Page 4 of Tripp

“What did you tell her this time?”

“Shut up, man. You try and learn this shit and not mess up.” Jagger’s frustrations quickly disappeared when his woman signed something before kissing him.

I grinned as I turned my attention to Ryder. “You almost ready?”

“Fuck yeah I am.” He looked pissed, which wasn’t out of the ordinary where he was concerned, especially when Braylen was around. I swore those two were always arguing about something. “Remind me I can’t strangle her,” he mumbled as he brushed past me, completely ignoring the blonde-haired woman walking briskly behind him.

“I heard that,” she shouted, smacking his arm when she’d finally caught up to him.

Shaking my head, I turned back to Jagger. “You’re set to go there now, right?” He was up next in the rotation at the safe house.

“Yeah, Kena and Braylen drove so I’m right behind you. Just let me say good-bye first.” Taking her hand, he led Kena past me and out of the dank building where he’d won yet another fight.

The newly patched-in member took joy in dishing out pain on the bastard shackled in the basement. Psych dared to orchestrate the kidnapping of Kena and Adelaide. And to make matters even more serious, he’d been brazen enough to put his hands on Jagger’s woman.

I’d only been paired with Jagger a few times since we’d taken Psych, and every time I inwardly cringed, witnessing the former prospect’s rage toward the leader of the Savage Reapers. Or I should say ex-leader, seeing as how his life was gonna be snatched soon enough. Although, if it were up to Marek, Psych would live the next ten years rotting away in that basement.

Once outside, Jagger and Ryder walked the women to their car. Kena was all smiles while Braylen’s scowl was enough to makemeflinch. A couple of minutes later, the two men strolled back to where we’d parked and straddled their rides. We all kicked over the engines at the same time, the rumble of the three bikes sounding like fifty, echoing around us in the empty streets.

A sense of calm descended over me as I gripped the throttle, picked my legs off the pavement and drove off down the street. Jagger and I hooked a right toward the safe house while Ryder turned left, no doubt headed back toward the clubhouse. Something had been bothering Ryder lately, and I knew it was more than the arguments with Braylen, but damn if he clammed up every time I asked why he had a stick up his ass. Instead of answering, he would grunt and reach for a beer. If and when he got his hands on hard alcohol, then and only then would I be truly concerned.

The hard shit and Ryder just didn’t mix. I’d witnessed it a couple times and never wished to again. That man had some demons lurking inside him, and for some reason his whole personality completely changed with the consumption of whiskey.

Pushing thoughts of Ryder aside, I focused back on what I had to take care of in the upcoming week. After that night, I had a few days to myself, my only obligation making sure everything was running smoothly at Indulge.

Little did I know a simple check-in at our newest titty bar would change everything.

Reece

Taking a deep breath, I shoved all nervousness aside as I stepped on stage. The music I’d selected began to play, the beat of the tune vibrating from the speakers and wrapping around me like some sort of blanket—which was an odd sentiment, seeing as how I was about to take off my clothes in front of a bunch of horny men. Losing myself to the music was the only way I managed to continue stripping. I closed my eyes and allowed the thrum of the song to live within me, swaying to the idea that my life was exactly where I wanted it to be.

Which was false, of course.

No little girl dreamed of dancing naked, straddling a pole while lusty men looked on. I certainly hadn’t. But I didn’t have a choice. When I mustered up enough courage to leave my life in the shadows, I had fifty dollars to my name. Taking my clothes off was the quickest way to make the money I needed to survive.

Shield myself from my past as best I could and hope for a better life.

A calm life.

A safe life.

Swinging my legs around the pole, I hoisted myself until I neared the top, slowly positioning my body until I was turned upside down. My strong thighs stabilized me while my hands gripped the pole so I didn’t fall if I accidentally slipped. Which had happened before, but thankfully only when I’d been practicing my routine, not live on stage.

I unlocked my legs and spread them into a wide V, strategically placing my arms so I had a better hold. I slowly lowered my body until I reached the floor, going into a split before bouncing my ass up and down on the stage to the climax of the song. I soon let go of the pole, seductively crawling toward the edge of the stage and the men who were waving their money in the air.

The outfit I’d chosen that evening was a men’s white dress shirt, buttons opened to my navel. The sleeves were rolled up twice and a dark gray tie hung loosely from my neck, dipping between my abundant cleavage. A hint of teasing without showing everything. Not until I decided to. Of course, what was underneath the shirt left very little to the imagination, the white lace thong barely covering me. I always wore wigs while working, a helpful tip from Carla. That night I wore a short blonde hairstyle, quite the contrast to my long chestnut-colored hair.

I only had a few minutes left on stage, choosing a longer rendition of “Gone” by The Weekend. His voice was sultry and seductive, perfect for dancing and enticing men out of their hard-earned money. At my core, I was innocent and naïve, but whenever I stepped on stage I took on a different persona. A woman out to get as much from a man as I could. Ensnare them. Make them think they’re the only guy in the room. Make themwantto keep watching me long enough to get paid.

Pushing myself on my knees I slowly unbuttoned the rest of my shirt, pulling the material apart once the last button slipped through its hole. Running my hands over my breasts, I shielded them from view until I’d received a few more bills tucked securely in the garter around my left thigh.

“Let’s see those tits, sweetheart,” an older, balding man yelled, swaying from side to side from obvious intoxication.

“Yeah,” his buddy agreed from behind him.

Giving them both a sexy grin, I pointed to my garter. For as drunk as the bald guy was, he stuffed his money under the lace wrapped around my leg with ease.

Gripping both sides of my shirt, I slowly pulled the material away from my body. This was the part I hated, losing what little clothing covered me. But it was part of the job, so I mentally flitted away from the scene in front of me. I never allowed myself to see the men once my shield had been stripped away.

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