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“Fucking pig!”
She stormed off, and as Isaac’s impassive glare slowly settled on me, I pointed a stiff finger at him.
“I don’t wanna fucking hear it. Now act like you’ve got some common sense before you fuck around and get us shot. Don’t forget we’re on the Outlaws turf. Not ours. You can go back to being a bitch in heat when you get back to the academy.”
The lights dimming down blocked out the view of him flipping me the bird. As I trained my attention on the center of the club, there was a spotlight there, lighting up the center of only the main stage. The chatter around us silenced asRockstarbyPost Malone ft. 21 Savagebegan booming throughout the club.
My lips slowly parted when a breathtakingly ravishing young woman stepped out on the stage, albeit it was hard to appreciate her stunning features because of the mask covering the top half of her face. It was black, sequined, with little feathers coated along the edges like something one would wear to a masquerade ball. Her dark hair was curled and cascaded wildly down her perfect, slender shoulders. She had on a red and black corset top which had her large tits pushed up high against her chest, with black, knee-high length boots which ended right at the start of her thighs, and a pair of tiny, black boy shorts which squeezed snugly around her large, plump ass.
Fuck…
She was…
“Perfection,” Isaac muttered beside me.
Knowing that sex-addicted prick like I did, he was probably pawing at his hard on right about now, eager to whip it out and start busting his load all over the floor. If he was, I wasn’t about to find out. I couldn’t keep my eyes off this exquisite creature as she spun and dipped and crawled across the stage like the fucking goddess she is.
Nobody in the club made a sound. Everyone just watched in total awe as she got to her feet and brought her hands up, caressing her tits before dragging them slowly down her frame while she rolled her body in perfect rhythm to the music before making her way over to the pole.
She grasped the metal and lifted her body, spreading her legs wide as she flipped herself upside down like a fucking acrobat, spinning her body around and around in a mesmerizing circle.
“Fuck me,please,”Isaac whined beside me, panting like some desperate dog about to die from thirst.
Yep. Called it. He was done for.
And fuck, so was I.
The lights brought the club back to life when the song ended, bringing everyone to their feet, cheering, clapping, and tossing stacks and stacks of bills all over the stage.
With a beautiful smile, the masked woman offered us a bow, then spun on her heels and quickly sashayed off stage, shaking her ass with each elegant step.
“I think I’m in love,” Isaac groaned, scuffling his fingers through his icy blond hair as he leaned back in his seat. “You think I have a shot at tappin’ that?”
I snorted. “Don’t even think about it. All the dancers here are Damien Reyez’s property. You’d be better off trying to bang one of the waitresses.”
“You will do no such thing.”
Isaac and I bristled up at the sound of our father’s voice, the heat of his glare drilling through us both. As we got to our feet and turned to greet him, he raised his large hand, silencing us before we could get any words out.
Xavier Michaelson wasn’t ourrealfather, but blood couldn’t make us no closer. When I was five years old, he came into my life, met my mother, and after an immensely short period of time, they’d wed. Then Mom got sick with breast cancer and after a few years fighting a brutal battle, she’d lost the war. When I was seven, he’d officially adopted me as his son and awarded me with the Michaelson name and legacy. Phantom and Isaac joined our family a year later.
“We’re not here to get our dicks wet, boys. We’re here strictly for business. Now adjust yourselves accordingly and follow me. Damien is waiting for us.”
Isaac blew out a hard sigh of disappointment and quickly reached down to adjust his dick in his pants, his bottom lip jutted out.
“Asshole,” he grumbled under his breath. “Always has to take the fun out of everything.”
We followed behind our father and were led behind the main stage. Ahead of us was a guy standing guard behind a black door. Tall. Buff. Intimidating. Early twenties, maybe. His dark eyes daggered us closely as we approached him.
“Wrong way, fellas. The exit is that way,” he said, pointing in the direction we just came from.
“We’re here to see Damien Reyez,” my father spoke firmly. “I’m Xavier Michaelson.”
“Ah,” the guy nodded. “The Ravagers. Father mentioned you’d be stopping by.”
Father?
Isaac and I shared the same quizzical look.
