Page 39 of Broken Warrior
She moves along the stage and walks the runway, dancing in a way I had no idea she could, in a way I’ve never seen before. Fluid. Graceful. Hot as sin. With each step she takes, she drops another piece of clothing, and when she gets to the second pole, she rips open the sexy as fuck corset to reveal the most perfect, gloriously natural tits I have ever seen. I catch sight of the X’s over her nipples just as she grabs the pole and swings her beautiful body around, climbs and dances, writhes around that metal that has me raging out and harder than steel.
It’s Tate, no doubt about it.
Even in the heavy makeup and nothing but angel wings, pasties and a g-string that shows off everything I’ve been dying to see, I know beyond a shadow that this ismydark angel. And when she reaches the top of the pole, another boom of thunder and crack of lightning ring out, Tate hanging on with only her legs, bowing her back and losing the wings before she slowly slides down to the ground.
A fallen angel.
I might be angrier and more turned on than I ever have been, but I was still able to understand the message Tate was trying to convey, still able to see the beauty in her performance. An angel fallen from grace, an extraordinary creature forced to live a life she didn’t choose, one chosen for her, surrounded by death and destruction. An angel that tries to shed the sins of others and earn her place in heaven only to be rejected and sent back to the pits of hell.
Tate was telling her story and it was fucking breathtaking.
But that doesn’t excuse the fact that she’s been lying to me for weeks, lying ever since she told me she got a job, and it sure as fuck doesn’t make it any better that she’s working as a stripper after being forced to be one for years.
We need to have a chat, and as I watch the assholes throw money at her from all angles, watch them practically drool overmygirl, I decide that chat is happeningnow.
I spin on my heel and march toward the bar then slam my hand on the top of it as the girl with lavender hair blows by. “Hey.”
She jumps and turns slowly, her eyes wide. “Can I help you?”
“I want the owner.”
“If there’s a problem I’d be more than happy—“
“Owner.” I narrow my eyes. “Now.”
She nods and scurries off down the hall, all but runs up a hidden staircase, and returns no less than two minutes later with a face I haven’t seen in years.
Fucking Trent.
Trent Dyscher was at one point a prospect for the Wulven Kings. Not a terrible guy, too cocky for his own good and a womanizer, but he wasn’t bad and not that different from many of the other prospects to come through our clubhouse. The problem with him was the way he pushed; pushed for my dad to open a strip club then pushed Prez for the same once he took over. Trent wanted to start another legit business for the MC but he was young and idiotic, had no clue how to run anything let alone something like that, and when Trent and Prez had it out over his lack of experience, he decided to leave and do his own thing.
Obviously he got his shit under control and followed through anyway, I just hope he treats women better than he used to.
“Spider?” He blinks at me before that cocky smile splits his face. “Shit man, I haven’t seen you in—“
“Almost a decade.” I take his offered hand and shake it. “Doing well for yourself?”
He nods as he looks around. “Can’t complain. What can I do for you?”
“The girl that just danced, the angel.”Myfucking angel. “I want a private dance.”
Trent clears his throat and looks at the gaping purple-haired girl before he meets my eyes. “Cordelia. She’s in high demand, doesn’t typically do private gigs without advanced bookings.”
“A favor for an old friend.” He knows I’m not fucking around on this, I can tell by the way his throat bobs with each hard swallow. “I’m sure you can make it happen.”
“I might be able to get you a lap dance. It’s not as private, but you’d get her one on one. VIP room is harder to pull off last-minute but I can get you fifteen minutes with her after intermission.” His eyes harden and he grins. “It’s two-fifty for her.”
I reach into my back pocket and pull out my wallet, then thumb through the bills. “I’ll give you five if you make it happen now.”
Trent’s brows lift as he takes the five c-notes. “Ember, go tell Cordelia she’s needed on the floor. Make it quick.”
The girl, Ember, nods and rushes toward the stage. I guess I have a face for Tate’s mystery phone friend.
Fucking great.
“You really liked her, huh?” He slips the cash into his pocket. “She’s talented. A real looker. Cordelia is new but she’s already made quite the name for herself, you’ll be the—“
“How much for a VIP room with her?” Cause my conversation isnotgoing to be one I need other people hearing.
