The Billionaire's Valentine Vixen

“It’s not just Popcorn. He’s bringing two of the other guys, too. I’m sorry, Alice. I got us into this but I don’t know what to do. If you don’t—”

I cut her off. “What other guys?”

“Dimi and that Roger guy. They are the other two I owe. Popcorn just told me, if you don’t…” Her eyes fill with tears. “If you don’t perform, they’re coming for me and you. And Popcorn is going to turn you in to the scholarship board at school. He has pictures and video of you working.”

Fear tangles in my belly as I hear the last song of Lavender’s set winding down.

“I can’t believe this.” I press my fingers into my temples, closing my eyes. The false eyelashes are heavy and the scent of marijuana fills the back room as the other girls light up, and a nauseous knot churns in my stomach.

“You’re going to do it though, right?” Lydia’s voice hardens.

“I said, I’m going to take care of it.” I don’t have anything else to say. I need to get this deal done, pay off her mess and get my life back on the rails. I’ve had a glimpse of what could be and I’m not going to screw it up now.

10

Roan

What the fuck am I doing in this place?

I look around me at the sea of leering men, all pointed toward the stage and the now topless woman writhing on it for their entertainment. Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing but respect for women who want or need to do a job like this to pay their bills. Life’s hard, and you use whatever means you can. It’s just not the kind of entertainment that I find entertaining.

I’d much rather be at home, with Linnie and Alice. I wouldn’t be here at all if it weren’t for the guy I’m buying the brooch from, who apparently works here.

A big bruiser of a man heads my way as I stand at the bar, and I wonder for a moment if it’s him, but he clears his throat as he draws near. “Al’s running a little late. Sorry. Says to wait here at the bar. Drink’s on Al.” He’s clearly a man of few words, as he clicks his fingers at the bartender, who sidles over with a grin.

“What are you having?”

A rumble of irritation tightens my throat, and I grit my teeth. If the brooch didn’t have the name of one of my own great-ancestors on it I’d walk out of here right now and forget it. But as it is, I sigh and mutter, “Glenlivet.”

“Man, we have Cutty Sark and Dewars.”

“Dewars then,” I half snap, I don’t care.

“Sure thing.”

With that, the bartender is gone, and I’m sure he read on my face that I’m in no mood to talk. He places a napkin on the bar a moment later, the glass with two fingers of amber liquid inside, and walks away without a word, which I appreciate.

I sip the scotch, ignoring the girl on the stage and not bothering to turn when the new dancer is announced. Cherrie, I think I hear the DJ say as the crowd thrums and hoots with appreciation. It makes me feel kind of sorry for them.

In fact, it’s not until I hear a laugh and a couple of voices carry to my ears that I even pay any attention at all.

“How much to get a private dance from Cherrie?”

“Ha, she’s fresh and clean, I’m breaking her in tonight.”

“Fuck. How much for me to break her in for you?”

“Nah, she’s a nervous one. Let me start her off, then we’ll talk.”

A laugh. “Oh, come on, man, it’s not like I haven’t had them reluctant before. I know how to convince them. I like a little fight before I fuck.”

That’s when I see red. Fucking disrespectful pieces of shit. Who talks about a woman like that, like she’s a piece of meat?

A second later, I’m slamming my glass down on the bar and turning to see two guys, one nasty looking with a blind eye and a two-thousand dollar suit, the other looking like a scumbag who’s about to get his face redecorated in blood red.

The music is loud and the girl on stage carries on dancing, the music pulsing as she twirls around, bending over, oblivious in a lacy black bra and thong, the pink hair of her wig tossing into her face as she twists and bounces.

“Who the fuck are you?” says the second scumbag when he sees me marching their way, and the scar-faced one turns in my direction, but that’s just at the same time as the stripper grabs hold of the metal pole, swivels on a toe and brings her ass into clear view.

And I see her birthmark.

Fuck.

Fuck.

My mind is thrown into overdrive as my focus centers on her left ass cheek. It can’t be. She’s with her sister. But no matter how much I argue with myself, there’s no denying it. It’s her. It’s Alice.