16. Collins
Chapter 16
Collins
T ank’s eyes flick to my shoulder for a second before coming back to my face. “Get to room three. Four lap dances. They paid a lot of fuckin’ money for you and you’re going to deliver. They want to snort coke off your tits? You deliver. They want a happy ending? You fuckin’ deliver , or we’ll be having a chat. Feel me?”
“Tank, if Star can’t dance, then maybe I can?—”
“I didn’t ask your fuckin’ opinion, Brandi. Get your ass in my office and wait for me on my desk.” Her face flushes a bright red as she turns on her heel and leaves. Guess I know where the smell wafting off of his face is coming from, then. He turns to me once more. “Room three, Star. Now. Jett will escort you.”
I heave a long breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding once he’s out of sight then flinch at the sudden feel of something cold coming down on my shoulder, followed by Jett’s hand touching the small of my back. I look down to see a bag of ice wrapped in a paper towel resting on my shoulder. I reach up to hold it in place as we start to ascend the stairs to the private rooms.
“I’m sorry, Star.” He murmurs as we pass the first two rooms. I glance up at him and though his face is stony, giving no emotion away, I see the regret in his eyes when he looks down at me.
I place my hand on his bicep, offering him a small smile, offering reassurance I don’t feel. “Don’t be. None of this is your fault, Jett.” I reply, stopping in front of room three. Jett does a quick sweep of the room before looking down at me, his brown eyes filled with pity. I fucking hate that look.
“It’s not your fault either. I just wish—” he rakes a tattooed hand down his face. “Look, I’ll be right out here if you need me. These fuckers try to do anything you don’t want, they touch a single fucking hair on your head without your consent, just yell. I’ll fucking be there. I’ll get you out.”
Fuck, Collins, just let me get you out… Somewhere safe… With me.
All of Creed's words echo around my head at Jett’s proclamation. A wave of grief mixed with guilt swirls in my gut. There’s nothing I regret more than rejecting Creed’s offer… his plea to get me somewhere safe. I was so angry and headstrong in the moment that all I could think was that I had to do things on my own because the only person I could rely on was myself. But it was too late. I’d made my choices and now with the debts I’ve landed myself in, I believe I’ll never see Creed or Asher again.
I shake my head to try and clear it of all thoughts. Literally. I don’t like to feel anything when I have to give private dances. Their paying for my private time doesn’t feel like a job, it feels like prostitution, even when there’s no sex involved. It’s different in these rooms than it is on stage. The men are hungrier, hornier, bolder with their attempts to try and touch me without consent.
Just as Jett ushers me through the doors to get in place before the clients walk in, I rush to give him a quick hug, squeezing lightly and releasing him before he has a chance to hug me back. “Thank you, Jett. I’ll be okay. Really.”
I can tell he doesn’t believe me, but I leave him at that and close the door behind me and move behind the partition to wait for the people who paid for four private dances .
A few nerve-racking minutes later, I hear the lock to the door click open and the sounds of the hallway filter in as several sets of footsteps file into the room. I can’t see them behind the partition and the lighting has been turned down and switched to red— fucking cliché red — so low it’s nearly blacked out in the room, I can barely see my hands in front of my face, so I’m not sure I could make out their faces anyway.
Their voices all blend together as they talk excitedly over one another. I hear the leather of the couches groan when they each take a seat, now waiting for me to start the show. Before I turn on the music, I hear Jett’s low growl of a warning from across the room. “You four paid for a dance but that’s it. It doesn’t give you permission to touch her in any way, shape, or form with or without consent. You give her any trouble; your asses will be dragged from this club by whatever skin you’ve got left on your back when I’m finished with you.” A flush creeps up over my face at his protective words. There’s nothing but silence in the room before Jett barks at them, “Am I understood, gentlemen?”
A collective, “yes” rings out from the direction of the couch. Jett is a scary motherfucker who looks to be in his mid-forties and stands well over six and a half feet, with some gnarly scars scattered across his face and arms. He’s gentle as can be with the girls who work here but he can make a grown man piss himself with a few words.
The door clicks shut and my anxiety spikes a bit. Private dances never get any easier because despite Jett’s warnings, some men just don’t give a shit and I end up violated one way or another anyway before he has a chance to remove them. These reedy men steal a little more of my soul each time, leaving me feeling emptier than before.
I jump when I hear one of their voices booming across the room at me, “Don’t be shy, sweetheart! We already know how fuckin’ talented you are. We just wanna see those ti—ow, fuck , the fuck, man?!” One of the men slurs.
“Shut the fuck up, T.” Another voice says, the words deep and husky. A niggling in my brain sparks at the familiar voice .
“Jesus fucking Christ, Romano. If you don’t shut the fuck up I’m going to just let her have the money and drag your ass out of here myself, private dance be damned.” A third voice groans out, his tone raw and smoky. Pure sex.
Like, Corvin King and Teddy Hamilton had a love child and their voices melded together to create the one that just filled the space of the small, private room.
The first guy grumbles under his breath and it’s quiet for another moment before a fourth voice nearly coos over to me behind the partition, his voice a soft balm to the other chaotic voices I just heard. “I’m sorry, uh, Star. You can start whenever you’re ready… I guess.” I almost don’t hear the last words from how quietly they’re said.
Hitting play on the playlist, the slowed version of Bow by Reyn Hartley starts to play and I take a breath, filling my lungs with confidence I don’t feel and step out from behind the partition.
Four men sit in various forms of what looks like grunge-wear on the two leather couches in the opposite corner of the room. I can’t make out their faces but I can feel all of their eyes on me. Well, most of their eyes. One of them looks to be passed out drunk. Good.
I take slow, calculated steps, swaying my hips to the beat. I rake my fingers up my body, fingertips tracing my curves over my hips, up my ribs, over my breasts and up into my hair. All three conscious men sit stock still, watching. Waiting.
The groups of men—and sometimes women—who pay for dances usually verbally spar one another for the first dance. But these men, they’re letting me choose. I feel a bit lighter mentally that they’re giving me a choice.
I keep my body moving, swaying, undulating, and dipping to the beat as I scan each of the men before me. My eyes land on the one in the middle. He appears to be a little more tense than the others, and there’s an air of nervousness that surrounds him. That similarity to what I’m feeling has me approaching him first .
When I’m close enough, I drop to my hands and knees and crawl seductively towards him.
“ Fuck, ” A low voice growls beside me, but I keep my focus on the man in front of me. He sits a little straighter, now aware that I’ve chosen to dance for him first. Now kneeling between his knees, I slide my hands up his thighs, and he makes no move to touch me. I note that his hands are firmly gripping the leather cushions on either side of his knees, as if to stop himself from reaching out and touching me. It actually gives me a little more confidence to dance.
Using his thighs to push myself to a stand, I spin in my skyscraper boots to face away from him. I tip my head back toward the ceiling and circle my hips, pushing my ass back toward him. I roll my body, hands sweeping up and down before I turn to face him. His breathing has picked up with his chest rising and falling faster. I slowly climb into his lap and straddle his thighs, my hands gripping his shoulders as I sway my hips forward and back, the motion looking like I’m grinding down on him without actually touching him too intimately.
Being this close to him, I take in his features in the faint light while continuing to move for him. He seems vaguely familiar with his intentionally messy hair and dark eyes and the freckles I can just barely make out on his face. His scent washes over me as he breathes in and out and it’s shockingly… clean. Like simple soap, citrus, and mint. It’s oddly comforting. I can feel his body vibrating and trembling with nervousness, so it must be what possesses me to lean forward and whisper, my lips brushing his ear.
“You can place your hands on my hips, but don’t pull.” I pull back and his sweet, dark brown eyes lock with mine. He looks so young, maybe close to my age. His eyes volley between my own, seeking affirmation for what I just told him. Probably remembering what Jett had threatened just before I started.
I give him a small nod and I feel the featherlight touch of his calloused hands on my hips.
“Ri—” The guy sitting at the other end of the same couch warns out but I hold up a hand to the man without breaking eye contact with the one in front of me. His eyes never leave mine the entire time I dance for him. Every swish of my hips, every time I press my breasts closer to his face, every touch of my hands, his eyes stay on me and his hands never waver, never wander from where I gave him permission to touch me, save for his thumbs drawing small, comforting circles on my hips. Never pulling, never demanding more.
The song comes to an end and somehow I feel…lighter. One down.
I feel the tiniest spark of hope in my chest, like the night won’t end as the shit show I imagined it would. The hands from the first guy drop from my hips immediately and go back to gripping the cushion. I offer him a small smile before sliding down off of his lap and come to stand before them again.
The men all wait quietly and patiently as the next song begins. Who Do You Want by Ex Habit starts to play and immediately I turn toward the man who called out a warning earlier. He’s sitting in a leisurely relaxed position at the other end of the couch.
I start the sensuous choreography for the song facing away from him, bending at the hips and dragging my hands up my legs, starting at my heels and ending with my palms resting on my lower back just above my ass before slowly twisting my torso back to face him, biting my lip and winking at him.
His body is slung haphazardly on the couch, knees spread wide and arms splayed across the backrest, and his head tipped back, watching me through a half-lidded gaze. Very much emitting the energy of a king perched on his dais, and I’m the harlequin entertaining him. The song picks up in energy and I spin toward him, my moves matching the intensity of the words. I take a step closer to him and I watch his hands flex and clench into fists, his control barely in check, but still he keeps them to himself.
I move to his lap and catch the first guy shifting in his seat, his palms brushing down his thighs in a nervous gesture. It makes no sense why a guy like that would be here at this club.
I don’t even have a chance to so much as breathe over the man beneath me before my world is spinning and suddenly I’m flipped and pinned beneath his hard body. All hell breaks loose as I squeak out a nearly inaudible scream.
The door bursts open, banging off the wall at the same time the bright lights are flicked on and voices are yelling from all directions around me. My eyes lock onto the shocked, ice blue glare above me and recognition slaps me in the face and my heart nearly stops beating in my chest.
His body is ripped from mine and I know I need to take a breath, but my lungs have long forgotten that knowledge.
I watch as Jett pins him against the wall with a hand fisted in his shirt and a forearm pressing into his neck. I jump at the feel of gentle hands at my shoulders that slowly, cautiously lift me back to a sitting position.
I turn my attention from the ghost of my past to the other men in the brightly lit room. I don’t know how the hell I didn’t see them before. Because I now recognize the man who helped me—the one I danced for first— as Riley Graves. The newer drummer for Dark Sins. Passed out on the couch behind him and oblivious to the chaos surrounding him is Tony Romano, or “Ritz”, their bassist. But the massive, brooding man standing next to Riley I recognize instantly.
“Bear,” I whisper his name. His long blonde hair is pulled up into a messy bun and brows furrowed in confusion over his bright hazel eyes. It takes a second before recognition hits and his eyes widen to saucers.
“Holy shit.” Is all he says.
I can’t stop the nervous laugh that bursts from my lips.
“Star,” Jett calls out, getting my attention before I can say anything to Barrett. I turn toward him and the man he has pinned to the wall. Jett’s eyes swarm with concern. “It’s your call, sweetheart.” He says calmly. I know what he’s saying. He’ll drag each and every one of them out of here by the scruff of their necks if I told him so.
“No.” I shake my head. Swallowing past the lump in my throat and the nerves threatening to turn my legs to jelly, I push to stand and cross the room stopping just a few feet from the two men. “Can I have just a moment to speak with him?”
Jett just stares at me. I can feel his eyes boring into me, but I keep my eyes on the bouncer. Needing him to see my determination and not any of the other million emotions raging through my very being right now. “Please, Jett.”
He nods after hesitating, though it’s clear he doesn’t like it. He releases the man staring at me as though I’ll disappear if he blinks and turns to the other bandmates in the room “You two follow me.” He turns and pauses in the doorway, “And get that sack of shit off my couch before I drag him out by that cheap-ass chain hanging around his neck.”
I hear a snort and a chuckle behind me, followed by a sleepy groan. Not a word is said as they leave the room, the door clicking shut behind them. Though there are only two of us in this room now, it feels suffocating, as if all the air was sucked from it when the rest of the men left.
I take the small moment of silence to really take in the fact that the man I’ve loved for so long is finally standing before me after a fucking decade . Even though I see his face everywhere because of his fame and social status, nothing compares to being able to drink in his features in person again.
Everything about him is still so ruggedly beautiful. So familiar. From his black hair that’s now cropped shorter on the sides and longer on top, to his ice blue eyes framed by thick dark lashes, and a sharp jaw I’d fucking love to kiss and bite and lick…
Stop it.
Focus, Collins.
He looks borderline manic with emotions swirling in his eyes that volley from pain, to confusion, to realization, to…anger? It brings to surface my own pain that I felt. Still feel . From all the times I wished someone could’ve saved me from the shitty hand I was dealt in life. Wished he would save me. It was so fucking selfish and so wrong to be angry at him all this time for not taking me in when I wasn’t even his responsibility. I definitely didn’t have a right to be angry when he begged me to let him save me two years ago and I shut him out.
Damn stupid pride. Look where that got me.
Swallowing down past the lump in my throat, I take a tentative step closer to him, closing in the distance between us. With every step, his nostrils flare and his chest heaves faster with heavy breaths, but he doesn’t stop me.
I don’t stop until we’re toe to toe, and I wrap my arms around his strong torso, and I hug him for the first time in ten years. It’s as if I can feel the crack in his hardened fa?ade as his arms snake around me in answer, one gripping around my shoulders while the other presses into my lower back. His fingers flex and grip me tighter when I bury my nose in his neck and whisper his name.
“ Creed .”