Chapter 6 Isabella
ISABELLA
My stomach pulls into a tight knot at the sound of the men baying to see my flesh.
I’ve never had to paint my mask on so thickly as I’m doing right now. I give a brilliant smile as if there’s nowhere I’d rather be than shaking my booty on stage in front of a room full of drunken men.
The catcalls make my stomach churn and I fight the bile in my throat, swallowing it down as I turn to face my audience.
Bright lights flash onto the stage, making me blink. I can only make out the shapes of men as they crowd around the edges of the stage waving dollar bills at me.
It’s the best performance of my life as I strut down the stage as if it’s a fashion runway and not sticky with beer and God knows what else.
I’m the classiest woman they’ll see on stage tonight, and they know it.
I’m not saying that to be mean. The women I’ve met backstage are courageous in a way I’ll never be.
They’ve been kind and sympathetic to my first night nerves, more than one offering me a smoke or a pill to calm them.
The only thing I took was a shot of cheap vodka that burned my throat on the way down and did nothing to settle my stomach.
I hate not being able to see the crowd, and my heart thunders in time to the music. What if my father was right? What if his enemies are out there and watching me?
The last twenty-four hours without a security detail have been thrilling. I’ve felt free but also a little lonely. I didn’t realize how comforting the quiet presences of Chiara and Alessia were.
I say a quick prayer for my former guards hoping my father isn’t being too hard on them.
After I scaled the fence yesterday, I jogged into the woods and took a path that winds around the mountain and comes out near the town of Hope and the train station.
With my hair tucked into a cap, I boarded the first train to Raleigh and then doubled back to Charlotte.
I wandered the streets until I found the perfect hotel. Nothing too swanky, nothing too cheap, and not too close to the train station. The proprietor didn’t bat an eyelid when I paid in cash.
All I need is a few nights at The Fuzzy Peach, and it should be enough to stop my father’s plans.
There are plenty of classier strip joints in town, but my father or his business associates own half of them.
This place was perfect, small and run down.
Managed by a not too bright local who didn’t recognize me when I turned up looking for work.
As I strut down the stage to the sound of catcalls and lewd remarks, I’m questioning the solidness of my plan. The men are drunker than I imagined and less respectful.
One of them waves bills at me, and I ignore him. I’m not bending over for less than a hundred.
“Show us your tits!” someone yells.
I resist the urge to kick my heel in his face and instead turn around while bending my knees into a halfway slut drop.
From the direction of the mouthy guy, there’s the sound of a fist connecting to a face. A man screams, literally screams, and then some asshole’s climbing onto the stage.
I stagger backwards, blinking in the lights as the familiar shape of a man saunters toward me.
“No freaking way.”
Raiden, President of the Wild Riders MC and the man who’s haunted my dreams for the past two years is striding toward me, and he looks pissed.
There’s a commotion behind him, and a man with a bloody face lunges for the stage.
“What the fuck, man?” he yells.
Raiden cracks his knuckles, and I have time to register that he’s the one who punched the loudmouth. But it doesn’t explain what the heck he’s doing on my stage.
The relief I feel at seeing Raiden is all confused with anger that he’s ruining my escape plan.
“What are you doing here?” I hiss.
“What am I…?” His expression is thunderous as he grabs my wrist, his thick hand wrapping all the way around it. “What the fuck are you doing here, Isabella?”
He jerks me toward him, and if he wasn’t so angry it would be sexy. I bump into his body and up against his hard chest.
“You don’t belong here.”
He turns and drags me after him, and his hold on me is so tight I have no choice but to follow. I totter on my heels to keep up with him, and that fuels my anger even more. Isabella Berone runs after no man.
I flick my hair over my shoulders and try to maintain some dignity as I’m dragged off the stage and through the club.
“Get the fuck out of my way,” Raiden growls as he elbows his way through the crowd heading toward the exit. There’s a man in a wheelchair following close behind and pushing people aside who try to lunge for me.
“We’ll save you, sweetheart,” one of them calls.
I stick my chin up because I don’t need saving, and Raiden better have a damn good reason why he’s dragging me out of here.
I don’t get a chance to speak to him because it’s too loud, but I’ll give him a piece of my mind when we get outside. Hands grab at my flesh as I pass, and instead of resisting Raiden I lean into him and pick up my pace, running as best I can in these heels.
Damn him for making me run. I’m clinging onto him and letting him shield me as we near the exit, even as waves of anger wash over me.
We pass through plastic curtains that stick to my skin and come face to face with a bouncer. His arms are folded across his chest, and he’s as thick as a brick wall.
Raiden doesn’t even slow his pace.
With the hand that isn’t holding me, he swings a punch so quick the bouncer isn’t expecting it. The man stumbles to the side, and Raiden drags me through the door and out into the cool air.
“Get the bikes ready,” Raiden calls to a large man leaning against a motorbike. He’s got the same Wild Riders MC jacket that Raiden’s wearing, but without the President’s badge.
I glance behind me, expecting to see the doorman coming after us. But instead the young guy in the wheelchair is blocking the door. He’s wheeling back and forth like he doesn’t know how to drive it. He moves backward and runs over the doorman’s foot, eliciting a yelp of pain.
“Sorry, still not used to this thing,” the man in the wheelchair says.
But he’s got a grin on his face as he moves the motorized controller back and forth. The doorman bounces on his toes impatiently with a frown on his face, torn between wanting to run after us and not wanting to push a man in a wheelchair out of the way.
I kind of feel sorry for him. He’s just doing his job, and I decide to throw him a bone.
“It’s okay,” I call to him. “I quit anyway.”
All I had in the changing room was a small bag with some makeup and twenty bucks. The girls can have it.
Raiden pushes a helmet onto my head. Then he shrugs his jacket off and drapes it over my shoulders. His buddy is already reversed and ready to go.
“Get on, Isabella,” he commands.
I usually hate men telling me what to do, but he’s got a set to his jaw as he glances back at the doorman.
Still, I hesitate. I’m not ready to go back to my father.
“Where will you take me?”
“Not home if that’s not what you want. I’ll take you to the clubhouse, and you can explain what the fuck you were doing in a strip club.”
He doesn’t give me time to resist. His thick hands secure me at the hips, and he lifts me up like I weigh nothing and plonks me down on his bike.
“We need to go. Now.”
I nod quickly and slide my leg over the seat. It catches on something sticking out, and I feel a sharp sting. When I glance down, there’s a trickle of blood oozing down my leg. I guess a tiny skirt isn’t the best riding gear.
Raiden revs the engine, and I grip his waist as the bike jerks forward.
Behind us, the man in the wheelchair has gotten control of his chair, and he moves aside as the doorman lunges toward us. Men from the bar burst into the street. I recognize the owner and some of his cronies.
But they’re too late. As we ride past, Raiden raises a hand to wheelchair guy. The man grins and raises his hand in response.
We burst out of the alleyway, and I grip Raiden tight as we swerve around a corner.
I’m furious at him for bursting in and ruining my plans. But I’m also so relieved to see him that my chest hurts.
As the bike settles into a steady rhythm, I lean against his solid back, letting the hum of the bike soothe me. For the first time since I scaled the wall, I feel calm.