Page 39 of Dublin's Danger Dancer

“I don’t know, but my intuition says it’s something that’s not good. As someone who has known him a long time, I’m telling you, when he loses his temper, he’s capable of murder.”

“Well the police did just arrest him for murder,” I say, raising my eyebrows.

“Don’t mess with Liam okay? And don’t tell him about our chat. It wouldn’t be good for either of us.” Aaron rises up from the lip-shaped chair. “For you,” he says, handing me a €500 note. “And I know that he asked you not to dance on the main stage tonight.”

“Aaron, I do what I want when I want to.” I say stoically.

“It’s like speaking to a brick wall.” Aaron says, shaking his head in despair, opening the door.

It was a little after 1:00 am when I was called to the main stage. I thought about telling Eddie and Neeave, I wasn’t feeling very well and going home but the dominant rebellious part of me wanted the precious prime time advertising to rake in more money so, like every other night. I walk up the ramp working my hips in rotation as men call out for Danger Darcy.

Very few people inside the club called me by that stage name, but I felt safe even though Ciara was my real name. The Ciara I was here was wild and free, not the educated detective with a Masters in criminal psychology.

I start by swinging gently around the pole, leaning out, allowing my weight to hinge on one stiletto.

Nine Inch Nails plays. My signature song.

I spot Liam’s henchmen enter the club. Three men in black suits wearing, white shirts and ties enter the stairwell. Two part, and Liam enters.

Obviously, he had good lawyers on speed dial.

He glares up at this stage. His face shifts from one of ambivalence to one of thunderous anger. I can almost see the hot, angry air puffing out his hollowed cheeks.

I continue working down the pole as he walks towards the stage glaring at me as I slink into floor work. Rolling on my back, I cycle my legs into the air.

A man is made to move so Liam can take his seat in the front row. He unbuttons his tweed jacket, hangs it on the back of the chair and rolls up his white shirtsleeves to his elbows.

I arch my back and begin to unzip my playsuit. His gaze burns my skin like lasers.

His tongue skirts the top of his lip as I begin to inch my playsuit off revealing my bare breasts to hoots and hollers.

I circle the pole, my bare breasts bouncing as I go.

Liam is gritting his teeth, his jaw clenching, anger visible in every muscle in his face. Noticeably, men stop hollering, following Liam’s presence.

I finish my performance in the splits over the money on stage.

He looks down at me pulling his index finger across his throat.

He rises from his seat, Neeave announces the next dancer and then he picks up his suit jackets and merges into the crowd at the bar.

I’d been dead since he murdered Harriet so weirdly. Going from hopeless romantic to death threats in the same day didn’t bother me.

Liam is hunched over the bar, his shoulder blades jutting together visible through his suit jacket. He hinges at the hip, his elbows leaning on the copper indented bar top. His nose nearing his crystal glass of whiskey. He knocks it back and signals at Kieran with a single raised finger for another.

I slide over to his side.

“I asked you to do one thing for me. Do you remember what that was?”

“Don’t you think we should start by discussing your arrest for murder?”

“I asked you to not dance on the pole.”

“And I said, I think about it.”

Liam swivels his whole body towards me. Even though he is leaning down, he still towers over me.

“How do you think it feels for me, seeing you up there, naked, other men salivating over you?’

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