Chapter 7
HATCH
My knee bounces like it’s a rocket ship readying for takeoff, and I resist the urge to get up and pace the booth.
As soon as Lucy’s question dripped from her full, glossy lips, the lights went out, and the bouncer was at my side in a blink.
Like literally a blink. This place is trippy as fuck, maybe something was in my Coke after all, but one minute Lucy was in front of me on stage, then bam, she’s gone and the executioner is at my side telling me to come with him.
He led me to this booth, telling me Alice would be with me shortly and not so subtly reminding me of the “no touching” rule. After he closed the curtain behind me, I settled into the leather seats.
While the booth itself is small, the semicircle of black leather seating is big enough for three dudes to sit, so I’m quite comfortable stretching out, splaying my arms across the back, and spreading my legs wide. The picture of calm—aside from the whole NASA-launch-under-my-right-kneecap thing.
My pulse skyrockets when Lucy appears, pulling back the curtain and giving me a little smile as she steps inside.
I smile back, but she doesn’t see since she’s already turned to close the curtain.
Once she’s sealed us off from the world, the light above me flickers to red, bathing us in dark crimson.
My gaze lifts to the now-red wire cage sconce.
I’m sure there’s a camera hidden in there, like the rest that I saw outside.
What angle does it have? Straight down would provide more damning information over customers, but I’m not sure if this Castle guy is in the business of blackmail, voyeurism, or what his schtick is.
Blackmail would mean straight down with all the focus on the patron.
Voyeur would be a slight angle on the dancer.
Fuck, it better not be that. If there’s footage of Lucy out there in the digital ether, heads will fucking roll.
I make a mental note, adding “steal all footage of Lucy” to my to-do list, moving it up above finding out “who the fuck is Castle” and “what the fuck does he want.”
Barely resisting the urge to smile at the camera, I pretend to rest the back of my head on the seat, like I can’t wait for Alice to suck my cock. Which, would be fucking great, if I wasn’t trying to keep my distance.
Hooold up…
This was a bad idea… wasn’t it?
Shit.
I was originally hoping just to get Lucy away from that dirty frogman out there. And, of course, before that, this was meant to be a simple recon mission.
Now that I’m in this small space with her… I might be in over my head. I don’t have self-restraint on a good day, let alone with a beautiful woman who, for all intents and purposes, should be mine.
What the fuck am I doing?
Shit. Shit. Shit. And shit again.
Dash always gets onto me about my inability to think ahead when I’m too close to a situation.
I’m actually strategic as fuck—my brothers know that—but he’s right that when I have a one-track mind, I do have impulse issues.
And adrenaline issues. Then there’s the fact that I’m selfish, headstrong, possessive…
Jesus Christ. Hopefully I don’t fuck this up more than I already have.
I briefly lift my mask to swipe one hand down my face and rub my eyes, dry from all the smoke here.
I’ll get this dance, maybe use the opportunity to talk to her a little, sus out this situation she’s in.
Then I’ll be on my merry way to ask Dash to hack into The Rabbit Hole’s CCTV system, add cams to wherever she’s staying, and watch her from afar.
Yes. That’s what I’ll do. Easy peasy. No big deal.
I blow out a breath and return to my easy posture in an attempt to keep Lucy relaxed. The last thing dancers need is for some twitchy guy to start acting cagey.
She’s not paying a lick of attention to me, though, looking up at the red light. If I didn’t think there were cameras inside it before, I definitely would now. The girl’s staring at the Edison bulb like it’s a brand-new invention. Or at least, like she hasn’t seen the one above us change before.
Weird. I assumed that’s how they show a booth is taken. You’d think she’d be used to it by now.
Her posture curls in as she crosses her arms over her naked waist, idly itching her elbow. The music changes in the club, “Devil’s Den” by DEELYLE, but it’s just as loud in here, vibrating the leather under me.
Lucy exhales slowly and finally meets my eyes with a plastic grin. My right brow rises, scratching the pointed stud there against the mask covering my expression.
Fuck, the masks have gotta be unnerving for the dancers, right?
Not being able to see what a patron is thinking, or anticipate what they’re gonna do?
Take me, for example. Lucy doesn’t know who I am, or that I’m here to make sure she stays safe doing whatever the fuck it is she’s doing here on Wander Isle.
To her, I’m just a six-foot-five stranger in this small, dark room with a five-foot-four girl in break-neck high heels—
For the first time, I realize just how imposing I am right now. Christ, I took up the entire booth as soon as I sat down like I own the goddamn place.
I slowly wind myself up like fishing line, resting my hands on my lap and closing my legs a smidge. The effect on Lucy is instant, and her shoulders relax a fraction, making me feel like an absolute dick.
Under the scarlet haze, she looks a little nervous, more exhausted than tired.
Like she had a fine night sleeping last night but she’s stressed out over where to put her head too many times recently—or maybe I’m making shit up because I know her situation already.
The thing that puts me most on edge, though, is that she looks ready to flee at the drop of a hat.
Who hurt you, baby?
I bite my tongue to stop myself from asking the question, and just… wait.
Finally, she inhales once. Exhales again, and the sultry smile she had on stage is back.
“One dance. And remember…” she purrs as she prowls over.
Then she bends over me, placing her hands on either side of my head and putting her mouthwatering tits within sucking distance.
I don’t register she’s whispering until her breath flutters the hair curling around my ears.
“No touching. That’s for VIP only, baby. ”
Then she fucking licks my neck.
Well shit.
My cock is at full mast instantly. She pushes off the back of the seat, smirking at me, no doubt finding my dropped jaw completely hilarious.
Her hair flips as she turns around to start her dance, then she lifts one arm toward the ceiling while dragging her fingers down the soft inside with the other.
I subtly adjust so the tip of my cock hides behind my waistband rather than piercing a damn hole in my zipper. Then I fist my hands at my sides because there ain’t no fucking way my impulsive ass is gonna be able to keep my hands off my wife when she does shit like that.
“Did you like the dance?” she asks, not looking at me.
“You know I did,” I answer, letting my desire heat my voice. I can’t help it. If this is the closest I can get to her, I’m going to milk it for all its worth.
She hums and laughs lightly. “Lots of guys come in for a show. To relax or to fantasize… business, pleasure. Which one are you, Hatter?” Her eyes glance over her shoulder, and the hair on the back of my nick pricks.
Awful chatty, never been to a chatty strip club. The good thing is, the more she talks, the more I can sus her out. The bad thing… I feel like she’s doing the same.
“Little bit of everything I suppose.”
She turns and places her hands on my knees.
Fire ignites from the touch, shooting straight to my cock, and I suck in a breath and try not to drool all over her tits as they nearly spill out of her costume.
She grins, then strokes her hands up my body to rest on my shoulders.
She dips in to ask, and I grind my teeth.
“Didn’t see you with anyone out there, though. What business do you have all by yourself, hm?”
“My own,” I mutter under her intoxicating scent.
She spins away, and I take a breath so she can stop clouding my judgment more than it already is.
My mind swims with lust and need. I swallow and blink to see her in front of me again.
A look I can’t figure out flashes over her face before she faces away from me and continues to dance with the beat.
“Interesting. What business is that? You can tell me. Anything that happens in this booth, stays in this booth.”
She tosses a wink at me as her hips sway to the music, her body the perfect height to fit the neon red queen of hearts outline on the curtain behind her.
“Fitting,” I murmur.
“Hmm? What’d you say?” she asks, bending over at her waist to wiggle her ass in the air.
My head tilts to the side, taking in the delicious curve of her thighs.
“Queen of Hearts,” I answer mindlessly, focusing on the bows on the back of her thighs. “It’s fitting.”
Fuck, I want to unwrap those bows with my teeth before sticking my tongue between her thighs—
“What’d you just say?” Her voice is sharp as she turns on her heels.
I blink, focusing on her neutral expression, that absolutely does not fit the way her chest rapidly rises up and down.
“Uh, what?” I ask, trying to figure out why she’s looking at me like that. Backing away…
“Why is the queen of hearts… fitting?” she asks carefully.
I remember exactly why that was bad to say just as she takes another step back.
Oh no you don’t, little queen.
I catch her hand before she can turn away, and static electricity sparks between us, but I don’t let go… and neither does she. She stops in her tracks, not pulling away.
She feels it too.