Page 36 of Scattered Glitter

The truth is, it wasn’t my best steal. I was more than tipsy and didn’t do it intentionally, so I was too careless.

I’m usually so much better.

And yet, I was still good enough to lift something from a celebrity.

I smile, sliding down the pole one last time before I make my way to the edge of the stage, turning my back to the crowd. Slowly, deliberately, I bend forward, giving them a perfect view of my ass. I can feel their collective breath hitch, eyes glued to every curve as I hold the pose long enough to make them hungry for more. Eager hands reach, crumpled bills clutched tight, waiting for their chance to be close to me.

A hand brushes where it shouldn’t, fingers lingering on my ass as one of them slides a hundred-dollar bill into my string. I spin around, locking eyes with the idiot. He’s a guy in his late thirties with slicked-back hair and a designer suit that screams money but does nothing to hide the sleaze in his dark, hooded eyes. His lips curl into a smug grin as if he thinks the cash gives him the right to touch.

That’s when I let my heel slam into his chest, wiping that grin off his face. A faint smile curves my lips as I meet his startled gaze. “Look, don’t touch,” I purr, laced with a honeyed threat that dares him to try again.

The guy stumbles back onto the velvet couch, probably still feeling the sting of my heel. At Euphoria, even the wealthiest quickly learn that money doesn’t buy entitlement.

“Hands off the girls,” Carl’s gruff voice rumbles from beside the stage, loud enough to cut through the music.

But I don’t need the big, bald bouncer for this. I catch Carl’s eye and wink, letting him know I’ve got it under control. He nods, crossing his massive arms over his chest.

The tension in the air melts away as I pivot back to thepole, sliding effortlessly into the rhythm of the music. My skin tingles with the beat as I arch my back, twisting and turning, a living flame on polished steel.

I love how they react to me.How I can turn want into awe, hunger into surrender, all with a curve of my spine or the arch of my foot. It’s intoxicating, the art of temptation, the silent promise they’ll never hold, no matter how much they crave it.

The men around the stage lean in hungrily, their gazes burning, their fingers itching to cross that invisible line, but they’ve been taught better now.

I climb higher, wrapping my legs around the cool metal before I throw my head back, my smile wicked as I slowly descend until I’m at eye level with the row of men at the front who watch as if they’ve forgotten how to breathe.

The song changes, but it’s much the same, with a throbbing bassline reverberating through the floor and into my bones. My gaze flickers to Carl, lingering for a moment. He’s talking to one of the coordinators, nodding in that subtle way of his, telling me I’ve been booked.

Good thing too. I don’t want to go home yet, and you won’t catch me at Vortex tonight for two reasons. One is the watch stashed away in my locker, and the other is a certain bartender who may or may not be waiting for me. I’m not in the mood for complications.

Finishing with a flourish, I slide down the pole one last time, my feet touching the ground with the grace of a cat. The men shove forward, dollar bills crumpled in their hands, eager to throw them at my feet. I let them have their moment, letting their eyes linger on my tits, savoring every second they can steal as I slowly bend to collect the money, one bill at a time.

Once I’ve gathered all the cash, I finally drape my arm across my chest, covering myself with a teasing half-smile.

Show is over.

Carl appears at the edge of the stage, signaling me over with a subtle nod. “Freshen up. You’ve got a private booking.”

I nod in response, no words needed, and follow him off the stage, weaving through the club’s shadows. The noise fades as we head backstage, and Carl waits by the door as I stride to my locker. Tossing the crumpled bills inside without a second glance, I grab my lipstick and swipe on a fresh coat of pink. The pasties are still where they’re supposed to be, and I don’t change my G-string or my high heels, keeping it quick.

With a flick of his wrist, Carl gestures for me to follow, leading me back into the thumping bass and dim lights. As we near the velvet curtains, the air thickens with that familiar buzz of anticipation.

God, I love doing lap dances.

Maybe I’ll leave with another watch tonight. I’ve never stolen two in one night, but hey, there’s always a first time.

I grip the curtain’s edge, my heart picking up its pace as I pull it aside and step through, ready to put on another show, coming face-to-face with Levi and Koen Lane.

Fuck.

My instincts scream to bolt the moment I see them, but before I can follow their advice, Koen moves with startling speed and snags my wrist. He taps his forefinger once against my forehead as his voice curls through the air like silk.“Sleep.”

The word sinks deep inside me, and before I can even register what’s happening, my body betrays me. My limbs go limp as my head falls forward, resting against his shoulder. Everything inside me stills as if someone has flipped my off switch.

I can still process Koen’s scent, though, and it’s intoxicating—leather, vanilla, and spice. For a wild second, I want to lick him and taste the warmth of his skin. Except I can’t move. I’m frozen, helpless.

And here I thought all those people he hypnotized on stage were faking it.

Shit.

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