Chapter Eight
Chloe
The only available pole was the one directly in front of Zane’s booth. I swallowed hard. Of course it would be.
He was still distracted by the woman on his lap, the one now using her lips to tease his ear and part of me hoped she kept going just so he wouldn’t look up…
For years, I’d been grabbed, slapped, forced to my knees, kissed and never allowed to say no. And now this, and somehow, this felt worse. I didn’t know why it bothered me so much, but this wasn’t how I wanted him to see me. For once, I just wanted a man to see me for more than glitter and legs.
I forced myself to breathe, to focus, not looking at the crowd, refusing to look at him. But the moment my fingers curled around the cool metal of the pole, I felt him. Like a phantom touch licking my skin in distant places, I knew his eyes were on me.
As the music started—playing ‘Good Girl’ by IAN—the dancers at the other poles began.
I followed their lead, rolling my hips to the slow, sultry rhythm until my entire body was moving like a snake, each roll hitting the beat with perfect precision.
My fingers trailed up my stomach, teasing the thin fabric before gliding over my collarbone.
When the beat dropped, my hand shot out, fingers snapping, following the beat—just like the others.
The five of us were so in sync that the whole performance could easily be mistaken for a Pussycat Dolls show.
I stepped toward the pole next, gripping it with one hand, my back arching, letting my hair spill behind. My thighs pressed against the pole, and I lifted myself, holding myself there just long enough for the men to admire the view.
Then the beat shifted, and we dropped again.
My body slid down the pole like honey dripping from a spoon.
Every muscle burned from the controlled descent, but I didn’t let it show.
I landed on my knees, letting my legs spread just enough to make their jaws slacken, before I shifted, turning, flipping my hair over one shoulder.
My palms hit the floor before pushing up onto all fours, crawling forward.
The final number was always the most anticipated of the night.
It only included the most experienced dancers, the ones Bruce refused to sell, no matter how high the price.
The ones he liked to parade but never hand over.
His most forbidden fruit. It was the infinite chase, men loved to fantasize over something they could never have.
Every move was choreographed in absurd detail.
I’d watched it a million times, practiced it another ton in case I needed to cover for someone like today, but it was the first time of actually doing it for a crowd and tonight, my presence was enough to lure every eye in the room.
It made them lean in, jump from their seats, curious to know who the new girl on stage was, pulling the type of attention I’d been avoiding for years.
Back on my knees, my fingers toyed with the strap of my bra, dragging it down my shoulder, following the rhythm of the music in a torturous act.
The tension thickened, filled with anticipation and testosterone.
Then, when they thought I’d give them what they wanted, I stopped. We didn’t need to strip during this number since the material of the lingerie was already transparent enough to leave nothing to the imagination.
We marched to our assigned poles again in sync, hands gripping the metal, bodies dropping once before spinning.
Air rushed past me as I twisted, my legs wrapping tightly around the pole.
I swung out, weightless for a heartbeat before hooking my knee, arching back, my hair nearly brushing the floor.
It looked effortless. It had to look effortless.
The bass thumped in my chest, vibrating through my skin. I used the momentum to flip, catching myself in a controlled spin before landing back on my feet, rolling my hips as I stood. Then, my gaze collided with his for the first time since stepping on stage.
The brunette still draped over him, trying everything she could to bring his attention back to her, pressing against him, whispering into his ear.
But Zane wasn’t interested. He only had eyes for me, and I could feel them like a brand on my skin. His knuckles were tense around the crystal glass in his hand.
Good.
Let him burn.
His fury injected on me an unexpected charge of confidence, and I turned, dragging my fingers through my hair before tossing it back in a sharp whip.
The music shifted, the beat deepening, I sank into a smooth drop, my hands sliding down my thighs as I arched. My back was bending like a serpent, lips parting in a sinful smirk.
Zane didn’t move, but his jaw tensed. He watched me the entire time, absorbing it all as if wanting to remember it for later, his eyes so fixed it almost turned hostile.
The music was coming to an end, my legs wrapped around the pole as I pushed into what I knew would be the final spin.
But that was when she kissed him.
Hungrily.
And he did nothing to stop it.
His fingers tangled into her hair, pulling her head as he kissed her like he was feeding from her, drinking in every sound, every bit of pleasure she was willing to give him. His eyes were open, never leaving mine as if daring me to watch.
My hand missed the pole during my descent, and I gasped. My palms hit the glassy floor just in time to stop my face from meeting the same fate. My ass was up in the air, and I knew if I stood up quickly, no one would notice it wasn’t part of the performance.
But I couldn’t move.
My head stayed low, breaths uneven, staring at the thin space between the stage and Zane’s table, knowing if I lifted my face now, he’d see me, all of me, every crack, every fault, every insecurity, every piece I didn’t want him to have.
My vision blurred and tilted, until it focused on a hand appearing in my line of sight, illuminated by the red, pink, and purple lights. I looked up, meeting the eyes of the man I’d been avoiding all night.
“When you get knocked down, you get back up again.” Although everything around us was loud, his words were clear as only the two of us were in the room. “That’s the secret, Chloe.”
I took his hand, using it to steady myself back to my feet just as the music cut out and the dancers began walking offstage. I didn’t thank him or looked back before following the girls to the other side of the curtain.
Only once I was safely away from those haunting eyes, I stared down at my hand, still tingling, still holding onto that hot electric sensation he’d left pulsing there.
Back in my waitress uniform, I slipped behind the bar, counting the minutes. One more hour. One more hour, and I could go home and crawl into bed, pretending tonight had never happened.
My hands moved on autopilot, stacking glasses, wiping the counter, anything to keep my mind from drifting, but my eyes kept scanning around, searching for him in the crowd.
But Zane wasn’t in his booth, nor anywhere else. Even the girls and the men who’d been with him had vanished. He was gone.
“C!”
I spun around at the voice calling me and nearly collided with Shontel. “Good job on stage tonight, by the way. You were hot,” she cheered.
“Thanks… Uhm, is everything okay?” I asked, sensing the way she was rushing her words felt off.
“Oh, right,” she said, her tone turning grimmer. “There’s a guy in the private room waiting for you. Bruce wants you to serve him; apparently, he’s paying a good bill to have you.”
“What?” My stomach lurched violently. It was my worst nightmare.
All those years of doing whatever I could to stay off the radar, destroyed in one night.
Because of him. Because of him, Bruce punished me for whatever he thought he saw on the camera the other night.
“I’ve never done that! I’m not—I’m not one of those girls…
” my voice cracked, immediately ashamed for even saying it aloud.
“I know, babe,” Shontel sighed.
My pulse pounded. Could it be Zane? Would he really go through this to talk with me in private?
“Do you know what he looks like?”
I didn’t know what was wrong with me for even considering going to the sex room with this guy. But if it was him, I had a feeling sex wouldn’t be what he was looking for.
“No, sorry. Bruce just sent me to get you,” she said, twirling a strand of her strawberry blonde hair around her finger. “Be careful, and good luck, baby girl.”
I crossed behind the bar, slipped past the curtain, and entered the hallway leading to the private VIP doors. The music from the main floor fading with every step I took. The walls were darker here and my heartbeat suddenly felt too loud in my ears.
I stopped in front of the door Shontel had pointed out, my hand hovering over the handle. A cold shiver crawled up my spine like a last warning, adding to the thousand ones I’d ignored all night. I hesitated before gingerly pushing the door open.
The dimly lit room smelled of expensive cologne and cigars. Three men lounged on the red leather couch; all dressed in black and none of them was Zane.
Something was wrong.
I took a slow step back, ready to bolt, when the chilling sound of a gun cocking set me into survival mode. A fourth man, one I hadn’t noticed at first, emerged from my side and pressed a gun to my temple. His grip was firm, forcing me further inside the room, kicking the door shut behind us.