Why had that memory pushed its way into my head? Maybe because I missed the club so badly. I’d had no clue how good I’d had it.
Sex with Bill had been a rough affair - a lot of athletic position changes, a lot of banging against the walls - but dammit, he'd enjoyed it.
I looked up at the man fucking me with disdain. There was no enjoyment there, no fun. Sex for these guys was all about feeling powerful, feeling dominant, or just plain getting off. Fuck, even Gunner, who was all about power games, who liked to fucking choke me, would crack a joke once in a while. I would see barely contained fury in his eyes almost all the time. He wasn't a nice guy. But he wasn't like this.
The balding man wouldn't meet my eyes. He stared straight ahead as he thrust in and out of my body. I might as well have not even been there.
But he swore he would give me a hit when he had finished.
I'd tried to hold out, to wait until Viper relented, or until the awful sick feeling passed. I didn't want it to come to begging strangers. But the manager and the girls couldn't - or wouldn't - help me out at all.
What am I doing? What have I become? What the hell would Theo think?
I thought of him constantly - his deep brown eyes, his muscled, tattooed chest. I pretended he was coming for me. I imagined he was hiding out there amongst the other men, waiting for his chance to snatch me up and take me away.
I hummed a tune to myself as the man’s strokes became more ragged.
"Shut up shut up shut up." He grunted heavily as he came. At least this one had enough brains to use a condom. I waited for him to dispose of the thing before bringing up what he'd promised.
"We had a deal," I said, extending my arm.
He hesitated. "Supplies-"
"You promised!" I growled the words like an animal, teeth bared. "What kind of man breaks a promise?"
He considered it for a moment before pulling the supplies from his coat with a muttered curse.
The wave of relief I felt just watching him prepare the needle was the most frightening part of all.
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I looked out at the audience and despaired. How many shifts had I done? How many fucks, how many hits? I was unhealthy, and tired, and there was nothing pretty left. Why not just shoot me?
I danced and scanned the faces of the crowd and dreamed of sleep. Blissful sleep, the kind where you drift off in warmth and comfort, just sinking into it, with no fear, no sickness, no sweating or tremors, the type where you never want to wake up.
One face tickled something in my brain, raising an unbidden memory.
"Take me for a spin?"
The young man laughed and looked around. "Me?" I stood on the porch of the clubhouse and admired his motorcycle - black and chrome and impeccably clean.
"Yeah, you. I've never been on one."
He grinned. "Obviously, since you called it a ‘spin.’ You go for a ride."
"Well?"
He put on a mock serious face. "A girl's first ride is a special and sacred thing. You sure you want to do it with a lowly Prospect?"
"Hell yes. Let's go!"
Irish.
I could have sworn that I saw his face hidden beneath a ratty old baseball cap.
I finished my dance and rushed out to the tables as quickly as I could. He turned as I warily approached. Our eyes locked, and I felt like my heart seized up. It was him. Play it cool. Viper is watching.
"Want a private dance, mister?"
He nodded, looking like he was seeing a ghost. I led him to one of the booths and guided him into sitting in front of me. I danced close, slow and sexy, turning my body so Viper couldn't see me talking from his spot at the bar.
"You found me," I breathed.
“We've known where you were for a while. This place has been heavily guarded, though."
"But they let you in?"
"Stole an identity. The door guy didn't recognize my face, at least. Jesus, Ivy, are you okay?"
I bit my lip. I couldn't answer that. "It's really good to see you, Irish. Open your pants."
"What?" His jaw dropped.
"If you want to keep talking, you have to fuck me. He's watching."
"No! Are you crazy? Ivy..."
I leaned in close, lifting my chest near his face. "It’s not like we haven’t done it before. Please. He'll make me stop dancing for you if we don't. He'll send me to someone else."
He grimaced like he was in pain. "Shit. Fuck." But he unbuckled his pants.
I slipped his cock free - it was nearly hard already, thanks to my suggestive dance moves. I gave him a few strokes and a reassuring smile, then climbed onto his lap, flipped my skirt up and impaled myself on his hardness.
He groaned. "Thank you," I whispered. I took his hand and kissed his fingertips. "You're the only friendly face I've seen." Settling into a slow rhythm, I asked, "How am I going to get out of here?"