Page 30 of Creed

“Apparently the best kind, according to him.” I chuckle. “His buddy Rocks found this dance club where apparently the dancers are hot as fuck.” I dramatically mimic T’s enthusiasm.

He picks up his phone, glancing at a message on the screen before turning his attention back to me. He sighs in resignation, knowing we very well can’t leave T to his own devices. So he polishes off the last bite and kicks his slippers off, replacing them with his faded chucks. “Yeah, I got about thirteen messages from T while I was napping, threatening me to go, so apparently, we have no other choice.”

I smile and shake my head. “C’mon.” I grip his shoulder, turning him toward the door. “I’ll drive.”

I grab the keys to my 1967 Chevy Impala and head for the garage when I hear Riley call out behind me. “What, you’re not going to make me ride as your backpack on your bike?”

“Not tonight,” I wink at him playfully, which just makes him laugh.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Tony was right. The building I’ve just pulled up to is definitely in a shady part of town and the building itself looks questionable as fuck. But there’s a line with at least a hundred men and women alike waiting to get in. Each time the bouncer opens the door, you can hear the thumping bass of the music along with the whooping and cheering of the crowd inside.

I pull my phone out of my pocket as Riley sits next to me, humming to the Falling In Reverse song playing on the radio, fingers tapping out a beat to the music.

Me: Ritz, we’re here. There’s a fuckin’ line a mile long to get in.

ASSWIPE: Just tell the bouncer you’re meeting with Rocks. He’ll let you in.

ASSWIPE: Hurry the fuck up! Star girl is here tonight, you gotta see this chick. Fuck, man. *drooling emoji*

I roll my eyes at his bullshit and pocket my phone. I glance at Riley, who’s chewing his lip nervously while staring at the building in question. “Hey,” his eyes meet mine. “Tony’s fucking losing his mind over the girls in there. You ready?”

He releases his lip after gnawing it raw and a second later he nods. “Yeah, I guess. Let’s do it.”

Riley’s one of the best drummers I’ve ever seen and we’re damn lucky to have him as a part of the band. He absolutely slays every time he gets up on stage and behind that kit, but he gets really bad social anxiety and I think it all stems from his family popping up in the most odd public places to try and threaten money out of him while simultaneously telling him how much they hate his guts.

We get out of the car and I am completely fucking dumbfounded that the bouncer actually lets us in after dropping the stupid name that is Rocks.

Inside, the club is shockingly nice. Low, sultry lighting and a heavy beat give the place a deep, sexual vibe. The place seems to be fairly clean and there are platforms and cages around the perimeter of the room with dancers in skyscraper heels twisting and writhing and swaying their hips at every station. Some are raised with a crowd of people surrounding them, tossing various wads of cash to the dancers that just gets tucked into their very tight costumes. Every girl is dressed up like it’s Hollywood theme night or some shit.

Other dance platforms are circled by leather circular benches with men sitting back and sipping their whiskey or vodka, watching the women dance with blatant hunger in their eyes.

I take another glance around at the dancers and I hate to admit it, but Tony was right. The women here are fucking hot. Every last one of them.

Tony’s ugly face obscures my view when he emerges from a curtain in the back of the room. “There you fuckers are!” he shouts over the music as he pulls us in for a one armed back slap type of hug. I cringe internally and have to school my features so I don’t cringe on the outside, too. He wastes no time in directing us to follow him through the curtain to the VIP section.

No sooner are Riley and I seated at a booth in front of a large stage with two long red strands of fabric suspended from the ceiling, does a waitress appear, wearing a sparkling pink lingerie set that has her tits lifted up so fucking high I swear they graze her chin. Her face is caked in heavy makeup that drowns her blue eyes. Two fuzzy cat ears that match her outfit are poking out the top of her long black hair that’s curled down her back and grazes the top of her perky, toned ass. She’s hot, but the lax position of my dick tells me that she won’t be getting any extra attention from me tonight.

The music is quieter in this part of the club so the shrill tone of her voice has my ears buzzing in the most unpleasant way when her eyes light up with recognition and she starts bouncing up and down in excitement, her tits jiggling and threatening to break free from its confines with each motion. Tony shifts next to me, adjusting himself while Riley looks like he wants to bolt any second.

“Oh my god! You’re Dark Sins.” She shrieks, her cheeks flushing even in the hushed lighting. “I can’t fucking believe this. I. Love. Your. Music. One year, my girlfriends and I followed your tour from LA, to Vegas, to Albuquerque, then Denver. My bestie Leanne is the one who threw her bedazzled bra on stage at Tony in Vegas.” Tony chuckles as if he actually remembers what she’s talking about. I do remember that her friend was then escorted from the concert venue for refusing to put her shirt back on after removing her bra. Malibu Barbie doesn’t stop there though. Words are falling from her injected lips a million miles a minute as she goes into great detail about the time they tried to sneak backstage before one of our concerts and Bear escorted them back before security kicked them out and left them each with an autographed tit to keep them from coming back.

Interrupting her, I look at Tony, “Where the fuck is Bear, Ritz? You con him into coming, too?”

He laughs like I’m joking. I’m not. “Yeah, man. He was taking Ayla back to her boyfriend’s apartment, showering, then coming down.” He claps his hands together before rubbing his palms in anticipation as he leans toward the waitress, “Brandi with an I, ” He calls to her and her eyes widen as she turns to him, no doubt star-struck that he knows her name. Her name is literally tattooed on her tit. “Can you be a fuckin’ doll and fetch us a bottle of your top shelf whiskey?”

She nods enthusiastically as she bounces away, her ass wiggling with every step. I glance down at my crotch. Nothing. Great. This night is shaping up to be a fucking roller coaster of arousal. From the absolute empty void of nothingness I feel in my nether regions when I look at these women is an equal low to the immeasurable high I felt of the blinding pleasure I found when I fucked my fist to the tune of Collins Weston. The fuck is wrong with me? I need to get my shit together, asa-fucking-p.

My thoughts sour at the thought of Collins and not knowing where the fuck she is or if she’s safe. I want to be fucking pissed off at her for ghosting her brother and me, but I know I have no right with how I failed her so many times. Now that I’m not on tour, I’ll go out and fucking find her myself.

After ‘Brandi with an I’ drops off our whiskey and glasses, Tony snatches her by the wrist and whispers something in her ear that has her practically panting as her face turns a deep shade of red before nodding frantically and running off.

I want to warn him against trying to pay his way to having sex tonight but I’m stopped by the DJ announcing that their “star girl” is about to take the stage again in a few moments. Glancing around I see that there are several other groups of wealthy looking men and women seated, talking amongst themselves while eyeing the stage.

I can’t help but feel like a fucking king though, seeing as our table is in the dead center of the room, slightly raised like a damned dais, right in the front and center of the stage.

I throw my arms across the back of the bench, stretching out as I sink further into the leather of the cushion, spreading my knees wider with the new seated position I’ve taken.

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