Page 40 of Wrath
Rage bubbled in his blood. His fists clenched at his sides. For a chilling moment, all he wanted to do was chase her and put his fist through her chest, to see how she liked being executed. But he couldn’t shake the feeling there was something else he should be remembering about her. He filed her away for later investigation. Misha was his priority now.
The music died down and a man came on stage announcing the next dancer for the evening—The Duchess.
Air solidified in his lungs. No fucking way.
What did you expect you idiot?She worked in a strip club.
Misha strode on stage wearing a skimpy skirt suit, heels and a feather in her neatly styled hair—all those incredible curls were flattened. With bright red lipstick on her lips, and thick fake lashes framing her eyes, he was looking at a new woman. Every horny male in the room drooled over her. And she hadn’t removed her clothes yet.
Fuck.
He couldn’t do this. Couldn’t watch her—she took off her jacket.No, babe. Put it back on.Nothing but a black string bikini underneath, glued to the curves of her beautiful breasts. Wyatt’s mouth went dry. Then her skirt went and she strutted down the stage, perfect taut ass teasing the men closest to her.
He couldn't look.
But he had to. He wanted that body all to himself—needed it. It was selfish, possessive and overbearing, but if Misha was his woman—she is!—then he didn’t want her body on parade for the world. He wanted her for his eyes only.
But what if she liked it? What if this was her thing?
Christ.He was a mess.
Wyatt scrubbed his face and found a seat toward the back of the room. He parked his ass and tried not to look, tried not to hear the cheers and filthy comments the men made. His leg bounced. What kind of mess had he gotten himself into with her? He forced his fists at his side and relaxed his teeth from clenching lest he crack them from the pressure his jaw exerted.Don’t forget why you’re here.
He had to stay. Had to work out if she was linked to the white-robed fuckers loitering around the shadows, and for that, he needed time alone with her.
The music died down, the lights changed. Her show was done. Thank fuck for that.
Wyatt dared a glance at the stage. Misha walked in nothing but her heels, a tiny thong overflowing with dollar bills, and two black stars covering her nipples. She climbed the spiral staircase like a master and disappeared up the top, onto the mezzanine level.
Wyatt flagged down a passing waitress and pointed at the stairs. She began to feel him up, palms rubbing brazenly down his chest. Jesus.Take your hands off me.It took him two more attempts at removing her hands and pointing up the stairs.
“Oh, honey, that’s for the VIPs. You’ll do better down here with me. C’mon, what do you say. You want a lap dance?”
He shook his head and pointed up again, insistent.
“You’re going to need deep pockets if you want up there.”
He drew out his roll of untouched cash. Her eyes lit up like he held Christmas. He peeled two bills and held them out, then played keepy-off.Take me there, and the money is yours.
She licked her lips, practically salivating at the two-hundred. “Follow me, sugar.”
When they got to the bouncer at the base of the stairs, the woman plucked the money from Wyatt and tucked it into her thong. She whispered something in the bouncer’s ear who stared down Wyatt and folded his arms.
The stripper made a “gimme” sign.
Another two-hundred gone. Fine.
Within seconds, Wyatt was up the steps and walking onto the mezzanine level.
Scattered around the darkened area were more metal poles and plush leather seats. Velvet curtains continued the trend from downstairs, and when Wyatt looked up, he caught cameras watching over everything. Under blue lights in the corner, a topless woman collected drinks from the burly man pouring them. Two black doors were at the end of the mezzanine. Wyatt could only assume they led to rooms for other services rendered. One bouncer stood guard. He didn’t look like much, and it irritated Wyatt to know it was only him and the barman up there protecting the women from VIPs who most likely believed they had the right to do whatever their status and money allowed.
Misha had her back to him and was casually draped from a pole at a private table seating three business men.
Another stripper worked a pole in front of a group of business men.
He needed to get Misha alone. Up here, there was only one way to do that.
Nineteen
