Chapter 1
Suzie
In the drop-down mirror of my car, I puckered my lips to add another coat of lipstick. My complexion was flawless and my eyeliner smooth despite my shaking hands. My whole face was perfectly primed, painted, and plumped. Not that nobody ever looked at my face for very long.
I might be bad at most things but at least I looked good doing them. I guess, at some point, we all just start playing to our strengths. And my strengths are dancing on a pole and looking fine. There’s not a person in Green Valley that’d argue with that. Suzie Samuels and stripping go together like bacon and grits. But not after tonight.
I hoped.
The thrum of activity at the G-Spot hit me before I even left my car. The bass vibrated the dashboard almost enough to cover my own wobbling insides. I smoothed my hair one last time. I’d spent an hour straightening and then curling it into the perfect waves for that just-out-of-bed look. My outfit was a complicated crisscross of elastic straps all over my body meant to emphasize my dancer figure. It was a twofold benefit; the material helped protect my skin on the pole and the straps held a lot more cash than a G-string.
Plus, I looked damn hot in it.
I sauntered toward the door with my most eye-catching sway because Ka-Bar sat on a stool outside. I wasn’t part of the Iron Wraiths Motorcycle Club anymore, in fact, I’d gone to their rivals, the Black Demons, but he’d always been good to me, so I gave a little show. Plus, acting real sexy tended to calm my jitters. It was a cold October night and I fought to keep from shivering.
“Hey, Ka-Bar.” My five-inch platforms wobbled in the gravel leading to the door but I didn’t falter.
Ka-Bar looked like most of the Iron Wraiths; tattooed, scraggly beard, and leather from head to toe. A giant knife tattoo taking up the length of his arm and the dog tags around his neck distinguished him. He looked me up and down and licked his lips like he wanted a taste.
“Hey, gorgeous.” He leaned in for the kiss I ghosted over his cheek. “Little early for your shift?”
“Well, I never get to see you when I come in later.” I leaned out of his embrace noting the familiar smell of exhaust, sweat, and smokes.
“Shucks.” He put a hand over his heart.
“Also, I need to talk to Occum before I go up.” I shrugged like I wasn’t sick to my stomach thinking about it.
I was high up on the Black Demon’s Motorcycle Club food chain but I was still just a stripper. Stripping was supposed to be temporary, a means to an end after I made some bad life choices. One life choice named Jethro Winston. But I wasn’t thinking about him right now.
“He should be in the office.” Ka-Bar thumbed toward the building. “Meeting with some suit from the city as we speak.”
“No shit?”
“Yeah, something for the new renovations. Heard it wasn’t going well. He’s a real hard-ass.”
The same renovations I was here to talk about. I wanted to ask more but didn’t have the chance. Two regulars walked out of the bar; Rooster and Cueball. The Iron Wraiths insignia on their vests was as good as waving a gun in the air. I recognized their swagger as an attempt to hide sloppy drunkenness. G-Spot was neutral territory for several of the local MCs, including the Black Demons and the Iron Wraiths. It’s the only place the MCs tolerated each other, far as I knew. Everywhere else they’d pick a fight over the color of the sky. Here, business was business and us women were business.
“Look at this one.” Rooster—named for his short red mohawk and hooked nose—looked me up and down. These bikers weren’t exactly blowing any minds with their nicknaming skills.
“Where were you, baby? I’d pay extra for some time with you,” Cueball added. Cueball was—you guessed it—pale with a shiny bald head and round enough to roll down the Smokies.
What I wanted to do was roll my eyes and tell them their wedding rings weren’t just for decoration. But Occum's rule for dancers was “shut up and look pretty,” so I couldn’t go pissing off his clientele. And Lord knew I was already on thin ice for my sharp tongue and quick temper.
I smiled and tried to go in past them. If I couldn’t say nothing nice … I’d kick their bikes later.
“Come on now, how much for a quick BJ in the parking lot?” Cueball was so drunk his eyes couldn’t focus on me as he asked.
My teeth ground together. I knew everybody thought dancers were hookers but we weren’t. At least, not all of us.
“You can’t afford me, sweetie.” I winked.
“Hey, aren’t you Short Fuse Suze?” Cueball asked. I knew they’d recognize me sooner or later. I was almost a Wraith girl a million years ago. “Careful. You know what she did to Jethro Winston.”
“I don’t care. I still want a piece.” Rooster just about had me in his grip when Ka-Bar got ‘em.
He was faster and stronger than these drunks would ever be. He had the redhead face-first against the club exterior faster than you could say Mississippi mud pie.
“No hands.” His voice was cool but the threat was clear.
