Stripped Page 13

  Yanking my garters in place, I dust myself with some glitter and head out to the stage. My entire outfit is cotton candy pink. It matches the pink room, the one spot in the club that isn't filled with wall to wall guys. There's usually a handful of men in there, because they are the only ones who can afford it. I feel better about taking my clothes off since I'll never see them again, and there aren't as many of them. Guys like that don't hang out at places like this. They tend to be the CEO types that had an argument with their perfect wife. They blow off steam down here, and then disappear again.

  I enter the room from backstage and peer through the pale pink curtain. The entire area is champagne pink, with bits of sparkle. It looks hideous with the lights all the way up, but with flickering candlelight and a single spotlight on me, it has a serene feel. The music starts and I strut out on stage, moving my body to the music, not paying attention to who's out there. I never look at their faces. My eyes don't even connect with their bodies, usually gazing just above their heads. It makes it less real, like they aren't real people and I'm not really doing this. Eye contact shatters the illusion.

  Bruce has his arms folded across his chest and watches me from the back of the room. His phone is out. He looks at the screen and smiles, before tucking it away. His kid took her first steps tonight and he's beaming, telling everyone, showing them the video of his little princess and her wobbly legs.

  As I make my way to the pole, I glance around the room. There are only a couple of guys here tonight, which is weird for a weekend. They're both sitting away from the stage, back in the corners. I plaster a smile on my face and start my dance, thinking of Jonathan and the things I wish he'd done to me when we were younger. Sweat makes my body glisten as I work, splaying my legs, and rubbing my hands over my slick body with my eyes half closed. The bra comes off, and gets tossed to the side, showing my taut nipples. I swing on the pole, tossing my hair around, and breathing hard before stripping completely.

  Then the show gets more intense. I touch places on my body that I shouldn't touch in public, while tossing my head back and staring at the ceiling. I reach above my head with my hands and stretch, forcing my breasts higher, and making my waist slimmer, before I push my ankles apart. My hands drift down my arms, to my head, following my long curls to my breasts, and then to the V in my legs. I gasp and wink, followed by a wicked smile. I hold the pose until the spot turns off.

  The money is made in the next part of the night, but with only two guys, damn—I'll barely make enough money to pay Bruce. Beth is going to kill me if I don't clear at least my share of gas money. I slip back into my outfit and head out to the floor. Music pulses through the small room. I need to concentrate on what I'm doing because it takes a lot of finesse, but my mind keeps drifting to Jon.

  I shove my life away, cramming it back into the back of my head as I approach a young man sitting in one of the corners. I don't look at his face, I never do.

  "Hey, baby."

  "Hey yourself," he says holding up a hundred dollar bill, which is the only kind of bill you can use in the pink room. There's an insanely high cover charge, which goes to the boss, but I get to keep the money I make on the floor. I take it from him and slip it into my G string. I don't look at his face as I work him over. He keeps handing me bills, so I stay and dance for him until he's done with me.

  The music cues me back to the stage, where I do another striptease, this one much raunchier than the first. By the time I'm done, the gentlemen in the corner is gone, but two more have taken his place. They wave bills at me, but I pass them and head to the man who's been here since I stepped out on stage.

  My thoughts roam to that secret place in the back of my mind where there are no emotions, just darkness and shadows. I don't want to think about what I'm doing or how I got here. Doing that is like dumping lighter fluid over my head. One spark will burn me to a crisp in a matter of seconds. No one starts out life this way. No girl ever dreams of being a stripper when she grows up, and thinking about what I am, what I've become, only makes it worse. So I don't think at all. I'm lost somewhere within my mind, where no one can touch me, where I'm safe.

  "Hey, baby," I say, my eyes looking anywhere but his face.

  "Hey, Cassie."

  His voice jars me, slamming me back into reality with a deafening thud. Shivers course through my skin, freezing me in place as my heart explodes in my chest. "Jonathan?"

  CHAPTER 27

  JONATHAN

  I hate sitting and watching her work the other guy. Every bit of me wants to strut over to the man and slam my fist down his throat, but I manage to wait my turn. Barely. Maybe this was a stupid idea, and I know my mother will kill me when she finds out, but I had to do it. I couldn't let things go on this way, not for Cassie. It doesn't matter what she did to me back then, I can't wish this on her. Based on the look on her face the other night, she doesn't enjoy this job at all.

  Maybe showing up here wasn't a good idea, but I can't leave now. She's walking over to me with a sexy smile on her face. Her body shimmers like she's made of stardust, her hips swaying to the music as she walks toward me, and the old dreams of squeezing that perfect ass hit me hard. I still want her. How could I? The woman nearly ruined me, and I'm still drooling like a love struck teenager.

  Cassie's dark hair hangs in loose curls over her pale skin. That body is so overwhelmingly beautiful that I can't look away. My palms grow hot, followed by the rest of my body. She'll think I have no pride. She'll slap me, and rip my heart out of my chest, again. But only if I let her, and that's not why I'm here. As much as I'd love a lap dance from this bewitching woman, I want something else much more.

  Her voice isn't right. She doesn't sound like herself when she speaks, but when I reply, oh God... Those startling dark eyes flash with recognition. She glares at me like she hates me, but I don't move. The smug smile remains on my face as I lean back in my chair.

  I hold up a few bills, not really thinking about how I'm going to tell her. I just need her to stay by me for a second. "Dance for me, Cass."

  Her lower lip trembles ever so slightly before she reaches for the money. The expression on her face tells me this is the equivalent of kicking her in the stomach. I'm a dick. I should stop her right now, and tell her why I'm here, but I can't resist the urge to give her a little bit of the hell that I lived through because of her. Cassie tucks the bills into her panty and steps closer. Raising my hands, palms out, I say, "Stop. From there's fine."

  The insult washes the life out of her eyes and her shoulders slump. It's only a second, but I see it—I know what I did to her—but I can't stop. Cassie lifts her arms above her head and starts to sway her hips. Her ass comes close to my face, but I don't move. She dances and I let her. Every time she stops, I shove another bill at her. I must have given her over a grand by now, but I don't care. When she reaches for the money this time, I lean in and say, "Allow me."

  Cassie stiffens and nods once, then forces a hip my way. I lift the satin of her panty and tuck the bill in place before looking up into her face. Too many unspoken words pass between us. I spare her the final dance and stand. With those stripper heels on her feet, we're eye to eye. "Why'd you do it? I would have done anything for you, Cassie, and you ruined me."

  Her dark eyes fall to the floor as her breathing becomes rough, like she's trying not to cry. But when she looks back up at me, she doesn't offer an explanation. There are no words, no apologies rolling off her lips. If she told me why, if she said anything, I could forgive her—I could—because I so desperately need her. But Cassie doesn't say anything.

  Instead she hangs her head and tucks a dark curl behind her ear. "I have to go."

  I nod, and now we're both looking at the floor. Her toenails are painted, each one tipped with silver sparkles. "So do I."

  I lose my nerve. I don't tell her what I came in for, or what it means to her. Instead, I slip out before she remembers that I've been banished from this place. Bruce was supposed to carve me a new fa
ce if I tried to come in here again, but his new boss wouldn't allow it.

  As I leave the pink room, I run my hand over the back of my neck and expel the perfumed air like poison. I run into a thin girl—the one that was wrestling with Cassie the other night at the party—Beth. She looks up at me in shock, and says, "Is it true? Did you really buy this place?"

  I smirk at her and nod. "Yeah, I did. Welcome to Club Ferro."

  CHAPTER 28

  CASSIE

  "He didn't," I say to Beth, my jaw hanging open as I look at the pile of cash in my hand. "Jon bought the club? He actually said that?"

  Beth nods as she pulls off her thigh highs. "Yeah, he said it's going to be Club Ferro. I didn't really get a chance to talk to him, but that's why he was here tonight. Apparently, he bought the club this afternoon and came in tonight to tour the building when it was in use and sign the papers." Beth isn't stupid. She's been chattering to keep my head from exploding.

  I can't work for him. I could barely deal with Jon at the party, but seeing him every day—here—oh God. It feels like someone dropped my heart down a mine shaft and I'm going to puke. A thin sheen of sweat covers my face as I lean forward in my chair in the dressing room.

  Gretchen glares at me. "If you get us sick, I swear to God—"

  "She's not sick, so go suck it, evil whore," Beth snaps back.

  Gretchen places her hands on her hips. She's standing there in her cotton bra and panty set, almost dressed to leave, and glares at us. "At least I don't live in a hole like you two lesbians."

  "Go fuck yourself, Gretchen." Beth snaps back.

  "Why don't you make me, Beth?" The two of them are standing toe to toe, two seconds away from a cat fight. I glance around for Bruce, but he's not here.

  Standing suddenly, I shove my way between them. "Go kiss up to the new boss. Odds are you'll get my job if he likes you."

  Beth gives me a weird look, but Gretchen doesn't contain her excitement. "Already started, bitch. Guess who's taking me home tonight?" Jon offered to take her home? My head spins and I blink it away, trying not to jump to conclusions, but it can only mean one thing. I hate the idea of the two of them sleeping together. No. This can't happen.

  I lose it.

  I've only lost control of myself twice in my life, prior to this moment. Once was when I was nine years old and Jennifer Malby stole one of my earrings and said it was hers. She grinned at me as she fastened it on the lapel of her denim jacket, knowing that she'd never have to give it back. Her smug look pushed me over the top, so I punched her in the face and took my earring back. The second time was at the grocery store. Some woman hit me in the head with crap that was sticking out of her cart and told me to watch where I was going, like it was my fault. I took her broom and hurled it down the aisle before giving her the biggest bitch-out she'd ever seen. Both of those times, I'd been under so much pressure that I couldn't take it anymore, and so I lashed out at the next poor bastard who decided to screw with me when I had no capacity to deal with it.

  There's nothing in my mind telling me to stop. I throw the first punch and then we're a flurry of flying fists and pulling hair. Screams and nasty things come from my mouth, but I don't stop until I have the bitch pinned to the floor. My arm winds back to punch her in the face when a strong hand yanks me away and pulls me up off the floor.

  "What the hell are you doing?" Jon snaps at me, as he separates us.

  Bruce is suddenly there as well and won't let Gretchen near me. He arrived a second after Jon and yanked the slut to her feet. "Go simmer down," he scolds her and points to a chair in the corner.

  Jon still has a hold of my arm. He glares around the room and says in a tone that makes me afraid, "Anyone who fights like this will be fired. No exceptions. Am I clear?"

  Gretchen starts crying into her hands, but Jon ignores her and hauls me into the boss's office. "Sit."

  He throws me into a chair and then tosses a blanket at me. I'm barely dressed, still wearing my stripping outfit. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

  "With me?" I yell and jump up from my seat. "With me? You're seriously asking what's wrong with me—"

  "Yes, I'm asking. You've been acting like a goddamn lunatic since the moment I saw you!" He's in my face, yelling down at me. My shoes are in the dressing room and my feet ache, my head aches, and my heart aches. I turn to leave. I'm not doing this right now. I can't. But Jon grabs my arm and stops me from walking away. "Where do you think you're going? You can't run away every time something doesn't go your way. You're not a child anymore, Cass."

  "And neither are you!" I shove my palms into his chest, and then do it again, harder. "You can't fuck every girl who works here. That makes it a whorehouse and I'm not a fucking whore!" I try to hit him again, but he grabs my wrists.

  "No one said you were." His voice softens. I try to pull away, but he won't let me. His lips are dangerously close and I'm aware of his scent, of the way his breathing is becoming more ragged, even though we've stopped yelling. His dark lashes are lowered, his blue eyes singularly focused on my mouth. "What happened to you, Cass?"

  My lips part, but no words come out. How can I say it? How can I tell him? I shake my head and refuse to look up. Jon remains close enough that I can feel his warm breath. I want to lean into him, wrap my arms around his neck, and just cry until there are no tears left.

  A hot wet tear slips from the corner of my eye and rolls down my cheek. Jon's thumb catches it and smoothes it away. "Talk to me Cass."

  I make the mistake of looking up into his face. His heated gaze catches mine and I'm lost. His hand is still on my cheek and it happens so suddenly that I don't have time to think. Jon lowers his lips to mine and kisses me softly. The taste of his mouth, the way he holds me, makes me want more. The blanket falls to the floor and I step into his arms.

  All the regrets I've ever had come boiling to the surface. I never gave him a chance. I wrote Jon off when we were younger and I shouldn't have. Our mouths press harder together, and his tongue slips into my mouth. I can barely breathe and I don't care. I don't stop to catch my breath. I kiss him harder, feeling his lips mash into mine as his hands travel down my back, tracing my bare skin. It's hotter than any kiss I've ever had. Jon presses his lips to mine like he'll never get the chance to do it again. There are no words that describe the longing I've felt for him, and what it means to feel him like this now—his body pressed firmly to mine, our lips tangling together as our tongues intertwine.

  I have no plan of stopping, but a knock at the door forces us apart. My heart races hard as I jump away from him and grab the blanket off the floor. I walk to the corner of the room and pretend to look at something outside when the door opens. It's Bruce.

  He pauses, and then says, "I need to know if these two are fired, boss. If you let them go, we have scheduling issues." Bruce lingers, waiting for an answer. I glance at Jon over my shoulder, not able to meet his eyes.

  Jon is sitting on top of his desk, legs dangling off the side, leaning over with his head in his hands. He doesn't look up. "Keep both of them, but no more warnings. If it happens again, with any of the girls, they're fired. Start to make a backup list of on-call dancers. Work them into the schedule so we have extra staff when we're shorthanded or someone calls in sick."

  Bruce nods and leaves without another word. I find myself staring at Jon, wondering who he really is. I so much want the boy I knew to still be inside of him, but he was going to fuck Gretchen. Tucking my chin, I hurry past him. Maybe he is the boy I knew and maybe that's why I should stay away from him. Jon has no idea how badly he hurt me, or why I told the reporters who he was that summer in Mississippi. He doesn't know, and I'll never tell him.

  As I reach for the door, he says, "I'm sorry."

  I glance back at him. "For what?"

  "I shouldn't have taken that from you. It wasn't—" He looks up at me from under thick lashes. "I know how you felt about things and I shouldn't have taken that kiss. I'm sorry, Cassie. It won't happen again
."

  I want to tell him, but I can't. He still hates me for what I did. I force a smile and look away. "Much more was taken from me than that. Besides, I gave it to you." I duck out the door before I can say more.

  CHAPTER 29

  JONATHAN

  I avoid the club for the next few days because I can't stand the thought of seeing her there. My plan got fucked up the moment I made it. I didn't think about guys hanging on Cassie and saying they wanted to bend her over and have a good time. I didn't think about how I'd have to stand there and smile, like a fucking jackass, while they said these things about all the women working there. So, I've been going in during the day when Cassie doesn't work and going over things with Bruce. It's funny how fast the guy has my back. I doubled his salary, so maybe his reaction was predictable, but thank God for small wonders. I need something predictable right now.

  "Why'd you buy a strip club?" Trystan is hanging upside down off the side of a club chair. His hair stands on end, sweeping against the dark carpet as he eyes the empty stage. It's early, and as soon as he heard what I did, Trystan came over to smack me in the head. "It looks better upside down, man."

  I throw a phone book at him. It lands on his lap with a thud. Trystan shoots me a look and rights himself in the chair. "Seriously, Jon—this place is a fucking hole, your mother is going to kill you, and I can't hang out here. It'll totally ruin my reputation."

  "What reputation?"

  "That women come to me. Guys that dick around in strip clubs don't have women hanging off of them. Come on, Jon, what's this about? Did that asswipe get to you the other night? You didn't have to buy the club to get his ass fired. You know that right?"

  I'm sitting at a nasty old desk, looking through an endless mountain of paper. The previous owner didn't believe in filing cabinets. I've been ignoring Trystan, not looking up, until he makes me by smacking the papers out of my hands. "What the hell is wrong with you? I need to go through this stuff and I don't have much time."