Chapter 15
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
Darby
One wrong move and Brad’s cock would go straight up my ass, and I’d have no one to blame but myself.
I was halfway through my shift and more than halfway through the bottle of champagne that now sloshed in my gut.
The rest of it was on me, slicking my skin after the bachelor party crowd who’d booked the VIP suite for the night decided to douse me in it.
Since they paid for the privilege, I let it slide, filling up on cash and champagne and getting richer, prettier, and more forgiving by the moment.
That was how I ended up straddling Brad’s thighs, wiggling my hips every so often so he remembered I was there.
The thin strap of my thong and the pleated front of his slacks let his erection slot between my ass cheeks.
I could clench and grind and milk him right here in front of all his buddies, then leave cum in his pants as a souvenir from his last night as a single man.
He was drunk too, with his thumbs hooked around my garter belt and his fingers digging into my hips. Pinning me down, and I was allowing it. For now.
While he enjoyed my warmth in his lap, I was enjoying the show.
Downstairs, the twins were onstage, two-stepping while crooning “Head Over Boots.” The song was not part of their usual set, so Colt must have slipped it in last minute.
He’d grabbed Callum by the waist mid-chorus and turned their routine into a slow dance.
Callum laughed as Colt dipped him low then hauled him back up so they were chest to chest.
After catching Callum sneaking glances at Rush last week, seeing him back in Colt’s orbit was a relief. The two of them were generally so close they might as well have been conjoined.
“Hey.” Brad’s voice rumbled behind my ear. His fingers kneaded my stomach until I looked over my shoulder at him. “Don’t leave me hanging, sweetheart. I’m not paying you to daydream.”
I gave him a slow blink then rolled my body until he shuddered.
The suite was packed to capacity with twelve college-aged boys shoved in elbow to elbow.
They piled on top of each other and across the cushions that were worn to threads where too many asses had ground into them.
Mirrors along the walls captured every movement, and the air was thick with the smells of smoke, old booze, and the sour tang of sex.
Overhead, a chandelier swagged low. Its yellowish bulbs gave everything a syrupy glow, making flushed skin look fevered and sweat gleam. Clients liked that vibe—it let them pretend they were kings instead of middle-aged men with expense accounts and something to prove.
Or, in the case of tonight’s crowd, a rowdy fraternity who waved cash around and then placed bets about what I would do to earn it.
Brad snapped my garter belt, demanding my attention as he leaned back in the oversized chair and spread his legs. I let him shift me, my palms sliding to his knees and my spine arching as his cockhead prodded me through the thin barrier of his pants.
“That’s better,” he rasped while the other guys cheered from across the room.
Colt’s sappy love song wasn’t giving me much to work with in the way of ambiance. Maybe time for another hit of champagne.
Pinpointing one of the gawkers, I crooked a finger to beckon him closer.
“You wanna bring that over here, honey?” My eyes darted to the bottle on the pole table. “Add a little gas to the tank.”
The other guy stood and staggered over with the champagne dangling from his fingertips. When I reached for it, he yanked it back with a lopsided grin.
“Lemme see that tongue, Lucky.”
“Luxe,” I corrected, sanding the edge of irritation off my voice.
He waited, blinking glassy eyes until I obeyed, parting my lips and lolling my tongue out in a languid tease.
Brad’s buddies hooted like I’d performed a trick, then egged me on as I held the pose. The one with the bottle tipped it toward my mouth, a slow and sloppy showman. Champagne streamed over my tongue, down my chin, and soaked my chest all over again.
The room howled. Brad’s laughter tangled in the ruckus as his hands clamped down, locking me in place while he thrust gracelessly against my backside.
“Atta boy,” he growled.
My nails dug into his knees as I dragged my tail across the back of his neck. His friends started chanting, feet stomping out a rhythm that rattled the chandelier and shook the floor.
Every gaze belonged to me, and so did every dollar they’d brought as long as I kept them entertained.
So I smiled, tilted my head back, and let the last drops of champagne trickle down my throat while Brad rutted against me like a dog humping a leg.
He was reaching around, grabbing blindly for my cock, when everything died.
The music cut off, the lights snapped out, and sudden darkness pressed in on all sides.
For the space of a breath, there was nothing but silence and Brad’s ragged panting in my ear.
Then uproar broke like a dam bursting.
Screams.
Shattering glass.
Feet pounded and bodies slammed into furniture as panic swept the suite. Brad yelped and threw me off his lap, launching me face first into the void. I hit the floor and scrambled on my hands and knees, blind and helpless against the rush of people storming past.
I found the pole table and curled beneath it with my knees to my chest and my tail coiled while the stampede thundered around me.
In seconds, the VIP suite was empty, and I was alone.
I still heard heavy breathing, but now it was my own gasps too harsh in my ears. Slowly, I stretched out, hands slipping on spilled champagne as I pushed upright. My knees ached from the fall, and my vision blurred. I sucked in a breath, trying to piece myself back together.
Something hummed, distant and metallic, and the auxiliary lights illuminated the main floor below.
Chaos raged, but in small bursts now rather than all-consuming.
The stage was empty, but the audience was a tangle.
Colette carved through the crowd at an unholy speed, corralling customers like a sheepdog with her flock.
Mercer braced against the tide, shouting over the noise as he steered stragglers toward the side exits.
Shoving myself to standing, I swayed then caught myself against the pole. The room tilted, and liquor rushed to my head as the adrenaline burned off.
You should be down there.
The thought cut through the haze.
You’re the manager. You have a job to do. You’re needed.
My chest constricted, and I dragged a shaky hand down my face. I was exposed, which didn’t usually bother me, but now I felt the urge to hide. The impulse to disappear into the dark clashed against the pull in my gut to move, to help, to do something.
It was just a power outage, and I wasn’t scared of the dark.
I cast another glance at the lower level. The initial wave had thinned into streams of stragglers, but there was still work to be done.
With another steadying breath, I moved. My stockinged feet crunched on glass as I headed toward the stairs.
The descent was treacherous with each tread pitching under me thanks to the liquor pickling my brain. When I reached the ground floor intact and upright, gratitude left me weak with relief.
The last of the customers staggered toward the doors, spurred on by Colette’s barking commands while Mercer brought up the rear.
I’d barely cleared the final step when Colette’s head snapped up.
“Darby!” she called. Relief softened her snarl for half a second, then she waved to her fellow bouncer. “He’s over here, mon grand.”
Mercer turned and caught sight of me hovering at the stairs’ edge. He shouldered past a dazed customer and crossed the floor in three strides, a force of muscle and urgency.
“You okay?” His hand landed on my arm. “You take a hit? You look pale.”
How could he tell?
My mouth opened, but the words knotted up, useless. I swallowed then croaked, “I’m fine. Just fell.” I forced myself to stand a little straighter and searched the floor, looking for familiar faces.
“Where are the boys?” I asked.
Mercer jerked his chin toward the vacant stage. “They’re in the dressing room. I can walk you.”
I frowned. “To the dressing room?” It was impossible to keep the incredulity out of my tone.
Mercer nodded, and I shook my head.
“I want to help.”
His eyes raked over me—assessing in a way that made my skin prickle. I followed his gaze. I was shiny under the emergency lights, nearly naked, and my hair was probably sticking out in every direction. Heat rose to my face as I tried in vain to smooth my curls.
Mercer reached out to catch an unruly strand and twine it neatly around the spiral of my horn.
The unexpected touch froze me, and him too, judging by the way his eyes widened when they met mine.
His throat bobbed, and he pulled back both hands at once like he’d touched fire. “I’d feel better if you sat this out. Colette and I are clearing the place and closing up. Not sure when the power’s coming back on.”
“It’s not.”
The statement preceded Beck emerging from the back hallway. After watching the club empty in a flood, it was jarring to see someone enter. His suit looked untouched and sharp as ever, and his yellow eyes blazed through the darkness. “Not tonight, anyway. The line’s been cut.”
Mercer’s head snapped toward him. “Cut? Are you serious?”
“Unfortunately.”
I didn’t question it. Didn’t doubt it either, because I’d seen the damage already done, and a part of me had known it was bound to escalate.
“Mazzy?” I asked, my voice thin.
Beck came to a stop before us, and his mouth pursed in a humorless smile. “He didn’t sign anything this time, but that would be my guess. I put in a call to the police. Not that they can do much.”
“More like won’t,” I muttered bitterly.
The truth hung heavy in the pause. The LVPD had been turning a blind eye for years, keeping their hands clean of the demon-angel mess. They ignored half the 9-1-1 calls that came from our side of town, letting trouble roll by and skipping patrols altogether.