Page 34 of Pink Poison

She scoffs, damn near turning her nose up at me. “As if I’d want to look like a fucking plastic doll.”

“You can thank the big man upstairs or the one down below for all I care, but these—” I smirk, groping my chest over my dress. “Are very much real.”

“She’s not worth it, Cheyenne,” someone snarks from the group.

Pulling my attention away fromCheyenne, I flick my gaze toward the group and give them my best pout. “It’s not that I’m not worth it. It’s the fact none of you could afford me.”

“Whatever,” Cheyenne huffs.

Rolling my eyes, I continue forward. Before I have a chance to stew on whatever dancer showdown that just happened, I reach my locker. With a sigh I open the door, hoping like hell that the box that Creed sent is still there. While the blue dress was not an option to wear, I can make do with the pale blue lingerie he sent along with it.

A sharp gasp catches in my throat as my eyes catch on a large, white box decorated with a pink chiffon bow. I swallow thickly, knowing that it's all too similar to the box Atticus gave me earlier. Gently, I pull the gift from my locker with trembling hands, noting the heavy weight difference. Placing the box on the leather bench in front of the lockers, I unravel the decorative bow and lift the top lid.What the fuck?Inside rests a gathering of white and pale pink feathers, and a card.

What the hell is this?

Flicking the card open, I read the brief note from Creed Hill, stating that an angel needs to wear wings, and that pink is certainly the better of colors. I toss the card aside and lift the feathers from the box.Jesus, how loaded is this guy?They aren't just feathers. They are, in fact, an elegant costume piece. Underneath the feathers is a frilly, faded pink French Coquette lingerie set worth more than a month’s worth of dancing would get me.

My stomach clenches uncomfortably at the implication this would send if I wore it on stage. Creed Hill doesn’t seem like the kind of man who does things like this out of the goodness of his heart. No. He’s cut from the same cloth as Atticus Lennon, and for some reason, he has taken an interest in me despite Jameson’s earlier effort to ward him off.

Fuck.

I set the feathered wings down and reach for the hem of my dress. It takes a little effort, but I manage to get it off and toss it into my locker. Goosebumps ghost over my skin knowing that I'm completely bare for anyone to see. It's a strange feeling, being in a new club again. It alwaystakes a while to adjust, but something tells me it'll be impossible toadjusthere.

The previous chatter in the room silences as the remaining dancers exit, giving me a moment of peace before I officially mark my place here.

“Blondie,” Kash whispers. A piercing scream scratches my throat, unprepared for anyone, much lesshimto be in the locker room. “Shit, don’t scream, you’re gonna get me caught.”

My frame shakes as I turn my head to see my golden-haired stalker. He stands only a few feet away, smirking playfully with his hands tucked behind his back. “What thefuck, Kash?” I spit.

“You were taking too long. I got worried.” He shrugs.

“I was uh—” I glance at the gift box and costume wings. “I was thinking about what I should wear.”

“Is that from Hill?” Nodding, I grab the lace-cut panties, hating how decadent the material feels on my skin.

“You’re not wearing that,” he states sharply, not bothering to hide his disdain.

I sigh. “I don’t have much choice.” Carefully, I step my platforms through the leg holes. “I planned to dance topless with my thong, but we both know what happened to those.”

Kash growls, “Not a chance in hell, sweetheart. Take those panties off.” His gruff, commanding tone leaves no room for argument. As in, I'm pretty damn sure he'll rip these panties off himself. Shaking the fabric from my legs, I let it pool around my heels. I chance a look at him through my peripherals, watching as he slides his arms from his leather vest before shaking it out and draping it over his forearm. “What are you doing?”

He takes a step forward, and then another. “Nothing from CreedfuckingHill is going to touch your body while you’re on that stage,” he seethes.

My eyes narrow, unimpressed with his current critical thinking skills. “Kash, I can’t go on completely naked.”

“You won’t be completely naked.” He smirks devilishly, placing his cut over the gift box. “You'll be wearing this.”

“Are you insane?” I snap.

Obviously, he is. Because a sane man would never take his goddamn cut off and demand a stripper, a stripper he doesn't even fucking know, wear it on stage. I may not have been around the MC long, but theonething that Mo instilled in us was how important that leather is, and what it means to wear it.

"Barbie," Mama Mo calls.

I walk to her on unsteady feet. Teegan says I'll get used to wearing platform heels, but I find that hard to believe when I'm practically Bambi on ice in them. "Yeah, Mama Mo?"

Mo coughs. "You ready for tonight?"

I nod. I've been practicing my routine all week and feel confident on the pole. "I'm as ready as I'll ever be."

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