Page 63 of Forbidden Heroes

Sunset sits back in her chair, playing with the tips of her hair. “Nope. None of us do. Something about new management wanting to go over the books before dishing out money. Whispers here and there say they are looking to change up a few things.”

“God, I hope that doesn’t mean firing any of us.” If nothing else at least that. I can’t afford a single day without some kind of money coming in.

I can tell by the faces of the other girls they feel the same way I do. Pissed off.

I push to my feet and grab for my robe, when my phone rings again. This time it’s with a text from my landlord.

Rent. I’m going to need it in full, sweet tits.

My fingers tighten around the thin device as anger jets through my body. My cheeks flame with the amount of rage building. That little bald, dickless fucker.

“Where are you going?”

I’m by the door before I know it. “Since no one else has the balls, I’m going to see about our money,” I seethe through clenched teeth.

“It’s almost your turn onstage.” Sunset takes my arm and I know she’s trying to calm me down. “Let it go. You don’t want to do anything that will make them fire you, babe. It’s not worth it. Give them a day or two. Everything will work out.”

“That’s just it, I don’t have a few days. I appreciate your efforts, but nothing ever works out from waiting around, in my experience.”

Between tips and pay, I usually have enough to cover both rent and tuition and afford enough food to get me by. It helps that the club offers its employees one meal while on the clock. Sometimes that’s all I get.

I’d be fine right now if my lousy landlord didn’t refuse to replace the water heater and stove, which both crapped out on me last week. It was either shower in the school gym and eat whatever I could find cheap and on the go or fork out the money.

I grab the handle and turn at the same time Sloan strolls through with a clipboard. I guess his shift on the front door ended and he’s on stage duty.

“Where you off to?”

“I need five, Sloan.”

He shakes his head. “Not gonna happen. It’ll have to wait. You’re on.”

I can see there’s no room for negotiating, from the hard set of his lips. The man had a job to do and he did it well.

Damn it.

“Now, Sugar. Sorry.” He shrugs.

Well, crap.

Defeated, I toss my phone and robe to Sunset and make my way to the curtain. It’s almost impossible to shove aside the shit going down in my life, but I don’t have a choice.

Stress has worked my muscles into tense knots along my shoulders. Maybe the interruption was a good thing.

I can work out the kinks over the next fifteen minutes and alleviate a little of the stress while I’m at it and come up with some sort of plan that doesn’t involve me being forced to drop out or getting dropped from school.

Dancing does that for me. The feel of music caressing me like a lover has my hips swaying and blood pumping. I grew up wanting to be a prim and proper ballerina with the pretty pink leggings and fluffy tutu, but I traded in all those dreams for a pair of stripper heels and a high college tuition bill.

Strobe lights work the crowd, signaling it’s my turn as the crowd’s entertainment and my signature tune cranks to the max on Insomnia’s sound system. I step out onto the stage into a cloud of billowing smoke. Whistles and jeers come from men rimming the raised platform, all wanting a piece of me for themselves, but I only have eyes for one man.

And in that instant my troubles fade to a dull noise in the back of my head.

Maddox Spencer. Six-three of pure muscle, not a marking on a single inch of his body from what I’ve seen—which isn’t much admittedly. Black silk hair so dark it looks purple when the sun hits and eyes that never miss a shimmy or dip.

My torturer is at his usual spot three tables back, flirting with the shadows, with a single bourbon neat on the table to his right. Predictable. His crystal blue eyes never leave my body from the second my spiked heel touches the stage.

I sashay my way to the end of the stage and run the fruity pink tips of my fingers over cool brass like a lover’s caress right before wrapping my fingers around the thick pole. And tonight, like every night, I forget about my troubles for an all-too-brief moment and begin my nightly seduction of my dean.

Two

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