“Thought you might be wanting one of these,” he states, dropping his arms from around me and passing over a small shot glass which I know is filled with tequila. He brings them around before every show.
“Here we go again,” Violet states, slipping up behind me when Caleb passes her a round.
He jerks his chin up at her. “Are you doing okay after last night?”
She nods, then grins up at him. “You don’t have to worry about me, Daddy.”
I shiver at her words and watch Caleb thread his large fingers through the back of her hair, pulling her into him where he places a kiss to the top of her head.
“Good,” he states, then I quickly lick between my thumb and index finger when he lets go of her and moves around the three of us, shaking salt onto the web of our hands. When we are set, tequila in hand, lime wedge in the other, Caleb raises his own and makes a toast.
“To my girls.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Cleo says with a laugh, flicking her silver locks away from her long fake eyelashes.
And I nudge him in the ribs. He chuckles as we all lick the salt.
I’m watching Caleb, and he’s watching me when we push the clear shot glasses to our mouths. He winks, then pinches my hip playfully.
I had no reason to trust again, to allow myself to feel the warmth friendships bring, yet over the past nine months, I’ve learned that maybe not everyone is out to hurt me, maybe I’m allowed a little happiness, too, and I’ve allowed myself to find a speck of that in Caleb. Whether that will bite me in the ass one day, I’m not sure. But he’s kept my secret from Keaton, so he’s already proved a certain kind of loyalty to me.
Violet sputters beside us, and when we turn our heads to look at her, she slams her palm against the wall, then mumbles, “Hate that shit.”
We all laugh.
Different day, same goddamn story.
I hadn’t put out a call for dancers yet when Violet approached me. She walked through the doors a week before we were set to open, dressed in baggy black joggers, a pair of red high-top chucks, which instantly got her brownie points, and a crop top that only just covered her tits. There was underboob, and it was hot as hell. She had heard about The Barbed Cherry through her brother who was the leading electrician on the job.
Word of mouth is a wild thing.
And it worked in my favor because through Violet, Cleo made up the third point of our powerfultriangle. I had my girls, Caleb running the place, and the show of my dreams, and the club I always envisioned but never had the confidence to open, until I realized life wasn’t going to wait for me to find it.
We gutted the place, stripped it back to its bare bones and completely refurbished. I had no idea how to start a business; the steps that needed to be taken or whatever other shit I’d have to get in place. All I knew was that I had the determination of my father, the strength of my mother, and a shitload of money from my inheritance grinning wildly back at me.
I couldn’t have done it without Caleb, though. He was good with words, talking to the contractors and getting shit in line.
Working at Wes’s back in Shadow Heads was fun for me, getting on top of that old bar and dancing. Being untouchable was where I found enjoyment, but I always wanted more. I wanted something extravagant, a place that people flocked to because they heard it was unique and spicy. A bar that focused around a stage,a show. One that incorporated aspects of thetraining my mother taught me on my toes, but was full of sex, lust, and power.
So, as I stand behind the thick curtain that both Cleo and Violet just walked through, I take a deep breath and step right into my destined light.
I did this for me.
For the girl who still felt the tug of rusted chains at her wrists.
For the girl who hadeverythingtaken from her.
I wanted my power back.
And I had fucking found it.
The place was empty and quiet, only Violet, Cleo, and Caleb still here when I push through the draped suede curtain at the back of the stage, pulling a cropped hoodie over my bare chest.
My joggers sit low on my waist and my silver belly ring glistens like the sparkling black stage beneath my red Chucks.
“Fuck, that smells so good. I’m starving.” A deep growl punctuates my words that has all three of them spinning around to look at me from the bar. Cleo’s red lips are wrapped around the end of a soft-shelled taco, the creamy sauce dripping over her slim fingers, and the look of contentment plastered across her pixie face has me smiling.
“It’s so good,” Cleo chirps around her mouthful.
