Page 30 of The Obvious Check
Surprisingly, her moves are more fluid than I remember. She’s still awkward, but she’s clearly been practicing, which pisses me off. How many fucking nights has Luke forced her onto this stage? More importantly, what kind of leash does he have around her throat that she’s doing this at all?
I clench my jaw so hard I can hear my molars grinding. This isn't right. She doesn't belong up there with dollar bills being thrown at her feet. She belongs next to me, wearing my jersey, screaming my name for entirely different reasons.
Some idiot throws something on the stage, making her flinch her leg. Her nose crinkles, but besides that, there’s no obvious tension in her movements. I know, though. I can tell she hates this. There’s got to be a reason she’s still working here.
Her hand lifts over her head to the pole, and something feral burns inside me when the same guy in the audience calls to her. I memorize his face, knowing we’ll have a good ‘talk’ after this.
She strides past me and opens her eyes for the first time, staring straight at the bar.
At Luke, more specifically.
It’s not a loving glare. There’s something hard as granite in her expression. Her lips press into a thin line, and I know that look intimately. I see it every time I’m on the ice laying someone out, or in the ring drawing blood. It’s the look I give my opponents. Savannah fucking hates him, and that piece of knowledge shouldn’t send a jolt of satisfaction through me, but it does.
I glance over at Luke, unsurprised he’s looking right back at her with a challenging glare that screams ownership. His elbows rest on the bar as he tracks her every move, her every curve, like he’s mentally calculating how much each inch of her skin is worth to him. It takes everything in me not to cross the room and introduce his face to the bar top.
What the hell has Luke got on her?
She ignores the remarks from the men as she walks by, flicking that red wig over her shoulder before she wraps her delicate hand around the pole again, dipping low and opening her legs in the process. I nearly have a heart attack because that’s new. She’s not about to dance around that, is she?
She pops back up, spinning around so her back is against the pole.
Fuck me.
It’s only when she flips her hair up from a particularly vigorous move that I realize her eyes are closed again and she’s expressionless. I don’t watch her performance; I watch her face the rest of the time.
Closed. Her eyes never open.
Her fingers grip the cold metal tight, and even though her shoulders are tense, there’s an eerie calmness across her face. There’s no emotion there, just… emptiness.
She’s here, but she isn’t. It’s almost like she’s locked the real Savannah away somewhere safe and her body is going through the motions.
That thought hits like a sucker punch to the gut, knocking the wind from my lungs, and I know with bone-deep certainty that I can't let her continue to face this nightmare alone.
When the music finally fades out, only then do I catch the faintest twitch of a smile on her face. Relief. It's quickly masked as she bends over, bowing mechanically. A few pathetic dollar bills get thrown onto the stage, which she ignores completely, in favor of rushing off like the building's about to collapse around her.
When the lights come back up, I stand and make my way back to Luke. “When is she on again tonight?”
“You know I was kidding when I called her your girl, right?” He doesn’t look at me as a worker throws down some dollar bills, ones that I assume are from the stage just now. Guessing those tips won’t end up with Savannah. I had similar treatment when I ‘worked’ here.
“Was that her last performance?”
Luke lets out a humorless chuckle and shakes his head as he takes me in. “You obsessed with her or something?”
“Or something.”
He looks behind him at a piece of paper that I can’t read from here. “She’s got two more performances, but if that’s not enough for you, then you can always book a private room with her. Will only cost you a thousand dollars for thirty minutes.”
My jaw clenches and I curl my hands into fists in my pockets. Private rooms? A thousand dollars? Is that all he thinks she’s worth?
“Does she do that often?”
Luke’s not focused on me anymore. He just continues counting the measly dollar bills from her performance.
“You’d be her first. I don’t usually like to hire her out, but you might be a good option to break her in.”
“Why? Are you dating her?”
“Something like that, but I’d be willing to share with my champion fighter. I’ll even give you a discount. Fifteen minutes for five hundred bucks.”
