Page 29 of Cold Foot Revenge
“Pipe down,” Kristy demanded, her eyes flashing with the bright gold of her animal. “Forget I told you anything. It’s clear you aren’t happy with your life, and I don’t get it. You have Grave. Grave! You have the Alpha. You could be mate of the Alpha and you’re over here whining about do I ever feel trapped. Hell no. I feel great. I have a great life. Way better than the gutter where I came from! You’re spoiled rotten,” Kristy said, standing. Her bare tits bounced as she shoved the chair in and stomped away.
Roxy rolled her eyes closed and inhaled deep.
“You had that one comin’,” Lucky muttered as she walked past her to follow Kristy into the bathroom.
There were a couple of the other dancers in the room still, but they sat whispering a few seats away. They were new, and Roxy didn’t even know their real names yet. This place was a revolving door for dancers.
“Can I help you?” she demanded, irritated at the gossiping strippers.
The dark-haired one gestured to her. “We were just debating how long it’ll take one of the boys to notice your neck.”
“What?”
“Nice claiming mark.”
Roxy jerked her attention to the mirror, and just under the neck of her t-shirt, there was what looked like a cut. What the hell?
She yanked the neck of her shirt to the side and stood in a rush, leaning closer to the mirror. “Oh my God,” she murmured in horror. Sure enough, it looked like a bite mark. But…her mind was racing…Dylan had barely grazed her with his teeth when they were making out earlier. It was just a tease. She hadn’t felt any pain. He hadn’t broken the skin. There was no blood soaked into the fabric of her T-shirt.
But as she ran her fingertips over it frantically, it was swollen, and the teeth marks had opened the skin.
Why hadn’t she already healed this? Shifter healing should’ve taken care of this already, so why did it look red and angry?
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Panicked, she fumbled for the foundation and a blender sponge, and packed make-up onto it until it was mostly hidden, except for the swelling.
What was happening? Was she sick? Dylan was a human. If humans bit shifters, did it poison them or something? Who could she ask? Who could she trust here?
“You. Gretta. Gertrude.”
“Gretchen,” the dark-haired dancer gritted out.
“Right. I knew that. Do you have that high-necked bodysuit you wore the other night? The blue one?
“What’s it to you?”
“Can I borrow it?”
“You can buy it.”
“Buy it,” she whispered, frantically rifling through her purse. “I have,” she counted out crumpled dollar bills she’d stacked in her wallet. “Thirteen dollars.”
“Give me another twenty at the end of the night and I won’t even point it out to Grave,” she said smugly.
Breath trembling, Roxy nodded. “Deal.” She handed Gretchen the thirteen dollars, and tracked her movement as she made her way to the back of the room for her duffel bag.
“Please don’t say anything,” she told the other girl. “I don’t know what happened. It’s not what it looks like.”
The woman dipped her gaze to her neck, and when she lifted her softly glowing green eyes to Roxy, she said low, “I didn’t see nothin’.”
“Really?” she asked, daring to hope.
“I feel trapped too,” she said as she busied herself slowly spinning bright red lipstick out of the tube. “If one of those marks would fix my life, I would take nine of ‘em.” She sighed and began to apply the lipstick in the mirror. “Good luck tonight.”
Something was flying toward her, and on instinct, Roxy snatched the high-necked bodysuit out of the air.
Gretchen gave her an empty smile and sat back down to finish her make-up.
“The girls have one more song and then you are up,” Nick said from behind her.
