Page 69 of Fury
9
YOU. ARE. MINE
Slash
Slash entered The Blue Suit Club at eight-thirty ready to work. Beneath her oversized shirt and yoga pants, she’d worn a skimpy black bikini. She’d packed her stilettos in her bag, along with a different bikini. Though she couldn’t bring weapons into the club, her switchblade was stashed at the bottom of the zippered side section. As she passed the clubbers seated at the bar and at high-top tables, she scanned the room for Carrera.
He wasn’t there.
Frustration started to take hold, but she shoved it down. If he didn’t show, she’d work the damn case on her own.
I got this.
Once in the dressing room, Slash passed Jilly’s station, but it was dark. At her station, she slipped off her outerwear, fastened on her shoes, tied a sarong around her waist, and shoved her duffle in the nearby locker.
She’d be dancing on the fourth stage.
Tucked in the far corner, this stage didn’t draw as big of a crowd as the main stage, but Slash strutted up there like she was the boss lady.
As she danced around the stage, made love to the pole, and pretended like she lived for these performances, she maintained an awareness of the hallway that led to the VIP rooms.
As she continued dancing, most guys tossed a bill on stage, but the bolder men and women ventured to the front and waited for her to step close. Once she did, they tucked the bill into her thong. While her skin crawled every time a customer’s fingers grazed her skin, she wasn’t deterred. It would take a lot more than that to scare her away.
Karen loomed into view as she led Deb—the dancer who gave up her spot for Slash’s audition—and a man, down the hallway.
As soon as Slash’s set was over, she collected the cash and her sarong, and returned to the dressing room. She stashed the bills in her locker and wrapped the sarong around her waist. Back on the floor, she sauntered over to the Management Only door. She waited, but she heard nothing.
I gotta get back there.
Back in the main room, she swept her gaze in search of her target. Carrera was seated at a table, his heated gaze drilling into her.
Hit after hit of adrenaline pounded through her and her heart skipped a beat.
Damn him.
The effect he had on her was immediate, intense, and utterly infuriating.
Dressed in a dark sport coat and dark dress pants, his bright white shirt made his tanned skin pop. Her fingers tingled to caress his bearded cheeks, press her lips to his, and kiss him.
And she hated that she wanted to do those things to him.
From the looks of things, Carrera had amassed quite the harem. Three female clubbers flanked him at the eight-person table while four dancers were all vying for his attention.
Was it his looks? The way he dressed? The confidence he wore like a second skin?
Slash didn’t know, didn’t care. She needed him to gain access to a VIP room. Then, if the universe was spinning in her favor, she’d be one step closer to finding out if sex was on the menu.
He flashed her his killer smile and she bit back a groan.
As Karen hurried over to him with a dancer, Slash got flagged down by a member at the table next to Carrera’s.
“How’s it goin’?” he asked.
“Goin’ alright,” Slash replied. “Enjoyin’ your evening?”
Slash didn’t give a fuck how his night was going or how his day had been, but she needed to play along. If someone complained about her, Karen would fire her ass.
She forced herself to smile, but that’s exactly what it felt like.
