Page 54 of A Dark Mafia Christmas

I lean back, letting the pink light from above wash over me. The music fades, and Justin's sorry-ass voice comes over the loudspeaker. “Give it up for the delicious Cinnamon!” I roll back on my heels, licking my lips at the older men. “But hold onto your bulges, boys, because next up is a sweet little slice of heaven. Welcome Angel!”

I gather all the money I can, stuffing it into my panties and bra and make my way off the stage. “What the fuck, Dylan? I had at least ten more minutes in my set!”

Dylan, the club’s owner, rolls his eyes as he lights a cigarette. “Gwen, you were boring the crowd.”

“How fucking dare you?—”

“Aye, watch your fucking mouth, or I’ll take you off the books for a week!” I press my lips firmly together, crossing my arms over my chest.

“That’s illegal, you know.”

“Andyouknow I don’t like legal chat in my club.” Dylan flicks the cigarette ash on the floor, giving me an annoyed look.

I smile, grabbing the cig out of his hand. “I see. I can only talk legalese when I’m getting you out of trouble.” Dylan gives me a humorless laugh as I take a long pull. “Go figure.”

Two years ago, I was at the top of my class at Georgetown Law, with dreams of becoming the best defense attorney in Washington, D.C. But then Dad disappeared after Mason threatened to break his legs. Mason had told Nana Rose thatDad’s debt was her debt. Despite everyone telling me not to, I dropped out of Law School to help pay off the debt because no one hurts Nana Rose, not if I can help it.

So when Dylan’s club was facing the threat of being shut down due to rumors of illegal activities in the secret “peek-a-boo” rooms upstairs, we made a deal: I would use my legal expertise to help him, and in return, he would allow me to work on the main stage at Dream Palace until I paid off my father’s debt.

“Ha. Ha. Funny.” Dylan snatches his cigarette back. “Now go out there and offer a dance to some of Mason’s crew. They haven’t spent any money yet.”

Fuck. I shift my weight from side to side, biting the inside of my cheek. Mason probably sent some of his men to collect the measly 500 dollars I pay towards my father’s quarter of a million-dollar debt. “Come on, they love Angel way more than me.” I roll my eyes, trying to count the bills in my hands quickly.

“Chop. Chop. You know you’re Tyler’s favorite.” I roll my eyes, continuing to count. 15. 20. 25. Fuck, I only got 375.

I push my breasts up and take a deep breath, steeling my nerves. “I thought I was boring,” I mock, sticking my tongue out at Dylan.

“Don’t pick a fight with me. Get out there.” Dylan points the cigarette at the door behind me, and I huff, sharply turning around on my six-inch stilettos.

I add an extra sway in my hips and make my way to the main floor, sliding just out of reach of some of the handsy men. I get wolf calls and “Hey baby,” but there is one set of eyes that silently weigh on me.

I look up to the left corner of the club, my eyes locking with a set of deep blue eyes. His gaze burns into mine, causing a thrill to ripple through me. I can feel his eyes tracing every curve, every dip of my silhouette, as I make my way through the club. I am drowning in his bright blue eyes.

He holds my gaze and lazily sips the amber liquid from his tumbler. I lean forward, eyes hooded behind the rogue strand from his slick back, dirty blonde hair. I can’t help but keep my gaze on him, his presence drawing me like a moth to a flame.

“Goddamn, you are fine!” Tyler’s whistle breaks the man’s trance. I look up at the smug motherfucker in a white tank top and dirty blue jeans. His buzz cut is colored green but looks purple under the neon lights, and despite all the ways he could be cute, he is just shy of being good-looking.

I stare at the angry pink scar pulsating on his face, but I mask the shiver of disgust with a seductive smile. “Well, I heard you boys were looking for me?”

“Hell yeah, baby!” An eager member who looks a little too young to be in here smiles, looking at the rose tattoo that spirals up my legs and gathers on my left butt cheek.

“Come sit on Daddy’s lap, Gwen.” There is nothing more unattractive than a man calling himself Daddy. Major ick. That honor should be bestowed upon you, not self-titled.

“Oh, come, Ty. If you want to take me home, you need to try harder than that.” I walk closer, almost between his thighs, crossing one foot in front of another, sliding my hips side to side like a snake charmer. Tyler leans back in his chair, legs wide, eyes hooded with a visible tent growing in his jeans.

“You know Mason won’t let none of us touch you.” I give him my best pout, squatting between his legs and peering up through my eyelashes.

Leaning up by his ear, I whisper, “Well, ain’t that too damn bad.” I’m not fucking Mason. I’m not fucking anyone, never have, but Mason claimed me as if I was his future wife. He knows if I had it my way, I’d have him swimming with the fishes before I would ever voluntarily call him husband.

Tyler swallows, his eyes running over the curves of my body. When his eyes land on mine, he licks his lips and says, “Jordan is waiting outside for this week’s payment. Side door.”

“Thanks, love.” I wink, blowing Tyler a kiss that makes his eyes lower.

With a flamboyant flourish, I turn around and switch my hips over to the side door when my eyes drift up to that man again. The tumbler he was drinking out of is abandoned on the side table next to his empty seat, glittering under the dance lights. I huff, blowing air between my lips. You need to get it together, Gwen; no paying attention to the hot, mysterious stranger’s absence when Venom is waiting for payment.

Maneuvering through the crowd and keeping out of Dylan’s eyeline, I make my way to the side alley. Knocking my right shoulder into the metal door, I stumble into the side alley where the midnight air bites at my exposed flesh. I gaze to my right, where Venom lazily smokes a cigarette.

“Venom, buddy!” I laugh, holding the metal door open with my hip and crossing my arms under my chest. “How the hell are ya?”

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