Rogue (Shifters #2)(25)

“Michelob,” Kevin said, just as hidden speakers crackled from somewhere near the painted-black ceiling and grungy background music blared to life.
Only once the music was playing did I realize it had been missing before. That accounted for the uncomfortable, exposed feeling I’d had since walking through the front doors. Well, that, and the fact that I was in a strip club.
Not that the nudity bothered me. But the blatant advertisement for sex with perfect strangers made me a little uncomfortable, and while I knew there was a difference between nude dancing and prostitution, I was a little fuzzy on the legalities. And hoped to stay that way.
Less than a minute after the music began, the first real patrons came through the front door, a gaggle of men about my age, in neat civilian clothes with identical military hair-cuts—clearly a sample of our country’s finest on leave from the nearby naval air station. They chose a table near the raised dance platform and sent an emissary to the bar to order their drinks.As the bartender reached beneath the bar for a bottle, the background music screeched into silence, and bright lights burst to life at the foot of the stage. Seconds later, new music came over the speakers, louder and faster than the previous sample, and within four beats, Corinne pushed through a heavy black curtain and pranced onto the platform, almost completely covered by her red hooded cape. For the moment.
Immediately, the young men up front began hooting and laughing, daring one another to call Little Miss Hood closer.
“Here you go,” Jeff-the-bartender said, less than a foot from my left shoulder. I jumped, startled by his sudden appearance. I’d been so distracted by the spectacle of the only striptease I’d ever seen that I hadn’t noticed a human approach. That was just sad.
Jeff set a short glass full of dark liquid in front of Marc, and a foaming mug of beer in front of Kevin. “Enjoy the show, guys,” he said, then turned his attention to me. All of his attention. He dismissed Marc and Kevin the way Corinne had dismissed me. Selective vision must be contagious.
“You change your mind about that job?”
I glanced at Marc to see whether he intended to make me go through with the fake interview. He did. He shoved me half off the bench with a not-so-subtle thrust of one hip.
“Uh, yeah,” I said, standing awkwardly to keep from falling to the floor.
Jeff grinned and took a second opportunity to appraise my…um…qualifications. He nodded, much as Corinne had, and gestured toward the bar. “Step into my office.”
From the corner of my eye, I saw Marc tense, and knew he would watch me wind my way among the tables to make sure I wasn’t actually going into another room. He’d make me play along, but he wouldn’t let me out of sight. Or out of earshot.
I followed Jeff to the bar and took a seat on the backless stool he pulled out for me. To my surprise, instead of returning to his post behind the bar, he sat on the stool next to mine and swiveled to face me, his smile broad and a little too eager.
“The best part about my job is the preview of coming attractions. You’re not shy, are you?”
I blinked at Jeff, then turned to face Marc, anger no doubt blazing in my eyes. “I’m going to kill you,” I mouthed, but he only chuckled.
The joke’s on you, I thought, swiveling to face the bar again. It’ll be a long time before I feel like taking my clothes off after this….
Chapter Thirteen
Jeff’s eyes wandered down from my face as he waited for my answer, and to my extreme frustration, I didn’t feel justified complaining, because my assets were a legitimate part of the application process. So I said the first thing that popped into my head, just to draw his gaze back up. 
“I need the money.”
“Then you’re in the right place, um…I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”
“Julie.” Better than Jane Smith, right?
“Okay, Julie…” Jeff grabbed a clipboard from the bar and slid it toward me along with a pen. “Let’s get the paperwork out of the way first.”
Paperwork? For strippers? My eyes widened as he peeled back the layers of documents to reveal an application, a W-4 form, a release form in case of personal injury, and an official-looking page outlining what the customers were and were not allowed to do, some of which were transgressions I’d never even considered, and flushed just thinking about.
After a lifetime of casual, nonsexual nudity among my fellow werecats—after all, I was related to most of the members of our household—I found the idea of flaunting my body for cash…distasteful, to say the least.
Jeff noticed my shell-shocked expression, and possibly the awkward way I held the clipboard, as if the metal clip might bite my fingers off. “First time?” he asked, forehead wrinkled as if in concern.
I nodded, lifting one thigh from the now-sticky vinyl, so I could cross my legs at the knees. It felt like a cross-your-legs kind of moment.
“Well, then I’ll need to see you dance, of course. Do you have your own costume?”
I shook my head, and he smiled at the bewildered look on my face. “That’s okay. We’ll put our heads together and come up with an act for you. Are you allergic to feathers or double-sided tape?”
My blank look must have clued him in to my confusion.
“You know, personal adhesive?” His eyes wandered back down to my breasts, and suddenly I understood.
Personal adhesive? Eewww! Spinning around on my stool, I leveled a furious gaze at Marc from across the room, but he just smiled and waved. You’re gonna pay, I mouthed, and he laughed, clearly enjoying my humiliation. Vicious bastard.
“Is that a ‘no’ on the feathers?” Jeff asked, and I nodded mutely. “Okay, we can do fur. You don’t mind fur, do you?”
It was all I could do not to laugh in his face. “No, I don’t mind fur, and I’m damn fond of claws,” I said, more for Marc’s benefit than Jeff’s. In the booth, Marc spewed whiskey out his nose, spraying Kevin from the forehead down.
“Claws…” Jeff mumbled, clearly picturing an outfit I had no urge to ever see. “I never considered putting claws on the cat costume. Kellie never thought of that.”
Kellie? I shuddered at the realization that they were not only preparing to replace the missing stripper, but that they were ready to give away her outfit. I couldn’t put on a dead girl’s costume, much less dance around in it.
Jeff went on, oblivious to my reaction. “But then, she had long nails, kind of like claws. But for you—” he took my left hand in his and examined my ragged nails “—fake claws might be just the thing. Not too long or sharp, though. You want to turn the customers on, not scare them off.”
That’s what you think….
“Okay, go ahead and fill these out,” Jeff said, standing as he glanced over the growing crowd in the club. “When you’re done, we’ll go back to my brother’s office and you can show us what you’ve got.” He grinned. “Normally we’d do that first, but something tells me you know exactly how to keep a man’s attention.”
Indeed I did. Get a tight grip on his balls. A man’s attention never wandered far from his crotch, especially when it was in mortal jeopardy.
Stifling a smile, I nodded and picked up the pen, and Jeff went back behind the bar to help the other bartender keep up with a rush of drink orders.What the hell do I do now? I thought, twirling the pen between my fingers. Marc would have already known Jeff’s full name, rank, and serial number, whatever that was. At least, he would have if Jeff wore a skirt. Or a G-string.
A change in the music caught my attention, and I glanced at the stage to see a tiny Asian woman dancing in a brightly colored dragon costume that could, at best, be described as abstract.
Across the room, I found Marc and Kevin seated on either side of Little Red Riding Hood, now wearing a mostly see-through red nightie. She sat sideways on the semi-circular booth, angling her back to Kevin to give her full attention to Marc. Kevin didn’t seem to care. He sipped his beer while he watched the dragon lady shed layer after layer of shiny scales.
By all appearances, Marc seemed glad to have Corinne’s attention all to himself, and if I wasn’t already certain of his disinterest in human women in general, I’d probably have fallen for his performance myself. After all, enforcers typically dealt with violent, angry strays, not beautiful, willing women.
I’d never seen Marc flirt with anyone else before, but he did it well. Very well. Fortunately, I was secure enough in myself and in our relationship to know that he was just doing his job. Marc thought of his appearance—his beautiful face and sculpted physique—the same way he thought of his teeth and claws: as just two more weapons in his personal arsenal. And he would never hesitate to use any weapon at his disposal if he deemed it necessary. Which made me wonder how far he’d be willing to go….
As far as it takes, a soft, treacherous voice spoke up from deep within my heart. He’d do anything for the Pride, and you know it.
Corinne had one hand on his bicep and one foot hooked around his calf beneath the table, and Marc seemed to be eating it up. He looked directly into her eyes, a courtesy I was pretty sure strippers rarely got at work, and leaned close to her, as if to better hear what she was saying over the loud music. That was just for show, of course. He could hear her perfectly well. Hell, I could have heard her if I’d concentrated. But I didn’t, because while I knew he was only acting, doing his job for the good of the Pride, I had no desire to hear another woman tell my boyfriend how hot he was.