Chapter 7 #2
The crowd surged ever louder, riotous enough to drag my attention from my spiraling thoughts.
Voices soared over the music, arms thrust out and up, and bodies crushed closer.
One pair of hands separated from the rest, followed by a figure trying to climb up the raised edge of the stage.
The person reached out, fingers splayed, making a swiping grab for Hemlock.
Hemlock didn’t notice. Mid-routine, he was fully extended from the pole and braced on one arm. His legs swung out, set on a collision course with the customer’s hopeful hand.
It was imminent, unavoidable, and I was on my feet in a second. The bolting movement caused my leg to twist in the cup of my prosthesis, but I recovered enough to take one staggered step before the customer caught Hemlock’s ankle in a halting grip.
With a sudden, violent yank, the dancer was pulled off balance. His body swung wildly, free leg kicking and tail lashing as momentum carried him down. He crashed onto the stage with a thud that drew a gasp from the crowd.
Chaos erupted instantly.
Feet planted and eyes scanning, I picked the cleanest path through the crowd and took it. I sidestepped spilled drinks and ducked under flailing arms as people shouted, cursed, and stampeded around me.
Hemlock was in the patron’s grip, being dragged toward the stage’s edge and the waiting horde. My mind ran through a split-second strategy: block, intercept, and neutralize the threat. The dancer’s safety came first; everything else was secondary.
“Let him go!” I barked, keeping my voice firm and commanding. The customer, I saw him now, had eyes glassy with intoxication but unnervingly focused.
Hemlock kicked out as his tail swiped through the air like a scythe, cutting a stripe of red across the customer’s cheek.
The assailant howled in pain then resumed pulling harder. The blood dripping down his face made him look deranged.
I adjusted my approach, closing the gap to the point of contact, considering how to break the hold without hurting either of them. The crowd’s noise—shouts, laughter, curses—faded into static.
Focus. Threat. Target.
Barreling through the last wave of gawkers, I seized the aggressor, clapping my hands onto both of his arms and squeezing.
He bucked at the unexpected contact, but I shifted my weight low, planted my feet shoulder-width apart, and locked my core.
Twisting slightly, I guided his center of gravity backward, stealing his leverage and making it my own.
“Let him go,” I repeated. “Now.”
The man thrashed as I pressed his wrists against his sides. Each lunge and wrench was met with enough pressure to keep him upright but neutralized.
Finally, his grip gave way. Hemlock stumbled free, black hair wild and eyes darting like a cornered animal. Around us, other dancers and Colette closed in as additional reinforcements.
Marvel, the burly blond, climbed up onto the stage. He stooped over the downed dancer and offered a hand, but rather than accept the help, Hemlock rounded on him with fists balled and body poised for a fight.
“El, it’s…” Marvel’s voice broke off as Colette cut through the clamor.
“Reculez! Everyone, back!” She pressed in behind me, nodding once before taking the assailant in a brisk, no-nonsense frog march toward the door.
Checking the stage found Marvel and Hemlock making a joint retreat into the wings.
The crowd swirled around me, churning in confused uproar. Someone barked at the DJ to cut the music, and in the ensuing silence, the same voice turned cloyingly sweet.
“Apologies for the interruption, my loves. Give us a moment, and we’ll get this show back on track.”
I squinted through the throng of bodies, trying to locate the owner of the voice. But he wasn’t on the floor. He was on the stage, framed in spotlight, and bare-bodied except for thigh-high stockings and ruffled panties.
Manager.
Stripper wrangler.
Luxe.
Blame it on my thoughts still being in a knot from the conflict or the adrenaline making me fuzzy, but I’d never even seen an angel glow the way he did.
Hard as it was, I tore my eyes away long enough to watch Colette shooing the problematic customer out into the night.
A large portion of the crowd watched along with me, then we all turned back to where Luxe held his pose front and center. With the door secured and the situation resolved, he flashed a coy smile.
“Well, since I’m already up here…”
Pivoting toward the DJ booth, he made a circling motion with his hand. A fresh beat rolled out over the speakers, bass low and sultry. The spotlight seemed to burn hotter, and Luxe prepared to make the whole place forget why they’d been upset in the first place.
He didn’t move immediately. He let the song build and breathe while his orange eyes skimmed over the crowd. Then his hips rolled in a fluid sweep that seemed to pull every gaze in the room along for the ride.
He didn’t need a prop, didn’t need a partner. He was the act.
His shoulders swayed, and his spine curved. Each ripple and twist was timed to the music like he had the rhythm wired into his bones. He shifted his weight, crossing one leg over the other in a slow turn that highlighted the perfect curve of his ass.
He prowled to the edge of the stage, one hand trailing up his own side, fingers dragging over glitter-dusted skin. On the dark buds of his nipples, something sparkled. Piercings?
As he pranced and pivoted, his legs flexed, muscles visible through the sheer fabric of the stockings. Every move was purposeful. Every pause a pose, creating angles that made his hips look luscious and turned his torso into lines like arrows pointing out everything on display.
I couldn’t look away as he sank to his knees and pressed his hands to the floor. Then he crawled forward, stretching that tight body out longer, leaner, lower.
The crowd whooped and whistled, but it barely registered over the pounding of my pulse in my ears. I leaned in. Tracking him. Tracing his shape and the shadow he cast across the stage.
I’d been to a strip club before.
I really, truly had.
And they really, truly didn’t hold a candle to this.
He danced for two more songs, each as sensuous as the last.
My break must have ended, but I lingered till the final note. And the applause. And the shower of cash raining down on the stage. Then Luxe made his grand exit, shaking his ass and waving his tail every step of the way.
By the time I got back to the bar to finish my water, the glass was gone, wiped clean from the counter like I’d never been there. Parched and still running circles in my head about what I’d just seen, I turned toward the entrance.
Then a tap on my shoulder spun me around.
There, just as undressed as he had been on the stage, stood Luxe.
At close range, it was impossible not to be overwhelmed by…
all of him. His white hair was luminous in the dim light, and his eyes burned bright as he gazed up at me.
The glint at his chest drew my gaze to where his definitely pierced nipples gleamed silver against the backdrop of his skin.
My throat went dry.
“Nice moves, Mercy.” He jerked a thumb toward the stage and smiled.
He was probably being cheeky, but the truth was, I hadn’t heard that nickname since I’d moved Stateside. The guys in my unit had used it—sometimes with affection, sometimes as a jab. It came easy, a natural shortening given my medic role.
Part of me warmed at the familiarity, but another part felt… disconnected. Like that version of me belonged to someone else entirely. Another piece I’d left behind.
I swallowed and forced out, “It’s Mercer.”
“Sure it is.” He planted a hand on his hip, and it took every ounce of willpower not to let my eyes drop to where those tiny, frilly panties barely concealed him.
Would I like his cock as much as I liked the rest of him?
I jerked my gaze back up before I could answer my own question.
“You never called me,” he said.
Customers parted around us as I thought of the business card stashed in my wallet. And the interview. And Antonella’s request.
“I must’ve lost your number,” I lied.
He smiled, full lips curving into rouged cheeks. “Along with your angel casino gig. I warned you.”
Should I let him think that?
If he knew I was still working for the Rossettis… hell, I wasn’t even sure why I was still working for Rossettis, or what Antonella might eventually want from me. Better to keep it to myself.
“Yeah.” I shifted, suddenly aware of how close he was. “Guess you were right about that.”
His laugh was light, almost girlish. So much about him was more woman than man. More human than demon. But there was nothing innocent about the way he looked at me now.
“Honey, I’m right about a lot of things,” he said. “But I might have been wrong about you. You saved my ass at the Basilica, and tonight you saved one of my boys. That means I owe you. So, I’m taking you to dinner.”
I shook my head. “You don’t need to…”
Luxe ticked a finger at me. “It’s a gift, Mercy. And one thing a gentleman should know about gifts is how to accept them gracefully. So, I’m taking you to dinner,” he repeated, inching ever closer. “What do you say?”
I hesitated. “Thank you?”
“Atta boy.” He patted my chest—light touch, heavy impact. “Pick me up tomorrow. Let’s say six. I’ll tell you where we’re going when you get here.”
“Yes sir.”
Luxe giggled again and tossed me a mock salute before dipping into the crowd. The last thing I saw was the sharp tip of his tail flicking like a wave goodbye.