Page 13 of Wild Heart
“What do you ride?” he asks finally.
“A Fat Boy 114. It’s parked out front if you want to take a look. As long as someone hasn’t pissed on it.”
A ghost of a smile passes across his face, and he reluctantly takes the card from my hand.
“At least let my man show you where the classy strip joints are.”
“I’ll think about it.”
It’s the most I’m going to get out of him. I sure as hell hope the kid snaps out of his own sorrow. It’s hard to readjust to civilian life, especially with life-changing injuries like his.
“Come for a visit, take a look around, meet the guys, see the shop and see if you like it.”
“Maybe,” he grunts and wheels over to the bar. I let him go, knowing I won’t get an answer today. I only hope I’ve done enough to convince him to at least visit.
The music changes, and someone announces a brand new dancer. The room whoops, and the lights dim.
“Shit.”
I don’t want to be here for this. There’s a throng of men pushing toward the stage, and it takes me a while before I can move past them.
I’m passing the stage just as the curtain opens and a long thick leg in killer heels peeks out from behind the curtain.
My skin prickles with heat, and blood rushes to my dick. Shit, after all these years I’m just as horny as the men in here, getting excited about a piece of flesh.
I should keep moving through the crowd but I’m rooted in place, needing to see the owner of that leg. The curtain parts and the little minx is stepping backwards, shuffling her chunky ass through the curtain, shaking it so the tiny skirt she’s wearing shimmers under the disco lights.
Long dark hair flows over her shoulders and down her back. She’s got a tiny golden top on to match her skirt and most of her back is exposed, showing enticing curvy flesh.
“You see something you like?”
I didn’t notice Luke wheel up next to me. He’s wearing the first grin I’ve seen him in all night. I’m aware that it’s because my jaw is on the floor and my black jeans are suddenly too tight around my hard cock.
I don’t usually have this reaction to a woman. Not since that night two years ago when I was in the White Out and ran into Isabelle Berone…
A strangled noise burbles out of my throat as realization hits. At the same time, the women turns around with a flick of her neck. Silky thick hair whips around her shoulders, and the men whoop as her beautiful features are revealed.
“What the fuck…?”
6
ISABELLA
My stomach pulls into a tight knot at the sound of the men baying to see my flesh.
I’ve never had to paint my mask on so thickly as I’m doing right now. I give a brilliant smile as if there’s nowhere I’d rather be than shaking my booty on stage in front of a room full of drunken men.
The catcalls make my stomach churn and I fight the bile in my throat, swallowing it down as I turn to face my audience.
Bright lights flash onto the stage, making me blink. I can only make out the shapes of men as they crowd around the edges of the stage waving dollar bills at me.
It’s the best performance of my life as I strut down the stage as if it’s a fashion runway and not sticky with beer and God knows what else.
I’m the classiest woman they’ll see on stage tonight, and they know it. I’m not saying that to be mean. The women I’ve met backstage are courageous in a way I’ll never be. They’ve been kind and sympathetic to my first night nerves, more than one offering me a smoke or a pill to calm them. The only thing I took was a shot of cheap vodka that burned my throat on the way down and did nothing to settle my stomach.
I hate not being able to see the crowd, and my heart thunders in time to the music. What if my father was right? What if his enemies are out there and watching me?
The last twenty-four hours without a security detail have been thrilling. I’ve felt free but also a little lonely. I didn’t realize how comforting the quiet presences of Chiara and Alessia were.
