Page 38 of Broken Warrior
I swear to god, if this is the stripper equivalent of MACs, I’m gonna be pissed. I could have gone there for free and seen most of the same shit.
But once I’m inside, I can tell I’m wrong.
The music is loud, NIN’sCloserbumping through the speakers, and it’s dimly lit but it’s not at all what I was expecting.
It looks more like a classy turn of the century brothel, real high-end like Bugs said, with a clean, cool vibe. They still have all the staples; a bar, stage and catwalk with poles, stage seating, tables, more private areas along the walls for lap dances. It looks like there’s a second floor, about three rooms on either side above the fainting couches with brass railing, ornate doors, and spiral staircases to access them. Most likely the champagne rooms.
The girls dancing in...elevators... are topless but look healthy. They don’t look strung out or anorexic, so Bugs wasn’t wrong about that, so far. They’re pretty for the most part and actually seem to know what they’re doing.
I make my way to the bar, take advantage of my size and push through the huge crowd of horn balls with ease.
“What can I... Whoa,” a girl with lavender hair says when I stop at the end by the cash register. “What can I get for you?”
“Scotch on the rocks.”
“Top shelf ok?”
I nod as I scan the floor. If I had to give this place a ranking, it’d be eight out of ten just based on what I’ve seen so far. Until someone takes the stage I won’t be able to give it a real rating; looks can be deceiving, something I’m all too aware of.
“Hey, man.” Bugs walks over with a smile, an earpiece in his ear, the cord disappearing down his shirt.He must be security. “What do you think?”
I reach for the glass as soon as the bartender puts it in front of me, and sip my liquor, pleasantly surprised that it is in fact top shelf, probably Ardbeg, judging by the taste. “Not bad.”
“Just wait, Spider-Man. Jessie said Cordelia is third up. She is going to knock your socks off.”
He disappears into the crowd, something about making his rounds, but he’ll check on me later. The first stripper was solid, a brunette with small but natural tits that danced to some gothic classical piece while dressed in some sort of steampunk getup. Bugs was serious about the full nudity shit cause while her tits weren’t bad, the brunette's pussy has seen better days. Not that it’s my place to judge.
I hang out by the bar and order a second scotch while a blonde comes out, a huge difference from the brunette in appearance but also performance. She practically did a ballet piece that incorporated an interesting striptease and time on both poles but it wasn’t bad, just different.
This whole thing is different, honestly.
The girls are definitely grade A and their sets are more theatrical than anything, just erotic as well, and I can see the appeal because it’s kind of the stripper equivalent to dinner and a show.
I can roll with that.
The stage lights dim as I order a third drink and you can feel the shift in the room, the anticipation piquing, the testosterone level flying through the roof.
Fog begins rolling over the stage as soft white lights illuminate it. Chanting filters through the air, the sounds of monks or priests murmuring prayers as a figure cloaked in white walks slowly to the pole in the middle. When she stops, the entire house goes black, mimicked lightning and a boom of thunder crack and then the beginning notes of a Danzig song I fucking love meets my ears.
The men start shouting their excitement, most of the ones around the stage now on their feet, and when my gaze moves over them and land on the woman who has them completely entranced, my stomach twists in knots.
Plum colored curls.
Slender throat.
Killer body adorned in fishnet and leather.
And black fucking angel wings on the back of a woman I would know anywhere.
Tate.
Goddamnit.
Anger rolls through me in waves, hot and sharp, consuming in a confusing way.
I push off the bar and stalk toward the stage, eyes glued to her as she climbs the pole.
I need to be sure this is Tate, need to be sure the dark angel dancing is in factmydark angel, because as soon as she’s finished we will be having a very serious conversation.
