It would be the highlight of my fucking week.
My cock twitches at the sight and I press the heel of my hand to my zipper as the barmaid places my second drink in front of me. Without tearing my eyes away from the stripper on the stage, I bring the glass to my lips and down the vodka in one gulp. My molars grind the ice cubes as the dancer takes another spin around the pole. She’s nothing like the women who took the stage before her, she makes an art of dancing around a pole. Every part of her body moves fluidly with the music, like the song was created specifically for her body. It’s fucking captivating and I want more.
More of her body.
More dancing.
More everything.
She twirls around, facing the audience and my eyes slowly travel up her body. As I reach her face, she lifts her head and a familiar pair of blue eyes lock with mine.
The sexy smile vanishes from her lips and all the blood drains from her face. Sure, my eyes are playing tricks on me, I blink. The beautiful dancer is no stranger at all and yet as her mouth hangs open in shock, I feel like I’m seeing her for the first time.
Gone are the wholesome good looks of a young girl who spent the better part of her childhood following me and her brother around the streets of Brooklyn. In place stands a grown woman who is the epitome of seduction and sin. A woman with a body that make men want to drop to their knees and worship. And in an instant, I wish I can unsee her.
That I can bleach my best friend and right hand’s sister’s body from my mind.
However, before I can do anything, she plucks the jacket from the floor and runs off the stage, enticing an uproar amongst the men who are likely having the same illicit thoughts running their minds as I am.
In a flash I’m on my feet, throwing the table that separates me from the stage out of my way. The barmaid calls my name, but I ignore her as I stalk after the blonde bombshell also known as, Violet Cabrera.
Navigating the hallway, I open door after door until I find her in one of the dressing rooms with her back to me, struggling to push her arms through the sleeves of her blazer.
“Violet,” I call, my voice unrecognizable even to my own ears. I clench my fists and close my eyes, fighting for some sense of self-control.
For answers to the questions running through my fucking head.
She doesn’t respond, but I hear her sniffle and my eyes spring open. Violet doesn’t fucking cry. At least she hasn’t in all the years I’ve known her. Hell, the girl got her fingers caught in a car door once and instead of crying, she sucked them into her mouth and ordered me and her brother to get her a bag of frozen peas. Her fingers were mangled, and her nails turned black almost immediately, but she didn’t shed a fucking tear.
Keeping my eyes pinned to the back of her head, I close the distance between us and gently lay a hand on her shoulder.
“Bug, look at me.”
“I can’t,” she cries.
My patience snaps like a rubber band and I spin her around to face me.
So much for being gentle.
I stare at her mascara streaked face for a moment, familiarizing myself with her stunning features, knowing beneath all that make-up and the false eyelashes is the girl I once caught stuffing her training bra.
My how far we’ve come.
“What are you even doing here?” she asks, wiping her cheeks with the backs of her hands. Aside from pleasing them in the bedroom, I don’t have a stellar reputation with women and I sure as fuck don’t know what to do with them when they’re upset. But this is Violet, smart-mouthed, holds no bars Violet, who should be studying ballet in that fancy as fuck school her brother pays for her to attend, not shaking her naked ass on a pole.
She freezes suddenly and her crystal blue eyes go wide as saucers.
“Please don’t tell me my brother is here with you.”
Right, because that would make things ten times worse. I shake my head and watch as she instantly breathes a sigh of relief. Then her eyes narrow and she lifts a finger, poking it roughly against my chest.
“If you tell Joaquin that you saw me here, I swear to God, Rocco—”
I cut her off, my dick hardening even more because the fire in her eyes is so palpable…so fucking enticing.
“What are you going to do?” I taunt.
Swallowing, she roughly pulls her hand away from my chest as if she’s been scorched by the simple touch and pulls the ends of her jacket together, shielding herself from my view.
“Too little too late, Bug. I already saw them,” I grind out. “Every man in the joint did and I’m guessing if their hands aren’t already wrapped around their cocks, they’re counting down the minutes until they can be.”
My words are gasoline to an already uncontainable fire, and I watch Violet’s eyes light with rage.
“You’re a pig,” she snaps.
There she is.
“Maybe, but you know I’m right.” What she isn’t aware of is the fact that I’m no better than those guys. That I’m worse because instead of worrying why she’s stripping in the first place, I’m thinking about all the ways I can please her. All the fucking ways I want to take her. I don’t care that she’s nine years younger than me or that her brother would fucking kill me for touching her. I don’t even care that she’s looking at me like I repulse her. When she’s coming all over my cock, she’ll look at me like I’m a fucking god.
Christ.
Focus, man.
Sighing, I roughly drag my fingers through my hair. That blazer does shit to cover her, she needs to put clothes on…stat. Pulling myself together, I force myself to find out what the fuck is going on.
“Bug, what the fuck are you doing here?”
I hiss the question and her eyebrows reach new heights.
“Funny, I could ask you the same question,” she retorts.
I don’t make it a habit to ask questions about Joaquin’s sister, but I listen when he talks about her and while me and her brother have been digging our graves in Miami, she was accepted to the New York Academy of Ballet on a partial scholarship. Now, I might be a self-absorbed prick, but I think I’d remember Joaquin mentioning his sister ditching the ballet to bare her tits and dance on a pole, which means Flashdance over here is hiding something.
“Are you in some kind of trouble?” I growl.
My fists curl at the suggestion.
It’s the only logical answer and I think back to the reason I’m here… Mitch Ryan. The sleezy motherfucker who owes Uncle Vic fifty large. If that son of a bitch has anything to do with Violet working that pole, I’ll bury him alive—fuck breaking his kneecaps.
“What I am is none of your business, Rocco,” she snaps, turning away from me. She grabs a duffel bag and starts throwing her shit into it. What she needs to be doing is putting some fucking clothes on.
“You might want to grab a pair of pants or something,” I tell her as I reach into my suit jacket and pull my phone from the inside pocket. “A bra would be helpful too.”
She glances over her shoulder and shoots me a glare.
“Are you done?”
I scoff.
Far from done.
“No,” I retort. “But we have all night.”
Deciding she can tell me her reasons for stripping when she’s in my car, I call my driver and tell him to bring the town car around to the back of Delilah’s Den.