on movie screens, and the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen. I have to drag my attention back to the president as he begins to speak.

“Thank you. Sit, please,” the president says, gesturing to the empty chair beside him.

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