Stolen: Hell's Overlords MC (40 page)

Rose

Hours later, I’m walking down the beach. Ever since I came to a decision about Vince, my body won’t let me sit still. I have to move, have to think. The sand is soft against my feet. To my right, waves slurp in along the shore before receding, drawing out trash and leaving behind shells in their wake.

The farther I go down the beach, the seedier Galveston becomes. The public stretch of sand ends about a mile away from the pier. I switch to walking along the sidewalk, where the town turns into a mazy haven of closed-down restaurants, crack dens, and strip clubs burnished with neon signs. They look sickeningly familiar. The same squat, blank-faced buildings I remember from El Cruce stare out onto weed-stricken parking lots. I see furtive men slipping in and out of the blackened doors. Libido never tires.

I pause for a while and watch them. Most look hurried, embarrassed to be around and desperate not to get caught frequenting such establishments by people who might recognize them. Others saunter in, happy to let the world know what they’re up to. It would be too easy to hate them, these men who hide from their problems by camping out in dimly lit strip clubs while they fork over greasy dollar bills to women whose lives are just as luridly depressing.

The stream of patrons going through the front doors is steady, if relatively sparse. I see a few girls whose shifts have ended walking out of the back door of the club into the beaming street lights, sunglasses concealing their faces.

When I see a pair of men park a black SUV, exit, and approach the building, I do a double take. They’re tall, hair slicked straight back and glistening with gel. But what catches my attention is their clothing.

It’s all black, from head to toe.

Without stopping to think, I race to the other side of the street to get a better view. I notice I’m shaking and hardly daring to breathe. I don’t yet know what I’m going to do. All I can do for now is follow and hope that an opportunity presents itself.

As I watch, the men open the double doors and step into the dark coolness of the building’s interior. I hear snatches of R&B music thumping from within, then the door shuts and everything goes quiet again.

Seagulls cry as they circle overhead, looking for scraps of food. I think quickly. Do I go in after them? I can’t go through the front. I need a sneakier approach. I see a gaggle of dancers finishing their shifts and dispersing from the back entrance towards their cars in the lot. They kiss each other on the cheek and head their separate ways.

I lock in on one of them. She’s a short, curvy brunette with her hair cropped into a silky bob. The jeans she’s wearing are studded and embroidered. She’ll do.

“Hi,” I say breathlessly, stumbling around the corner. I make a big show, putting a hand to my chest and heaving, like I’ve just sprinted over here. She looks startled. “I’m so sorry to bother you. I hope you don’t think I’m a total idiot, but I’m one of the new girls, and I completely forgot the code to get in the back entrance. Would it be a super big deal if you let me in real quick?”

She raises her sunglasses and looks at me. I see she’s wearing fake contacts that make her eyes an alarmingly bright green. Almost like Vince’s. “You’re one of the new girls?”

I nod, still pretending to catch my breath.

“Did Danny hire you?”

“Mmhmm,” I say through pursed lips. “I know I sound so silly and I can’t believe I forgot the code so quick! I’d just go in through the front, but my ex-boyfriend is bouncing and he is super slimy, so I’d really love to avoid him, if you know what I mean.”

Her face softens instantly. The nightclub circuit may be tough, but girls on it tend to look out for each other. Any mention of a scary ex is usually enough to get any dancer on one’s side. “Sure thing, babe,” she tells me, shouldering her purse. She smacks bubble gum as she leads from her car back towards the side entrance of the building. “What’d you say your name was again?”

I bite my lip. “Lucila,” I lie. My heart wrings out. I hope the real Lucila is okay, wherever she is.

“Nice to meet you, Lucila. I’m Jackie.” We reach the door. She punches the key code into the number pad on the handle and the door unlocks.

“Thank you so much,” I babble in my girliest voice. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“No problem, hon,” she says, giving me a sunny smile and a wink. “Go slay ’em.”

I slip through the door as we part ways.

Inside, the cool air flows against my sun-warmed skin. The bump and grind of the dancers’ music rattles the walls. A cocktail waitress slides past me with a tray of drinks in her hand.

To think that, just a month ago, this was my reality. The deafening music, the drunk, rowdy patrons—those were the things that affected my day-to-day living. Back then, the biggest issues I had were how much I was getting tipped out on any given night and whether it would be enough to keep gas in my car and a roof over my head. Now, I’m on a mission to save someone I care about, a man who I didn’t even know back then. A man who is now the father of the child I’m carrying in my womb. Life sure does take some wild twists.

I size up the room and follow the waitress to the mouth of the hallway. She keeps moving, delving into the crowd to distribute beverages to the men lounging on the various couches, but I pause. Looking around, I finally spot the two Diablos on the far side of the stage, just outside of the ring of light. I can’t see their faces due to the shadows clinging all around them.

Turning back, I make my way to a smaller hallway branching off the first. I fumble my way into the backroom. It looks just like the one I left behind in El Cruce. Mirrors adorn long stretches of wall, while racks of costumes are scattered around everywhere. Three or four girls sit around in various states of undress, touching up their make-up or checking their cell phones. Only one looks up at me, but after a brief once-over, goes back to flicking through her social media feeds.

I walk carefully over to the biggest costume rack in the back of the room. It’s bursting with long, feathered boas and sparkly lingerie. Leather straps dangle and a set of angel wings sticks out prominently. I flick through the garments, casting about for ideas. One in particular stops me in my tracks. A plan starts to form in my head.

I look around the room hurriedly. I feel as though I’m crossing a line here. How many times did I tell Eduardo I wasn’t ever going to dance? All I wanted was to feel safe in my own skin, not to be an object against which desperate men could hurl their violent sex drives. If I’d told him once, I’d told him a thousand times:
no.
Not me, not ever.

And yet here I was, stripping off my dress and underwear in a hurry. I ignore the other girls, who do me the same favor. Shucking my shoes, I toss everything I was wearing into a pile in one corner before pulling on the outfit I selected from the rack. When I’ve tugged everything into place, I move over to a full-length mirror to see if this will work.

The reflection staring back at me is another girl entirely. I’m wearing a raunchy police uniform. The crop top barely stretches down far enough to cover my breasts, exposing enough of their underside that there is very little left to the imagination. A black tie is knotted loosely around my throat. The starred badge glimmers from my chest. Below my bare midriff is a tiny pair of navy blue panties rimmed with black. I latch a belt around my waist. It has a pair of handcuffs and a baton suspended on either hip. I slide into six inch stilettos that descend into a dagger sharp point. The last thing I put on is a pointed cap and dark aviators that hide my face.

I have to admit, I look sexy as hell. Tan skin shines everywhere, and my curves gleam alluringly in the low light. But in spite of the stripper’s get-up, there’s still a little bit of shy Rose in my appearance. I take a deep breath, then I throw my hips out and arch my breasts forward seductively. When I do, the transformation is complete. For the time being at least, I’m the girl I always tried so hard not to become.

Then I’m ready.

I walk out of the room and down the hall. The DJ booth is stationed just around the bend in the hallway I first entered, looking out onto the stage and the main room. I tap on the window. The man inside lowers his headphones and waves me in.

Opening the door a few inches, I stick my head inside. “Hi, sweetie,” I say, using my most sugar-coated sex voice to seize his attention. He looks me up and down. DJs see girls dressed like me all day and night, and yet he still looks impressed at my appearance. He offers a low, approving whistle.

“What’s up, honey?” he says smoothly, with a wry grin smeared across his face.

I ask, “Who’s supposed to go on next?”

He stoops over to check the list taped next to his sound equipment. “Uh, lemme see…Jessie’s on deck right now.”

“Oo, hmm, okay, that’s what I thought,” I tut doubtfully. “She’s not feeling well. She told me to ask if you could bump her down a spot and let me go up until she can get ready.” He looks hesitant at first, but I bat my eyelashes and he melts.

“Whatever you want, doll,” he says. “Who are you again?”

“Lucila,” I offer with a smile. As I shut the door and leave, I whisper to myself, “But don’t worry. You won’t ever see me again.”

* * *

The music hushes for a moment. I’m standing backstage, eyes closed, trying not to look through the door to the crowd gathered around the stage. Panic keeps threatening to induce another round of vomiting, but I force it down. I just need to last a few minutes on stage. If everything works the way I have planned, then I’ll be able to move forward with the next steps: getting one of the Diablos alone. First, I have to grab their attention. This is the best way I can think of to do that.

I crack open one eye and make sure they’re still here. Neither one has moved. They both stare expectantly at the stage, hands tapping impatiently on the armrests of their seats.

The DJ’s voice comes before I’m ready, although, to be fair, I don’t know if I’ll ever truly be ready for something like this. “Now introducing…Lucila!” The sound of my friend’s name makes me wince, but there’s no time to pause. On with the show.

I sashay out as the bass begins to vibrate through the speakers. A crooning rapper comes layering over the sizzle of drums and guitars, the soft tones of piano adding a light touch to the music. I swing my hips wide and walk towards the pole. A chorus of whistles breaks out as I hold onto it, lock my feet around the base, and do one slow revolution, taking my time to wind around and around. It’s hard to resist the temptation to stare straight at the Diablos the whole time.
Take it in, you bastards
, I think to myself.
This is the last chance you’ll ever have.

I drop low to the floor and then rise back up, ass first, letting the spotlight focus in on my curves. The music continues to thump as I lower to my hands and knees and crawl towards the man sitting on the left side of the stage.

I take my time moving towards him, pressing my breasts together to form maximum cleavage. His eyes are opened wide in appreciation. There’s an empowering element to all this. I feel sexy and in control, like I can make the whole room swoon with one flick of my hips. I come close enough for the man to almost graze my ass, but when he reaches out, I slip away.

I crawl around the rim of the stage like that, flirting in and out of the reach of the patrons. I don’t let any of them touch me. Despite what they think, I’m the one in charge here. I make the rules.

I keep moving until I am in front of the Diablos. They’re a couple rows back, too far to touch or be touched. I sit back on my knees, blow them a kiss, and beckon them towards me with a ‘come hither’ finger. They look at each other. One stands and moves forward to the front row.

My heart nearly stops when he enters the light. This isn’t just any Diablo. This is the one who tried to rape me, then took me from Vince. I remember that sneer, staring up at me with the street light silhouetting his head. I haven’t been able to forget it since that night in the parking lot. It takes everything I have to force myself to stay calm and keep going.

I undo the knot of the tie, still shimmying to the beat, and wrap it around the back of his head to pull him closer to me. Through the sunglasses, I drink in his bare desire. He wants to do to me what he did to Lucila. I want to let him think he can have that. Then I’m going to use it against him.