“Fuck you, asshole.”
“Later, babe. You got a bitch to jump in. You gonna do your job now? Or do I need to fuck her right here in front of you to make sure you’re angry enough?”
“This is supposed to be my bachelorette party!” Danielle shouted.
Chloe spat. “If she survives, she’s in.”
“Thanks, babe. I knew I could count on you. Just don’t fuck up her face or her pussy. Those parts are mine.”
Chloe’s face turned red.
Breaker gave me one last look before turning on his heels and walking out.
“Fuckin’ bitch,” Chloe said, driving her elbow into my back. “What makes you think you can touch my man?”
Holy shit. She was going to kill me, and I didn’t know what to say to stop her. “I’m sorry!”
“Yeah you are. Shut your goddamn mouth.”
A brunette punched me, but Chloe snapped at her. “She’s mine first. Wait your fuckin’ turn.”
It didn’t take long before I realized that getting “jumped” into Seattle Serpents required a mob-style beat down led by the jealous, vicious girlfriend of the biker who was fucking with me. Chloe didn’t mess around with any of that girly-style hair-pulling and scratching nonsense. She was all about the knuckles and feet. She swept my legs out from under me, and my body hit the hardwood floor with a jaw-rattling thud. I bit my tongue on impact and my mouth filled with blood. I started to get up, but Chloe kicked me in the right kidney.
“Stay the fuck down,” she said, nailing me with another kick.
Stars danced before my eyes. The coppery-sweet scent of blood overwhelmed my senses.
“Alright, bitches, let’s fuck her up!” Chloe shouted.
They descended on me with maniacal enthusiasm. A punch to my shoulder. A kick to my calf. An elbow to my side. Someone cut me across the thigh. Someone else sliced my arm. A kick to my right boob ripped a cry from my throat. The front of my dress was torn. Someone spat in my hair. A kick to the face rang my bell and made me realize these women didn’t care what Breaker said. I was at their mercy now, and they had none. I took the beating from all sides and the pain was excruciating. Everything hurt. Each atom in my body cried out, begging for the assault to stop.
Blood trickled out of my mouth, down my arm, across my leg. I drifted on the edge of consciousness, wondering if the next punch or the next kick would end me. Breaker had pissed Chloe off intentionally, because he wanted me to feel this pain—wanted to remind me of the power he had—and I heard his message loud and clear.
Eventually, I ceased to exist. There was only the pain. It flooded my senses, consumed my thoughts, and ate away at my resolve.
Then, just when I thought I’d finally break, it stopped.
Wondering whether I’d passed out or died, I opened my eyes. Or, I tried to at least. My left eye was swollen shut.
“We have to move her. The stripper will be here any minute, and he can’t see this shit,” Danielle said. “Jolene, there are rags and cleaner under the kitchen sink. Wipe up the blood. The rest of you, help me get her ass into the office and out of sight.”
Then I was being dragged over the floor and into another room. They tossed me against the wall. Chloe gave me one last kick before they left me, laughing as they went.
Tap
I’VE BEEN DANCING since I was ten. I didn’t make the best choices back then, and my best friend and I got caught shoplifting after school one day. Mama decided I needed something to keep my ass busy and out of trouble until she got off work. One of her clients taught hip-hop dance classes and, despite my many objections, Mama signed me up.
It was one of the best things she ever did for me.
Before dance, I was a skinny little bastard who lacked drive and self-confidence. I’d always been competitive, but dance gave me a way to rise above. It taught me how to push myself further, gave me a body I could be proud of, and helped me understand how strong I really was.
Of course, there were other benefits as well.
As one of only two boys in the class, I was a hot commodity. The boyfriends of my fellow dancers teased me and questioned my sexuality, but they only had to ask their girlfriends to find out the truth. Dance is a lot like sex, and the way I moved promised a good time. I made a reputation for myself by delivering on that promise, working my way through my entire high school dance team before leaving it all behind to join the military.
Intelligence operatives weren’t exactly known for their light feet, and after my sobering training, I didn’t have much left to dance about. I thought the dancer in me was dead forever until I started researching ways to make good money while staying off the grid. Like riding Valkyrie, stripping has been slowly bringing me back to life. Every time I turned on my portable speakers, it became a little easier to reconcile with the easy-going, hip-gyrating kid I once was.
Removing my sweatshirt, I stood in the center of the room wearing a wife beater and my sweatpants. Nodding to Chloe, I dropped my head to my chest and waited for the music to start. The opening note of “Porn Star Dancing” stretched out while I bounced my shoulders and flexed my chest to loosen up. When the beat dropped, so did I, landing in the start of a crab walk with my knees spread wide and facing the crowd. Women cheered as I thrust my hips to the beat before slowly rolling myself back up to stand.
