8. Chapter Eight
Chapter Eight
The Hound
I shouldn’t be following her, but here I am, taking the long way down from the rooftop bar. I make it out to the street just in time to catch sight of her hanging a hard left—the opposite direction of her apartment.
I readjust my snapback, my entire look tonight an utter embarrassment. I’m not like Henry. I can’t slink around in a black hoodie and not draw attention to myself. So, I dress like any other thirty-something douche bag, sporting a button down half undone and dark jeans. I did switch out the Converse for Nikes.
Only because Cher spends way too much time staring at my feet.
Speaking of, her story about the blue-haired coworker checked out. I also heard the woman call her BW , which I made a mental note of. I tug the bill of my hat a little lower, keeping my eyes on my best friend’s sister. I don’t know how much time I have before Henry calls it a night. I don’t know if he’ll call me at all. He went in unconnected, and that’s normal for this stage—but it’s only a matter of time before I have to spend my evenings in front of the computer.
I shove my hands in my pocket, my mind replaying what happened between the two of us right before she bolted. I can’t decide if for a moment, she actually wanted me or if it’s just me projecting that belief onto the situation—because it was clear as fuck that she was repulsed at the end.
I scared her, and I never scare anyone.
There has to be more to this story. Does she know something about me? Is it because I work with her brother?
Nah. Before I met her in person, I might’ve been inclined to believe that. But after knowing her for more than five minutes, it’s easy to see that she’s not as squeaky clean as she pretends to be. I just want to figure out how dirty she is.
And if I can have some of her filth.
I nearly laugh at the intrusive burst of lust, the irony of what happened earlier making it a bombastic desire. Cher’s movement grabs my attention as she enters an alley, quickly taking a staircase to a lower entrance...
To a strip club.
What the hell? Why?
This woman never ceases to surprise me. I take a deep breath and follow her inside, weaving through the crowd of pervy men as soon as I step through the door. Topless dancers swirl around poles, but I pay them no attention. I need to find Cher.
Is she working here?
I picture her on stage, her legs wrapping around the pole, and I instantly grow both aroused and angry. If I catch her stripping, I’m telling Henry. I’ll rip her off the stage myself. I don’t give a shit what consequences I face for it.
“Can I get you something?” A light touch lands on my forearm, and I turn to see a woman with tits bigger than my head, her nipples covered with only tiny tassels.
“Uh, no,” I tell her, looking her only in the eyes. “I’m actually looking for someone.”
“All the fun happens in the back.” She winks at me, and then gestures to a pair of double doors.
“Of course, it does.” I get a bad taste in my mouth as I begin to wonder if I’m in the Vegas version of The Den. I give the woman a terse smile and keep working my way through the thick crowd of women and men with a shallow hunger in their expressions.
My stomach hurts at what I might find, but I force myself to keep going anyway. I hate these places. They reek of STDs and regrets. I haven’t gotten laid in a long time, but I damn sure won’t be taking someone home from here.
Unless it’s Cher.
My cock stirs and I push against the double doors, instantly met with black lights and moans.
Yep. Fucking sex club. Here we go.
I scan the faces around me, partially disturbed and partially bored. I spent way too much time watching over Elizabeth at The Den to be shell shocked by what happens in the hallways of a place like this. My sister never wandered to the darker side of the place though. She just wanted the cash to blow on purses and shoes.
“Excuse me,” a guy bumps me, a drink in his hand.
“My bad.” I step to the side as he chuckles.
“It’s crowded as fuck tonight,” he stops, facing me. “Not a lot of meat to pick from either.”
“For sure,” I say, feigning like I don’t think he’s a disgusting pig. “I’m hoping to find a dark-headed one with curvy hips.” I hate exploiting Cher like that, but I need to find her. I need to know what she’s up to in a place like this.
“Good luck. All I’ve seen are blondes.”
“Damn,” I don’t have to hide my disappointment. “Guess I’ll keep looking. Are there any more places in here they might be hiding?”
He chuckles. “Yeah, the dark room.”
My heart thuds against my ribcage. “Point me in the right direction.”
“I’m on my way there now.” He shoots me a wicked grin. “Come on. I’ll show you.”
I nod, and let him lead the way, scanning every face I pass. We slip by what looks like dressing rooms, and the moaning coming from inside is louder than the heavy bass music playing through the speakers. I swallow the vomit as I think of Cher in one of those.
The guy nods toward an opening and slips into a small hallway between rooms. I catch sight of a black painted door in front of us. He opens it, and the music increases. I ready myself for what might be on the other side.
And it’s exactly what I expect.
Under blacklights nude women with neon body paint and tall heels pleasure men on couches and dance on poles. Almost no one has clothing on, and if they do, it’s in the process of being stripped off.
“Happy hunting,” the guy slaps my upper back. “And just a heads-up, condoms are a must with these whores.”
I frown, thinking I’m pretty sure that goes both ways in a place like this. But whatever. I readjust my hat, and step toward the back corner so I can take in the area. There’s a bar on the far side and a dance floor with grinding nude bodies.
Where is Cher?
I pop my jaw, carefully scanning every face once again. Finally, my gaze lands on the most modest fucking woman in the room. She’s standing just off the end of the bar, sipping on something clear, while a tall, dark figure looms next to her. Even from across the room, I can tell his gaze is on the well-placed cut out in her top.
And I want to pluck his eyes out with a sharpened pencil.
Cher tips her head back and laughs, and the fakeness is written all over her expression. She arches her back from the wall, and I roll my eyes. She’s trying way too hard to get his attention.
So... She’s got daddy issues.
My hands sweat at the prospect of fixing that problem for her. She could call me “daddy” if she wanted to. She could call me whatever the fuck she wanted as long as she crawled to me while she did it.
But I’m not who she wants. That’s clear as fucking day. She shies away from me like I’m a virus, and then comes here to nab a walking bag of AIDs.
I lean back against the wall, knowing I should just leave, but instead choose to torture myself with the sight in front of me. Her choice of man is one in a suit and tie, clean-cut, and oozing of everything I used to be—and everything I abhor.
My teeth grind as he places a hand on her waist, a portion of it bare skin. He leans over her, going for a kiss, but she turns her head just in time. His lips land on her jaw, and I clench my fists as he seems to whisper something in her ear.
“Let’s get out of here.” I can hear the words. They’re what I would say, too. I momentarily shut my eyes, sickened by the inferiority I feel to the man in the suit.
He leans away, she nods in agreement to whatever he told her, and then, he pushes off the wall and heads toward a restroom sign. I swallow hard, seeing my chance. I could approach her. I could do so many things if she’d let me. I can fuck better than he can. Well, maybe. But at least I see Cher as more than just a fucking vagina to infect.
“You look lonely,” a body blocks my view of Cher.
“You could say that,” I answer, leaning slightly to the right to regain my sight.
“I can fix that,” a female voice giggles. A heavy scent of citrus perfume enters my nostrils as a wet sensation tickles my neck, and then chest. My eyes stay fixated on Cher, leaning against that wall, looking so fucking tempting in her good girl attire.
I feel buttons of my shirt coming undone as lips work their way down my abdomen. I suck in a breath, growing hard as my eyes focus on Cher’s feminine jawline, slightly disheveled hair, and thick lips.
Those belong around me. Not her sex club fuckboy.
My jeans snap undone as the man I just thought of reappears from the bathroom. Cher pushes off the wall to greet him, a wretched smile on her face. It makes me nauseous, and I reach down right as the slut on her knees goes for my cock. I shove her to the side, ignoring the yelp.
“No thanks,” I grunt, zipping my jeans back up and rebuttoning them. “Go find some other dick to suck. I have shit to do.”
She mutters something as she stands to her feet and stalks away, but I don’t pay her any attention. My eyes remain on Cher and her fuckboy, heading for the back entrance. I redo my shirt and follow at a distance, thankful for the silence as I exit a few minutes after them. I keep my distance, but it’s obvious the two of them are drunk. They wouldn’t notice me if I reached out and touched them.
He gropes her ass as he leads her to a hotel a couple of blocks away, and every inch of me is screaming to just go back to the apartment. It’s over.
But I can’t stop. It’s like a fucking car wreck that I can’t look away from.
Why him, Cher? Why?
He leans over onto her. She uses two hands to brace against him, her laughter echoing through the street. My jaw ticks. My fists clench. I hate everything about what I see. I want it to stop.
I want her to stop.
“Here we are,” he slurs loudly, grabbing her hand and tugging her inside the hotel. I pause outside. I know I shouldn’t go further. I’m guaranteed to be caught on camera following them. I also know that I don’t want to see what happens next.
Fuck it.
I pull out my phone and schedule an Uber back to the apartment, finally giving up the chase for the night. I’m starting to think her secret is as simple as it gets. She enjoys the benefits of the Vegas nightlife—and maybe she doesn’t want Henry to know. Maybe she’s ashamed of running through men like discarded, shredded envelopes.
But still, I feel a pull to follow more, to stop her from walking into that hotel room with that guy. I could take her home, kicking and screaming, give her a lecture about sleeping with strangers, and then punish her for being so careless. However, it’s all null and void because she’s not mine.
She’s. Not. Mine.