Page 160 of Fallen Omega

They’ll pay to see her in skimpy outfits, maybe do a G-rated strip tease. I like that idea, titillate and never give them what they want with Lizette.

They get the other girls, but not my Angel and certainly not her wares, nothing but a glimpse.

Except they get the gift of her voice.

The more I think about it, the better it is.

Fuck, since the first time she walked into the club, the male patrons couldn’t stop staring. I knew she was a goldmine. Now that I know she can sing, truly sing, that makes her absolutely priceless.

As long as no one fucking touches her.

“Dante?” she presses again with a touch of anger.

I don’t bother answering. She’ll wait.

I haven’t touched her since that kiss before her deflowering. And her pull is just as strong. Stronger.

Part of the magic of my Angel.

If it works on me, and I’m not sure I like her, it’ll work on the customers.

I don’t need to understand my wanting her beyond knowing her gifts will earn us money. Money, I get.

“Sing.”

Angel frowns. “I can’t—” She stops. “I’m supposed to be cleaning the bar.”

Now I frown. “Who the fuck told you to do that?”

“Me. You won’t let me work that often on the floor.”

“I won’t let you be a fuck toy for customers. Not the same. Your punishment is done.Sing.”

“I don’t. I-I don’t sing in public, I mean.”

I smile, and she draws back a little.

“You will,” I say. “You’re a shit waitress, so you’ll get up and sing. Or strip. But if you strip, I’ll have to blind all the customers, and that’s just bad business. So…singing it is.”

“H-How often?”

I think about it. “As many nights as your greedy black heart desires. But I’m thinking at least three times a week.”

She nods and half-looks around, like she might find an escape hatch and make a run for it. She’s out of luck there. “If I have to sing, I can doonenight.”

This fucking girl. If she keeps it up, I might like her, and then the world will probably end.

I tap my foot and ask, “Let me guess, that one night will be the quietist one?”

“Yes,” she says eagerly. “Then I can just wait tables, bus, whatever the other nights?—”

“Oh, sweet little Angel.” I pause. “You’ll be on the stage. Performing. All the nights that I command it so. You’re going to be up here.”

“No.”

“Isn’t there a rule about obeying me without fucking question?” My words are quiet. Deadly.

“Dante, please…I’ve never sung in public before.”

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