Dylan uses them for punishment.
He's told me before that if I please him, he could make them feel good. That they are for my enjoyments as much as his if I can just do one simple thing right.
I never please him, though.
I can never get it right.
"Now like I said, I plan to enjoy myself." The smile on his face makes me want to collapse to the floor and as he pulls the long black leather strap out of the box, my eyes close.
I hate my very existence.
I want to die.
Chapter Six
Cutter
It's Thursday. Payroll day. One of the busiest days of the week in the office, and there's still no sign of Jasmine. She called on Wednesday morning to say she'd come down with a stomach bug and from her pained voice on the phone, I didn't even question if she was faking it or not. I've been in a shit mood all week.
After the drama with Melanie, one of the staff fucked up an order and we've ended up with two hundred bottles of low-alcohol beer. And who the fuck wants low-alcohol in a place like this? To top it off, one of the girls tripped in her heels and sprained her ankle, so now I'm a dancer short for the next two to three weeks. I've managed to call in a few favors, but I'm still going to have to fit in interviews for some new dancers before Monday, meaning I'm stressed the fuck out.
Having Jasmine here to take care of the paperwork would take a load off, but I can't ask her to come in when she's sick. As much as I need her, right now. I run my pen down the columns of payroll numbers, each assigned to a different member of staff, until I land on the latest addition: Jasmine Burke.
Pure isn't my usual type, but I can't deny she's caught my attention. With dark eyes that try to swallow you whole, and raven black hair that contrasts to her pale skin, she seems so pure in every way. As much as I realize that she would probably never go for someone who lives the life I do, I can't help but want to try.
It's clear I need to get laid.
Sitting out at the bar, I scan the area for signs of someone-anyone-to catch my eye, but all I see are the same people I see day in, day out. It's not like usual where I would just meet up with a woman, fuck her and then walk away. As many times as I have had girls come up to me tonight, I am just not feeling it. They are all such an easy lay, it doesn't interest me at all.
Tracie slides a shot glass in front of me and tilts her head to the other end of the bar. "The blonde one," she says. My eyes flick left. Three women perch on the bar, a row of empty shot glasses in front of them, and, sure enough, a blonde catches my eye, chewing on her bottom lip, looking up at me through long lashes. Ordinarily, that's all it takes. I would down the shot, take her by the hand, lead her to my bike and take her to my room at the club, where we'd spent the next few hours before I send her on her way and pass out.
Ordinarily.
But tonight I'm not feeling it. I throw back the shot, then fish a ten out of my wallet and slide it to Tracie. "For her trouble," I add.
Tracie pauses for a moment. She knows my routine almost as well as I do; after all, she witnesses it firsthand. Then her hand curls around the crisp note. "Well alrighty then."
I turn my back to the women at the end of the bar, not interested in seeing how my dismissal affects the blonde. There'll be others, no doubt. There always are. Tonight, however, my thoughts are elsewhere-specifically with a shy mouse whose pull I just can't seem to shake.
Jasmine.
Shit. Like that will happen.
I look around to see the rest of the club's officers with their old ladies. Twisted has Nikki by his side. Torch and Tracie are there, and Whip has Lucy pulled tight against him like he's afraid sunlight will get between them. I've watched each and every one of them fall hard for those women and being a bystander, part of me has always felt a pang of jealousy. No one has ever caught my eye like that. No one has made me feel for them the way they talk about their girls. That instant connection, where you know that the person standing in front of you is about to change your life.
Until her.
I felt that the moment Jasmine looked up at me with those big eyes.
That time in the office on Tuesday was hell. My hands had itched with the need to pull her close to me, just to see how she would feel when she was there. Something held me back, though. Those eyes are dark for a reason. I've seen shit over the years, and experience tells me that they've seen more than she's letting on. There's a fear there-one that is deep-seated. The way her back stiffened when she heard Tracie yelling, the way her eyes won't always meet mine but she listens to any direction I give her.