Queen of Lies (Empire of Lies 2)

This place was their dirty little secret. Drugs and liquor were easily at their fingertips, and they paid top dollar to be entertained for as long as they wanted to stay.

I dressed in my favorite outfit—a shimmering black bodysuit with matching feathers, and I buckled a pair of sparkling silver stilettos around my ankles.

I made my way to the stage opening, right at the moment my set-list was about to play. I moved from behind the curtains and strutted to the center pole—looping my leg around the metal before hoisting myself up as far as I could go.

I used my thighs to hang on and tilted my body backwards, letting my arms and curls fall toward the floor—hanging free until the music changed tempos.

When my routine began, I pretended like I couldn’t see anyone else in the club except Michael. He was sitting in the front row, leaning back, fat cigar between his lips.

As the smoke unfurled from the tip of his Cuban, I slowly twirled around the pole—making my way down to the ground. Arching my back against the pole, I moved my hips to the beat—teasing him with every move.

For a moment, I thought that he really was here, that my imagination was drawing him a bit too clearly. But when the music stopped, the lights in the room brightened a bit and he wasn’t there. It was the same suits as usual, the same Wall Street men I was seconds away from stealing a few grand from.

Sliding off the pole, I picked up the tons of bills that landed and headed backstage.

Twenty five hundred dollars…

Thrilled, I wrapped my silk slipcover over my outfit and walked to the dressing room. As I was stuffing my belongings into my bag, the club owner—Mr. Heights, stepped into the room.

“Good shit as always,” he said, crossing his arms. “You want to make tonight the night that you actually become a part of the team?”

“Depends,” I said. “What do you mean?”

“We’ve got a really special client coming in a few minutes,” he said. “He just dropped one hundred grand to buy all the tables and booths for his friends, and he wants a private dance in the grand VIP suite.”

“In that case, I’m sure any of the other girls would love to get a tip from him.”

“He’s specifically requested you.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “His exact words were, I want The Black Swan. So, since he just paid me in fucking cash and every bill is legit, he’s going to get to watch you dance in private.”

I swallowed, shaking my head. “We agreed that I would never have to do that.”

“That was the arrangement for the first few months,” he said, glaring at me. “It’s been way longer than that. If you don’t like it, you can quit, and then see if any of the other clubs in this city will let you treat their business like a goddamn hobby. Meet him in the VIP Suite in fifteen minutes or walk your ass out of my building and don’t come back.”

I said nothing. I’d been lucky enough to fly under the radar so far, and from what the other girls had told me about the private rooms, these clients always thought that a few extra hundreds meant more touches. A couple thousand meant a blow job or a hand job so good, it felt like a blow job.

I couldn’t imagine what a guy who dropped one hundred thousand would think he was entitled to receive. And the thought of touching any man other than Michael was enough to make my skin crawl.

If this asshole even thinks about touching me, I’m going to press charges.

I dropped my bag onto the bench and sighed. “I can stay for one more hour.”

“You can stay for as long as he needs you to,” he hissed and handed me my cut—a couple thousand. “Some of us don’t have the luxury to decide when we want to work or not.”

He crossed his arms and watched me freshen up my make-up, as if he didn’t trust me. Then he grabbed me and personally walked me to the best VIP suite.

“You better do a damn good job,” he said, double checking the liquor spread on the table.

I waited for him to call in a security guard, but he didn’t.

As if he could read my mind, he looked over his shoulder as he walked toward the door. “The customer paid an extra fifty thousand to not have a security guard in the room.”

I swallowed, feeling my heart crash against my chest in fear.

“You can still hit the panic button,” he said. “And Donovan will be outside the room, so if you scream loud enough, if something goes wrong, he’ll still be around.”

I bit my tongue. This man was an asshole of epic proportions.