Page 35 of Pink Poison

She lights a cigarette, not caring that her club is supposed to be a smoke free zone. "Good. Do you remember the rules?"

"One piece must come off by the end of the first dance," I recite. "Wait to collect tips until after my song stops. Oh, and don't fall."

"You’re missin' a rule," Mo drawls. My brows pinch, certain that I memorized everything Teegan told me. Inhaling a long drag of her cigarette, she pins me with a firm stare. "Don’t mess with none of them bikers that come in here." She exhales, blowing the smoke out the corner of her mouth. "And don't ever put one of their cuts on."

"W-Why?" I ask.

"You tryin' to become property?"

Property? Why in the hell would I want to do that?

I shake my head. "No,ma'am."

She laughs, her voice raw and smokey. "Then you best remember not to touch anyone's leather, girlie. The minute you put one on, you're that man's property, and you can't take it back."

Kash snorts, bringing me back to reality. “I never said I wasn’t crazy.” He pats his hand over his leather vest.

Jesus fucking Christ. Yeah, this man is certifiable.

"I can't wearthat," I grit.

His face hardens, undeterred by my refusal. "I think you’re mistaking this as a request when it'sactuallya demand, Stevie." He steps forward, standing toe to toe with me. "Put myfuckingcut on and get your sexy ass on that stage."

The tension between us thickens, choking me with my next breath. "Kash."

He grabs my face and squeezes my cheeks punishingly. I hate that I let him do it, just as much as I hate that I notice the calluses on his fingertips, the way I know what spiced cologne he's wearing.

Dior Homme 2020.

"Do not mistake the fact that I'm sweet on you for kindness,sweetheart," he bites. "I'm just as much Butcher as my brothers." His fingers dimple my cheeks, undoubtedly forming bruises on both sides. "Put. My. Fucking. Cut. On."

“Fi-Fine,” I mumble, reaching for the vest.

My platforms click as I walk toward the blindingly bright stage. Inhaling deeply, everythingKashclouds my senses.Leather. Stale cigarette smoke. Beer. Dior Homme.It's close to convincing me that it was actually a good idea to wear his cut.

Close.

Sadly,closeonly counts in horseshoes and hand grenades.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome to the stage for the first time here at Le Papillon, Stevie,” the emcee rumbles, breaking me from my thoughts of Kash.

Swaying my hips, I walk towards the center stage pole to an unfamiliar beat—one that I haven’t danced to before.

Shit.

I add an extra pop to my hips, flashing a teasing view of my ass. A piercing wolf whistle shrieks over the music and I use it as a confidence boost, knowing damn well who made the sound.Kash.With a sassy toss of my hair, I grip the pole and throw my weight around. It spins me seamlessly while I lock one leg around it. Between muscle memory and the rush of performing, I lose myself in the fluidity of the music. It's almost like meditation—myversion of it at least. As soon as the bass vibrates through the stage, I drop to my hands and knees. Kash’s vest falls open, revealing my full chest and uncovered mound. Faces blur together while I crawl forward. Reaching the end of the stage, I witness exactly what Maewarned me about. The entire gallery is lost in pleasure while I provide their entertainment…orinspiration.

Oddly, the sickening feeling I anticipated never comes. Instead, in its place is a tempered burn of pride. Pride thatIcommanded this room with nothing but a few swings around a pole.

The rapid thump of the music slows, morphing into a familiar slow, sensual song. Leaning back on my heels, I inch my knees apart and trail my hand down my cleavage to my core. The masses fall into each other, succumbing to their pleasure while I continue to work the floor. Time no longer feels real as the song continues to play, almost as if the music is bending the rules for me.

Before my mind has a chance to keep up, the bass tapers away, signaling the end of my song. I pull my weight forward and close my legs before standing back to my full height again. The ache in my muscles deepens with each step away from the stage, but I manage to put on a flashy strut as I normally would.

“Great set, new girl,” the emcee whisper-shouts.

I move to thank him, but a hint of familiar blond hair from the side stage catches me off-guard. “Let's go, sweetheart,” Kash’s voice clips.

Straining a smile, I shuffle backstage, ready to get the hell out of here and sleep this entire day off.

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