23. Sawyer
23
Idon't want to leave her here. She's putting on a brave face, but I can see right through it. I know the signs of anxiety. I'm a goddamn expert. The shaky hands. The slight tremor in her voice. The anger that can never quite smother the fear.
But Roman wraps an arm around me and drags me along. Probably for the best. She already asked me to leave. Can't stay, no matter how much I'd like to.
After a long moment, I realize that we aren't headed toward the exit and dig in my heels. "Where are you going?"
"To our table."
"We're staying?"
"We're watching the show."
"Are we, now?" Kyrian is glaring.
"Come on, big man," Roman says. "You know you don't want to leave her either. We have to see what this club is like."
"Stop talking like you know what's inside my head."
"Ky, what the fuck is going on with you? Wanna go home, leave her here?"
"You don't fucking talk to me, and make up plans as you go along?—"
"Not now," Archer snaps, that low growl returning in his voice. "We'll discuss it tonight. Let's get a table. Unless you want to go, Ky. Up to you."
"I'm staying," Kyrian says after a long, tense moment. "I'm goddamn curious."
Archer is watching him like a hawk. He nods. "I promise we'll talk later."
"Whatever."
Holy fuck, we're actually getting a table to watch Brinlee's show. Archer goes to talk to the scary ticket lady, and Roman whispers something in Kyrian's ear that doesn't seem to ease his annoyance.
I don't know what to do with myself.
So I pace, twisting my hands together, feeling my anxiety build inside my chest, as more customers file inside, taking their seats. More and more, filling up the club.
What's Archer's plan? I feel… strange, staying after she sent me away. Staying to see her dancing on the stage, in that makeup and those clothes. That's not my girl. My girl is a hippy dressed in long skirts or loose pants and Boho tops, her hair wild, her eyes smiling, lost inside books and stories.
My pixie girl.
This version of Brin is like sexy Alice in a twisted Wonderland.
Do I even know her? I thought I did, but here I am, inside a strip club, a paying customer, waiting for the tables to fill up and for her to step onto that double stage.
I don't even know myself right now.
Fuck, my heart is racing like it's about to take a running leap out of my chest, Alien-style. I keep wiping my hands on my thighs. My mouth is dry.
"Sawyer, come here," Archer says softly, and there's a deer vibration in his voice. A purr. It snags my attention. "Come sit here with me. It will be all right."
Suddenly, I can breathe again and I obey without thinking, sitting down beside him.
"Good man," he says and I feel that's not exactly what he'd meant to say.
"Good boy. You did great."
It's as if he's patted my head. What's worse, I should hate it, but I fucking love it. I all but pant, craving more, that goddamn alpha purr burrowing under my skin, soothing, dominant, and reassuring.
He smirks at me, knowing what he's doing to me, and I'm about to find my snark and tell him off, but he puts a hand on my shoulder and squeezes, saying, "Are we okay here, Sawyer?"
I nod. He's doing this for Brinlee, for me. I have a question, though: "Are you really interested in her?"
"Define interested."
"Do you want her for your pack? Really?"
He stills. His smirk is still there, but it's kind of frozen, too. "I want more," he says finally, his gaze boring into mine. "I want two people more. Can you guess who they are?"
I swallow hard, a knot stuck in my throat. "Is that only you speaking? Or all three of you?"
He sighs. "Roman is with me. Kyrian… we need to talk."
"Shouldn't he be your priority?" I snap.
He winces. "He is one of my priorities," he corrects me. "Kyrian is… complicated. I need to handle this carefully."
"And you're doing a stellar job," I mutter, frowning as his hand falls away.
I don't expect a reply to that, but Archer nods. "You're right. I'm handling this badly. I'll talk to him. Tonight."
"Good."
"And you, Sawyer? What do you really want?"
I wish I knew. Or rather, I know, but I wish it made sense. Now that Archer says they want me, I may have to rethink what I know.
But I'm saved from replying when Brinlee appears.
Whoa…
I almost swallow my own tongue as she climbs the steps and struts onto the stage, grabbing the pole with one hand and walking around it.
Seriously? Fuck me with a goddamn spork, she's fucking hot…
"Now, that's what I'm talking about," Roman breathes, sinking into the seat next to mine, rubbing at his chest. "This chick is full of surprises, isn't she?"
"Yeah…"
She grins, lashes lowering, as she sways her hips and rubs herself on the pole. She licks it—or pretends to—and then slowly goes to her knees. Making love to that pole.
Damnit.
Shit.
It's not that I didn't find her hot before, don't get me wrong. My hippy, book-loving girl was hot. Sexy as hell.
It's just that this show is so in-your-face sexy. Holy shit… All I can think of climbing that stage and kissing her, pressing our bodies together as I grab her ass, pushing her to my hard dick, sharing pleasure…
"Fuck," Roman grunts, shifting in his seat.
I shift, too, uncomfortably hard. Glancing at Archer and Kyrian, I find them seated on the other side of our table, ostensibly relaxed, leaning back in their chairs, but their eyes are fixed on Brinlee with a laser-sharp focus.
Gazing at the girl dancing with the pole, swinging herself on it, arching against it, caressing it, worshipping it, this doll-like girl who moves like a flame, red and black and sinuous, a fantasy made flesh.
The music is a solid beat, drumming inside my stomach, inside my head, hot and heavy. It drums inside my dick, each pulse making me dig my fingers harder into my thighs.
And then it's over. It takes me a moment to realize the music has stopped, the beat still thrumming through my bones—and boner—and that Brinlee is done having sex with the dance pole.
I mean, dancing.
Yeah.
"Well," Archer says as the clapping starts, "I've found my new favorite club."
"Go, Baby Doll!" Roman yells and wolf-whistles.
"Not sure that's allowed here," Kyrian says. "Roman, cut it out."
I don't know if to clap or groan as she makes her way down from the stage.
I'm half out of my seat, not even sure what I'm doing, but she moves toward the tables on the other side of the stage. "Where is she going?"
"She's going to do some lap dancing to get extra cash," Roman says. "Someone waved at her from another table."
"No…"
"Baby Doll!" Archer gets up from his seat. "Here! Over here!"
"What the fuck are you doing?" I stare at him. "Have you gone crazy?"
He chuckles darkly. "If she's going to lap dance for someone, it's going to be us."
"That's crass," I mutter.
"No, that's her best bet. I bet you a hundred bucks that her boss is ready to throw her to the wolves. Get her to whore herself out. Those guys are sniffing after her. They know she's sweet. That she is innocent. Fresh meat. They all want a bite."
My stomach drops because I know he's right. "And what are you going to do? Be here every night to shower her with dollars, get her to sit in your lap? Let me remind you, you have to work."
"We'll find a way between the four of us, won't we?" He's still waving the goddamn money at her.
The idea is preposterous. Impossible. Terrible. Laughable.
And yet…
I bite back the first ten replies that come to my mind. Finally, I settle for, "You make it sound easy. But I can't always call in favors. It's my business. I have to be there."
"Then we'll have to convince her quickly to leave this place, and come work for us."
I blink. "What?"
"At the Alpha Bet. We're looking to hire dancers." He leans back in his chair. "And we take good care of them."
"Archer…"
"Call me Arch. We'll take care of our girl no matter the cost, got me?"
"Jesus. Yeah." The relief swamping me is fucking huge, even as I'm so damn confused by this guy. "Gotcha. We will."
I'm not sure what's going on, but I'm game.