Page 26 of Daddy Sees Snakes

By using sex and seduction.

By playing dirty.

There's a long, long, night ahead of us.

One that, hopefully, will end with my victory.

With Lyon dead, and the club in my hands.

But deep down, I know it won't be that simple.

Deep down, I know that, no matter how the night ends, my heart will never be the same.

Deep down, I know that, no matter what happens, the real battle is with the man who already owns Iris.

CHAPTER FIVE

Iris

The pulsing electronic beat fills my ears as I gyrate and twirl around the pole, hands caressing the cool metal.

Red and purple lights flash across my skin, painting me in a seductive kaleidoscope of color.

Beads of sweat drip down my bare back but I keep moving, hips swaying in perfect time.

I lock eyes with a handsome patron in the front row and give him a sultry wink, ramping up my sex appeal as I slide down into a split.

A thrill rushes through me as the men hoot and holler, throwing bills onto the stage.

Dancing at Satin Dreams is already such a rush, so different from working in the tattoo parlor.

It’s a different type of high.

The clientele here are rich, powerful men in expensive suits, not any of the gutter rats from the rough sides of Tinsel Creek .

I should thank Rosa for getting me this gig and saving me from the inability to pay my bills.

Flipping my long deep brunette hair over my shoulder, I crawl seductively to the edge of the stage, back arched.

With a coy smile, I accept the cash being waved at me, tucking it into my lacy bra and panties.

The song crescendos as I pull myself up the pole, twirling and flipping my legs over my head to cheers from the crowd.

My adrenaline is pumping, sweat glistening on my tattooed skin as I lose myself in the erotic dance.

As the final notes of the song fade out, I strike a provocative pose, one hand on the pole as I lean back, pushing my ample chest forward.

Wolf whistles and applause reward my efforts.

I strut offstage, a satisfied smirk on my glossy lips.

Nothing makes me feel more powerful and alive than commanding a room full of men with the sensual movements of my body.

Backstage, I grab a towel to dab at my damp skin and neck.

Some of the other dancers nod at me approvingly as they get ready for their sets.

"Nice work out there, new girl," Raven, one of the veteran strippers, says as she touches up her dark lipstick. "You've already got them eating out of your hand."

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