29. Brinlee
29
They are here. They are back. Oh, God. What am I going to do?
“Who are they?” Faye asks, a lipstick in her hand, her long blond hair in plaits. Her show is right after mine tonight and she’s dressed like a cleaning maid. It seems men are all over that act. They love it. “Those guys you’re ogling? They are pretty damn hot.”
I hum in reply.
“Are they here for you?” She widens her eyes at me. “Atta girl. Looks like a pack. Are they courting you?”
“They’re not… it’s complicated.”
They are so hot, and so not supposed to be here. Last time… last time I teased them and tormented myself. What do they want from me?
But I can’t think about them, or I’ll screw up my number.
“Break a leg,” Faye says as I lift my chin and strut to the stage.
Whispers wind around me, and I hear my stage name among them. I feel like I’m hovering one foot above ground, and not only because of my heels. I always feel like that before a show. I both enjoy and dread it.
I used to throw up before every performance. It’s better now. Though the boss is making me more nervous by the day. I’m afraid he expects more from me.
And I’m afraid I’ll give in for the promise of cash, cash I need.
As I twirl around the pole, doing my thing, giving the audience the sexy kitten act they crave, I manage to empty my head, let the worries go. It’s a temporary reprieve, and I embrace the quiet in my mind, letting the music fill it instead. The faces below me blur, the boundaries between reality and dream vanish.
In this dream, everything is bright and perfect, and I’m twirling with my brother, running through fields, diving into lakes. Everything’s resolved.
And then he is replaced by Sawyer and the pack, and I lose my rhythm. I blink and there they are, yanked out of my dream and thrust into reality, leaning forward in their seats, their eyes sharp on me.
Thankfully, the music winds to a stop, and I try to catch my breath. It’s impossible. It’s more than the dance. It’s their presence and what comes next.
Because like clockwork, Archer is up on his feet, waving the money in his hand again, calling for me to join them.
He’s the first to call out. The amount of bills in his hand is impressive. What am I supposed to do?
I manage to climb down from the stage without falling and breaking my neck, my face too hot, my heart pounding. The other customers grumble when I head toward him.
I know my boss is watching. But Archer’s wad of money is bigger than the others’. And he was the first, holding the money up before I even stopped dancing.
This is business, right? What does the boss expect me to do?
What do I expect me to do? Ignore them? Walk away? Go with another patron? Just the thought of anyone but them touching me makes me gag. I did my mini lap dances for customers before, like I said, but now that I’ve danced for this pack and Sawyer, being so close to anyone else makes my skin crawl.
Insanity, I think as I stalk toward them. This is insanity.
And Sawyer… His face is set in hard lines.
I pretended not to know him at the library.
I thought I’d never see him again.
He’s upset. Justifiably so. I’ve been awful, but my secret… it’s not really mine to give, and without telling them the truth, I don’t know how to be around them.
How to be around anyone, much less people I feel so attracted to.
They watch me as I reach them, eyes blazing, their handsome faces tight with intent, hands clenched on the back of their chairs, or on their muscular thighs. Their entire being blazes with arousal, interest, attention.
They don’t know me, don’t know my backstory or my present life. They only see this version of me—this, and the quiet bookworm—and they may think this is it. If only… I’m high maintenance, and nobody in their right mind would want me to hang around if they knew it all.
Roman beckons, leaning back in his chair, and I approach him first. Sawyer is glaring daggers at me so I guess I won’t be dancing for him tonight? Why is he here, if he’s so upset, anyway?
Now Roman has his head tipped back, watching me from under long dark lashes, his mouth turned up in a lazy smirk. He looks like a debauched concubine from a fantasy brothel, his sleeveless top, black with silver designs, gaping at the sides, allowing glimpses of his muscled torso. His arms are finally muscled, too, multiple leather bands around his wrists.
I wonder how they allowed him in, dressed like this?
He shifts as I dance in front of him, shaking my booty, and mutters something under his breath. His gaze moves over me, heated.
He smells of arousal, dark and musky.
I dance my way over to Kyrian, swing my hips and toss my hair, and he watches, his hands clenched into fists, his gray eyes turning darker by the second. He’s powerful, sitting there as if on a throne, and I’m an exotic dancer brought in from faraway lands to please him. He’s a wolf king, a Viking warrior with a penchant for small, wild-hair girls, I decide.
What’s the matter with me? I’ve never created stories about the men I’m dancing for before. Fantasies.
He growls low when I step closer, between his muscular thighs, and his scent is heavier than Roman’s. An alpha’s arousal, layered with notes of cured leather and tobacco.
I dance away from him, even as I know he wouldn’t touch me without permission, all that coiled strength and tension hauled back, kept in check. Wait a minute, I trust him? Now that’s a revelation.
I trust all four of them, I realize, as I stalk up to Archer and resume my dance routine, my mind whirling. I’m used to men—and some women—trying to grope me as I dance, thinking that their money buys them access to everything I am, especially alphas who tend to lose control, or just assume everything belongs to them.
These men, though… all of them strong, even Sawyer could overpower me if he wished to… they wouldn’t. I know it in the marrow of my bones.
And yet I long to test that control, poke and press until they break, until they show me how much they want me, how far they are willing to go…
I jerk back as Archer leans forward. What the hell am I thinking? What am I doing?
But he only whispers, “Did you find the message?”
I’m panting—from exertion, from confusion. “What message?”
“The message I placed with the money I gave you the last time. Didn’t you unfold the bills?”
“No, they’re still in a wad inside my purse.”
He blinks—and what right do these hulking men have to own such long lashes over such pretty eyes, huh? “Are you serious?”
“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”
Suddenly, he tips his head back and laughs. It’s low, and dark, and delicious. And kind of unhinged.
“What?” I demand, my dance forgotten. I put my hands on my waist. “What’s so funny?”
“What’s going on?” Sawyer asks, suddenly interested. Well, okay, that’s unfair, he’s been undressing me with his eyes since I exited the dressing room, but at the same time, he’s kept that glare going until now.
“Nothing,” Archer says, wiping at his mouth. “Just check the bills, honey.”
“I don’t accept propositions,” I say haughtily, even as my heart races—because from them, God save me, I so would. “Especially in writing.”
“Especially in…?” This seems to set him off again. “I see.”
“Do you?”
“You’re killing me,” he says.
With a glare for him, I move to Sawyer. “Did you want a lap dance, too?”
I didn’t mean it to come out as sharp. They are paying customers. The boss could have my ass for this. In fact, he is watching, like always, from the back of the club, his gaze cold and slimy on the back of my neck. I resist the urge to scratch at the spot.
“What I want…” Sawyer hesitates, and from up close, right here and now, his eyes look very green and wide, no hint of anger in them. “It’s just…”
Roman leans over and slaps his arm. “Tell her, Say.”
“Say?” I repeat.
“Ignore him,” Sawyer says. “Nobody calls me that. Thing is…” He seems to shake himself out of a daze. Reaching behind him, he pulls out a rectangular… package. No, wait, is that a book?
“What is this?” I whisper.
“It’s yours,” he says. “You left it at the café the other day. This time I remembered to bring it and give it to you.”
The book I wanted to read. The book he got for me. I stare at it, afraid to think what it means that he brought it here. Is it a good or a bad thing? Does he really want me to have it, or is he ridding himself of any trace of my presence in his café?
He holds it out for me. Wordlessly, I take it.
Then something else happens: he smiles. It’s faint and uncertain, but now I know, I know why he brought me the book, and I smile back.
“Sawyer,” I whisper, clutching the book to my chest. “Thank you.”
“Couldn’t leave you without your favorite fantasy men,” he says.
But I am standing in the presence of my favorite fantasy men. My heart is still thudding way too fast; my cheeks are on fire. Can’t he read my mind? Read my heart?
Something flickers in his bright gaze, and his eyes widen again. Maybe he does read my mind, he does feel it.
Before he can say anything more, though, a familiar, hated voice comes from behind me.
“Baby Doll,” my boss says. “If you’re done with the gentlemen, come here.”
I’m nowhere near done with them—though I should be—and this is all too confusing. “But?—”
“I have another job for you.” He nods at my men. “Gentlemen. If you don’t mind. I’ve promised her to a friend of mine for the rest of the evening.”
Wait a sec. My men? And what’s my boss saying? The rest of the evening?
“Promised her?” Archer’s voice is low and dangerous. “To whom?”
“For a lap dance,” my boss says smoothly, “of course. To a business associate of mine. You understand, I’m sure. A pretty gift makes for a good partnership.”
“You can tell your partner that she isn’t coming.” Archer’s voice has dropped even lower, to a deep growl. “She’s with us.”
“Excuse me?” My boss glowers, an ugly expression. “You got your lap dance. You can’t monopolize my dancers all evening. I pay them good money. They work for me.”
All my men—not yours, Brin—are on their feet now, stepping between me and my boss, a wall of hard muscles, chiseled jaws, and pure hostility.
“She doesn’t belong to you,” Kyrian says.
“She’s not your slave,” Roman adds. “You can’t just throw her at your friends for fun.”
Oh, God.
“Please, don’t,” I whisper. I think I’m going to throw up. “I need this job. Please?—”
Archer takes out another wad of money. Passes it to my boss. “She goes home tonight.”
I’m so scared. Scared of what my boss had planned for tonight, scared I won’t have a job tomorrow. Scared of how much I like these men standing up for me, being so protective, how that possessiveness is something I should never want or expect, and yet here I am, my head full of light.
“Fine,” my boss says after a long pause and takes the money. “Enjoy her, gentlemen. But she still works for me, and will be here tomorrow. Think about that before you get any ideas.”
Kyrian is growling deep inside his throat, and so is Archer, I realize.
My main thought is—I still have a job. One thing less to worry about.
When did my life become so complicated?
As soon as my boss walks away, I start toward my dressing room, the book still clutched to my chest.
“Brin,” Sawyer calls after me. “Where are you going?”
I stop and look at him over my shoulder. “I’m going home,” I whisper. I hate feeling scared. I hate feeling this place isn’t safe for me anymore. “It’s fine.”
“Is he going to be a problem?” He nods at my boss who is now talking to some customers.
“No. You shouldn’t have gotten involved. I’m okay.”
He spears me with that intense gaze of his. “Are you leaving now?”
“Yeah, I’m just gonna grab my stuff,” I whisper, my actions contradicting my bravado from moments ago.
“We’ll take you home.”
“No,” I say. “I’m going alone.”
The guys exchange glances.
This has to stop, this… having them here, at my place of work, acting all overprotective and caring. It’s a terrible idea.
“We’ll wait until you’re out of here,” Roman says.
And I’m annoyed that I’m so grateful. I’m not used to men looking out for me. Anyone looking out for me, for that matter. It’s both amazing and nerve-racking because I can’t get used to it. Can’t trust it.
“He wouldn’t…” I lick dry lips. “He wouldn’t force me into anything. He pays for anything extra he has me do.”
“But you don’t want this.” He gives me a long, searching look. “Do you? Do you want these extras?”
“I need the money,” I whisper.
“Girl…”
“You should go home.” I nod at the exit. “I don’t want bodyguards.”
Their brows draw together.
“But—” Roman starts.
“I’m staying,” Sawyer says, always so stubborn. “I’ll walk you home. We need to talk.”
I press my lips together and march to my dressing room, but he follows me. I sit in front of the mirror and shove the book into my bag. Nobody else is inside.
When he stops at the door, I sigh. With nobody else in here, the fear returns—and so does the longing to stand close to Sawyer again, feel his warmth, smell his delicious scent, feel that sense of belonging he wakes in me.
As if he really likes me. As if he would really like to have me by his side.
“Brin,” he says quietly. “Let me walk you home. Please. I’d feel better knowing you got home okay.”
And my last defenses crumble. They took a good hammering tonight. I think of my brother, of how he doesn’t want me telling our problems to anyone, how he’d like me to be safe, how worried he’d be if he knew what I’m doing for money.
My thoughts clash and collide.
I don’t say no. I should. I want Sawyer to stay, because I’m scared.
But also because I want him to come home with me.
He takes a step inside, and my breath leaves me at his proximity. “Shall I go?” he asks quietly, his gaze on my mouth. “I only wanted to escort you home. I hope you’re not afraid of me.”
So old-fashioned for a nerdy, modern omega like him. Then again, nerdy can mean old-fashioned sometimes. Fantasy is about old customs and courtesy.
“I’m not,” I say. “You don’t need to do this.”
“But I’d love to.”
“Are you sure?”
“Never been more sure in my life.”
“We’ll have to take the bus.” If I throw enough obstacles in his way, he’ll turn tail and leave, right?
“The bus it is,” he agrees.
“I live kind of far from here. It will take a while to get there.”
“I have time.”
I swallow hard. Get up from my stool. “I need to change.”
He blinks, his gaze moving over my body. Then his brows go up. “Oh, right. I’ll wait for you outside.”
I shouldn’t take him home with me, to my humble little apartment, to my weird little life. Shouldn’t want the other three to join us, although I told them to leave.
But tonight has gone off the rails and I should have seen it coming from the start…