Page 116 of Vegas Daddies

Alice needs our protection.

And so does this child.

27

MATCH

Guests floodinto Ursula and Hook, all of them male.

Their lustful eyes fucking disgust me.

“In you go,” Pedro says.

“No pat-down first?”

Brander flashes me a cautionary glare. I know what he’s thinking—now’s not the time to joke about a security check when all three of us are concealing weapons, but a touch of humor is what I need to alleviate the tension that’s been wrapped around me all afternoon like one of Brander’s choke holds.

“Green light from Vlad,” is all baldie says before issuing us in.

My gut twists as we enter. I don’t want to see Alice center stage wooing a bunch of degenerate men. I want her home in one of our beds, undressing for us. Only us.

A red spotlight swings.

That’s when I see her.

She’s in scarlet, breasts once again spilling out of small lace that looks ready to snap at any given moment. She moves around the pole fluidly, hooks one leg and straightens the other to accentuate her body. Then she’s touching her ankles, wiggling her ass (fuck, it makes me hard). Occasionally, a tiny red string winks between her cheeks when she relaxes them.

Don’t look, don’t look, I tell myself, keeping my eyes stapled to her.

But they have a mind of their own these days.

If you took every man out of this place and laid them over the Pacific Ocean, the water would be covered. There are too many bodies. Even more pairs of eyes, and every single one is directed toward her. I turn to the man beside me. Frozen in his hand is a bottle of beer that I’ve not yet seen him take a sip of in the two minutes I’ve been staring at him.

A clicking fist draws my attention away from the man.

It’s Brander clenching both of his hands.

“Channel the energy into Vlad,” Lifesaver says. “Maybe Levi too.”

“Agreed,” I say. “He’s a cocky little shit that needs putting in his place.”

Levi, wearing a black suit that’s too big for him, gestures us over and then swoops downstairs. A purple curtain drapes over the area, with aStaff Onlysign attached that might as well be translated toMurder Basement.

After nodding to the boys, we advance through the main stage area and head toward the curtain, left of the stage that Alice dances on. It’s only from this distance that I catch the stashes ofdollar bills in her G-string. The stitching across her front reveals a dangerous patch of lace that covers something only Brander, Lifesaver, and Match have seen. The material still covers her pussy, but barely.

And that’s when it hits me.

Are these men trying to break the seams of her costume or something?

Are they praying for a wardrobe malfunction?

“Alice,” I call to her, but she doesn’t hear, face still focused on the back wall as she continues with her routine.

The song finishes and another one begins.

This dance doesn’t take place on the stage, but on a lap.

Brander’s face turns so red that it looks sore.

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