Page 24 of Laila Manning
I sighed and rested my hip against the trunk, staring back up at the building. “I’ve never been to a strip club before.” Shrugging, I tried to seem indifferent. “Isn’t it kind of a rite of passage to go to a strip club in your early twenties and, I don’t know, let loose?”
Carly smiled and shrugged her shoulders. “It can be.”
“Can girls dance without being touched in there?” I questioned, watching the blue and pink neon sign flicker as the pattern changed to a purple and teal combination.
“Why?”
“Answer me.” I flicked my glance back to her, challenging her to be honest before I told her why.
“Sure.” She nodded her head. “Girls can do stage dances for tips only. They would miss out on the big money that’s usually found in the VIP room or in lap dances at least. But hypothetically speaking, girls can dance only on the stage. Now tell me why you’re asking.” Before I could reply, she pointed her finger at me. “Honestly. Because you have a look in your eye, I’ve never seen before and maybe it’s because your tits look incredible in that shirt and your mile high legs are distracting me in those shorts, but I think you’re about to say something shocking.”
I smirked and rolled my eyes, turning my back on the building and the appeal. “I need a job.”
Carly snorted and glared at me. “And you thought you’d jump right from part-time barista to stripper?”
I shrugged and crossed my arms over my chest. “I’m actually pretty good at it.”
“Stripping?” She deadpanned, going all serious.
I shrugged again. “I danced throughout my entire childhood. It was the only normal part of my life for the longest time. And then when I was—” I cut off, leaving the word trafficked out, “I stripped a few times.”
“And you would willingly want to do it again?” She questioned. “Because believe me, I’m all for supporting a woman’s ability to sell her own sex in whatever fashion she wants to. From stripping to escorting, it’s all fine with me if the woman does it safely and for her own benefit. But I’m surprised to hear you say it, considering you were against even wearing a revealing shirt two hours ago.”
I stood up off the car with a nod of my head, “You’re not wrong.” I faced her, “Allowing my sexuality to be used in a controlled state doesn’t scare me as much as the unpreparedness of just welcoming that attention from the public. Dancing in a place with armed guards,” I looked over at the big hulking men at the door, “And I’m not just talking about their biceps, gives girls at least a little of security. Am I right?”
“Completely.” She agreed and then sighed. “But even though I support whatever path you want to take, Jed, on the other hand would burn the entire building down if he knew you were inside of it working.” She shuddered. “Scratch that, he’d burn the entire block down.”
I tipped my head back and laughed. “Didn’t you two meet inside there?”
“We did. But as soon as I started falling for him, I walked away, because there was just something that felt wrong about showing other men what belonged to him.”
“Hmm.” I hummed. “It doesn’t matter either way.”
She smirked and then shut the trunk, nodding towards the building. “I’m probably going to get in trouble for this but come with me.”
“Where?” I followed her, scowling in confusion.
“To pop your strip club cherry.” She winked. “Let’s go get you a lap dance or two and I’ll introduce you to my friends.” She waved to the bouncers as we walked up. “Evening, boys.”
“Sunshine.” The men responded, nodding their heads respectfully as they opened the heavy doors. “Have a good night.”
“Oh, we intend to.” She purred back seductively, grabbing my hand and pulling me in with her. “Here’s to a liberating experience tonight.” She squeezed as the tempo of the music cascaded over my skin, igniting every nerve in my body. “Let’s hope you’re a changed woman when we leave.”
Chapter 8 – Zeke
“The order is short.” I laid the paper down on Ryker’s desk, letting him go over the numbers himself. “Think the A1’s did it? Or do you think someone here did?”
Drugs were a big part of Ryker’s business running Shadeport. And with the business, liars, and stealers were plentiful. Even among our own crew.
“How short?” He scanned the report, noticing the discrepancies.
“About a hundred thousand dollars short.”
“Fucking hell.” He groaned, tossing the paper down on his desk and leaning back in his chair. “The A1’s wouldn’t take that much off the top. They’re young and stupid, but they’re not suicidal.” He spoke of the gang in Southern California that ran the drugs for him from the border to Shadeport.
“Then you think it’s someone here?” I rubbed a hand over my head, trying to get the headache that crunching numbers always gave me to go away.
“I don’t think so either.” He rocked back and forth in his chair. “But who the fuck knows.”
