Page 1 of Marcus-stiltskin

Chapter One

In Which a Man Gets What He Deserves

“These men SUCK ASS tonight!” Marti hollers as she bursts through the door of the dressing room, still topless with a loud, dramatic sigh. Her heels click angrily across the floor as she counts the few bills in her hands. The gorgeous Gobelin’s charcoal black eyes flick around the room until they land on me. “Steely, you’re up after Cara,” she says, motioning toward the door with her head. “There’s a bunch of assholes out there tonight for some dude’s bachelor party.”

“On a fucking Wednesday night?” Ginger, our house mom, asks, shaking her head as she wipes down a dressing table.

Marti flings herself into a chair dramatically and lets her long forest green legs hang off the arm. “They tip like shit, too. Be careful of the groom. You’d think he has tentacles the way he manages to get hands on you before the wolves can step in. I almost fell off stage when he grabbed my ankle.”

“What the fuck. Randy didn’t kick them out?” I ask.

Marti shakes her head. “He’s not here tonight. None of the Lamars are. They have some stupid second cousins twice removed here managing tonight. Those idiots have no idea whatthe fuck they’re doing. It’s the full moon–Zach’s having his engagement party with the pack, remember?”

I sigh. “Thanks for the heads up.”

I hadn’t remembered, but now I wish I hadn’t picked up the shift. I don’t usually work on Wednesday nights. The girl I usually share a dressing table with, Ashley, asked if I could take her shift so she could go meet her boyfriend’s parents. I figured I’d do what I could for her by removing one stressor from an already painful situation.

I mean, after all, what stripper wants to miss one of their few paid shifts of the week to meet her significant other’s parents at a fancy restaurant in the city? She and her man have been keeping her choice of employment a secret from his parents, so she’s probably spending the evening trying not to let it slip that she dances topless four nights a week out here in the sticks.

It couldn’t be me, that’s for sure, which is why I’m happily single and child-free. I’ve had a few brief relationships, and one ill-fated engagement but there are far too many guys out there who can’t handle their woman being in this line of work. It’s just not worth it to date at all.

For now, it’s fine. I’ve got way too much going on.

I’ve danced at the Wild Hare Ranch Gentlemen’s Club since I moved to Black Raven County to be closer to my big brother, Lugh, and his rapidly growing family. His wife, Jacqueline, is currently well into their third pregnancy. It’s not my circus, but I love those little monkeys so much I haven’t done much else other than work and be “Titi Sarah”, as my niece, Wendy, likes to call me.

I check my makeup in the mirror as the song winds down. It’s September, it should be cooler by now, but it’s incredibly hot in our dressing room. I haven’t even been out on stage yet, but my face already looks more sweaty than dewy, so I pat it dry with afew tissues and work on repairing my makeup while I wait for my stage name to be called.

Around here, everyone only calls you by your stage name. Letting the customers know your real name is a recipe for trouble. It’s just easier not to slip up if everyone calls you the same thing.

In this building, I’m Steely.

To the rest of the world, I’m just Sarah, a boring lady who likes to play Stardew Valley and hang out with her tiny niblings on her days off. Sarah can crochet and sew but is the worst cook in the world. She also doesn’t really have any big plans for the future, much to her big brother’s dismay.

The DJ calls me to the stage as the song changes. I drop the tissues and hurry out the door just as Cara walks in.

“Watch that guy in the gray suit. He’s taking the whole ‘last night of freedom’ bullshit a little too seriously. Darla just walked in. Stick close to her.”

The DJ has already got a fast song going for me as I step on the stage and start to move. There are three poles on the newly renovated stage, so I start at the pole furthest from the largest group of men in the room. Right away, I spot the guy that’s been pissing off all the girls.

His hair line suggests he’s a lot closer to forty than thirty. He’s incredibly tan in the leisurely I-play-a-lot-of-golf-and-boat sort of way. Even in the half dark, I can see the tan lines his glasses have left on his face. His suit is nice, but not expensive. He’s probably in insurance or sales. Generally, those types aren’t a bad sort, but there’s something off about this guy. I can feel it before I even make it over to the center pole.

He’s got a chair pushed right up to center stage–that’s a move Randy and the rest of the Lamar wolves usually keep from happening. The Lamar pack owns this place, and they are typically protective of their dancers. I do a quick scan of thecrowd as I slowly spin around the pole. Zach’s full moon pack engagement party pulled all the regular wolves out of the club. I don’t recognize any of the shifters in here tonight.

Unfortunately, it seems I’m Mr. ‘Last Night of Freedom’s’ type: breathing. He stands up and starts hollering as I spin around the furthest pole. He’s got a napkin in his hand and he’s waving it in the air like an idiot. His crew is a sad lot. Some of them are drunkenly egging him on, while a few others sit back awkwardly and look anywhere but the stage.

Regular bachelor parties aren’t usually all that bad. We even go out and do private shows occasionally. Normally, I’d play it up for a groom, but there’s just something about this guy. The way his eyes stare hungrily as he follows my movements makes me feel like a prey animal being hunted. You get lots of weirdos in here, but it’s rare that you feel less than human. Reluctantly, I move toward the main pole at the front of the stage.

At that same moment, movement from the bar catches my eye. It’s pretty empty. All the regulars are gone for the night, but one familiar face stands out. Lights from the stage catch the sequins on a dress and a figure lights up like a golden fire. Just as Cara promised, Darla is there, dressed up in a gorgeous, flowy gown covered in dark gold beads, sipping on a bottle of water. She’s obviously not here to work. She’s probably on her way to or from Zach’s party.

Darla’s one of those people that’s hard to pin down. She is tall and beautiful. She keeps her black hair long and wears a maxi dress every season of the year. By day, she works for the animal clinic across the road, but, on weekend nights, she picks up extra hours here as the only female bouncer on staff. I’ve never seen her rough anyone up, but that’s the thing with Darla. It’s as if people just behave around her.

She’s standing at the closest edge of the bar to the stage and nods in my direction when I catch her eye. I nod back and thegroom manages to get one hand on my ankle and drunkenly pulls just a little too hard.

I reach for the pole, and it’s the only thing that keeps me from falling into the group of men like a crowd surfer. I fall with an undignified “oof” on the shiny stage, landing hard on my ass. The man leans toward me, pulling me by the ankle, then pawing my thigh with his sweaty palm. He reaches for the waistband of my bottoms before I can even kick him with the leg he hasn’t trapped.

For a moment, all my idiot mind can worry about is if I’m leaving a butt print on the stage. It takes far too long for my panicking mind to focus on fighting off the guy in front of me.

The idiotic replacement bouncers here for the night finally decide to move as I yell for help, but Darla’s ahead of them, shoving men out of her way left and right like a Valkyrie moving across a battlefield to get to me. I kick at the man with my other foot, but he just laughs and starts shoving his hand down the back of my bottoms.

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