Page 26 of Party Girl: How a Naughty Omega Finds Love
“Good. Don’t cause problems and I won’t hurt you. Nova needs help at the club.”
“The club?” I ask, looking around for someone who might help me.
I can’t go with this guy. There has to be another pack.
“Twisters,” he says, smirking when I realize what his club is. “Another omega stripper. You’re going to make me rich.”
I don’t know how Curtis gets away with having omega strippers, but something tells me he has a knack for skirting the law. Besides, he owns me now and he can do whatever he wants with me. Twisters, his club, has been around for over twenty years. Established before the Royal Council passed the bill that prohibited low packs from starting businesses… Twisters’ reputation is known far and wide. A strip club where the strippers are drugged into compliant flowers. There’s been more than one drug bust there, but somehow Twisters always escapes without being shut down.
Part of me wonders if it’s because of the nature of the business, but the other part thinks Curtis must have one hell of a lawyer.
“Get in.” He pulls keys out of his pocket and unlocks the vehicle.
I reach for the passenger door, but he tsks.
“In the back.”
“Okay.” I get in, sucking in a few sharp breaths while Curtis walks around to the driver’s side. By the time he’s in the car, I have my breathing under control.
He puts a hand on the steering wheel and glances at me, eyes dropping to my chest. “Fake tits will help.”
I bristle. What’s wrong with my B-cups? “I don’t want fake boobs.”
“We’ll see about that. You’ll double your money with a pair of double-Ds.”
“Double your money, you mean.”
His eyebrows pull together. “What’d you say?”
“I only mean the Ds would benefit you, right?”
“Shut up,” he growls, turning around and starting the car. “Mouthy bitch. I’ll give you a pass for that smartass comment, but the next one I won’t let go. You’re new, but don’t try that snarky shit with me. Understand?”
I nod. “Can I get my things from my apartment? I left something important.”
“You won’t need any of that shit. There are clothes at the club.”
“You don’t understand—”
The back of his hand cracks across my cheek. “I said shut up. Fucking fifteen grand,” he grumbles, pulling onto the street and racing away from the warehouse. He’s going so fast my heart kicks into a gallop.
He could cause an accident.
Perhaps that would be a gift; maybe then I’d find a way out.
