This cocksucker has taken one too many breaths. It’s time he meets his fate. I could have ended him tonight, but when he clammed up on his storytelling, I knew I had to press harder when he wasn’t blind drunk.
I cannot allow Kong and Stevie to fuck Lotus over that way. The night of the fight, I will win, and when everyone has cleared, I will kill Kong. I needed a kill site. And now I’ve found one. The place will be bloody anyway because of the fights, so Lotus won’t ask questions when I bleach the place once I’m done.
I know the layout of the club, and I’ll convince Lotus to let me handle everything on fight night, ensuring she makes herself scarce, and then I’ll have the place to myself.
As for Stevie, I’m still not sure what to do about him. My beef isn’t with him, but I can’t stand back and let him do this to Lotus. The Pink Oyster is her livelihood. But I’ll deal with one drama at a time because when I stagger into the one place I shouldn’t be, it’s obvious I’m in no frame of mind to be making decisions.
The bouncers are a bunch of pussies as I’m clearly wasted, but money talks. I place a couple of hundred-dollar bills in their shirt pockets and am given the VIP treatment as some chick in a red vinyl dress escorts me inside the dark club.
The pop music playing over the speakers adds to the pounding against my temples, so I take a detour to the bar, losing my chaperone midway. The place is packed, and I wait behind some jock assholes who keep nudging one another in excitement like they’re five years old.
My patience is already shot, and just as I’m moments away from leaving because this is a…bad…fucking…idea, I feel it before I even know what the fuck is happening. The war inside me calms, and the noise becomes a gentle hum—something which only happens when…
The lights dim, and the crowd explodes in catcalls and applause. The jocks in front of me turn around, hinting the show is about to commence. I don’t need to turn around. I know what I will see. But I’m a masochist and being here proves that.
The iconic introduction drowns out the horrible pop song, making way for “Pour Some Sugar on Me” by Def Leppard. Swiveling slowly, I brace myself for her entrance, but when she splits open the red velvet curtains and marches confidently onto the stage, I realize I haven’t braced for jack shit because holy fuck, Tiger is the fucking queen.
Instantly, my hunger stirs, and the need to touch her winds me. But I remain hidden in the shadows as I watch her own that stage with a newfound confidence. She is wearing a skimpy neon bodysuit which dips into a V at the waist. The straps cover her tits, but that’s about all. Her bottoms are a tiny pair of shorts which accentuate her slender waist. She looks a lot thinner than when I saw her last.
Her long hair is curled, and her makeup is harsh: thick fake lashes and big red lips, and just as it did the first time we met, I have the urge to smudge her lipstick. But unlike that first time, something is different about her. She seems…harder almost, like the woman who showed me compassion is long gone.
She’s different, and when she wraps her body around the pole, I see what it is. When she danced at The Pink Oyster, she did it because she loved dancing. But now, she’s doing it for another reason.
Money.
I still can’t take my eyes off her, but her passion, her love for dance is gone, and she’s just a gimmicky stripper who wants to make a quick buck. She looks completely zoned.
The men eat it up, however, throwing their entire savings at the stage as she gyrates against the pole.
Her movements are no longer graceful; they’re angry. Her eyes are dull and lack the fire, lack the passion that made Tiger who she was. She is fucking pissed off, and this is reflective when she sinks onto her back and slithers along the stage. One chump thinks he’s in for the time of his life, but Tiger is soon to shit on his wet dreams when she coaxes him forward with a curl of her finger.
So help me god, if she gives him a mini-lap, a Stevie, or whatever the fuck you want to call it because it all means one thing—him motorboating her when on stage—I will motorboat him with my fists.
He falls for the ploy, leaning toward her, only for her to press her heel against his chest to stop him. His mouth parts, unsure what to do, but this is Tiger’s show; it always has been. She shoves at his chest so hard that he tumbles backward into his chair.
The crowd goes wild, and she encourages the noise as she opens her legs and pumps her hips into the air. Some asshole has the balls to lean across the stage and place some clam food into the waistband of her shorts. It looks to be a few hundred-dollar bills.
The song ends with Tiger on her back and the men out of their seats, whistling loudly, while I stare wide-eyed.
What the fuck did I just watch?
She quickly springs up and exits through the curtain at the back of the stage. A woman in a gold bikini collects Tiger’s tips before she scampers offstage too.
“Excuse me?” My gawking is interrupted when a pretty young woman approaches me. She is wearing a short green dress that doesn’t leave much to the imagination.
“Sup.” I nod, wondering what she wants.
When she steps forward and whispers into my ear what she does want, which is to blow me, I realize I’m not drunk enough for this shit.
“No thanks, darlin’. Go find yourself a pretty college boy.”
Smiling, she does just that when she taps the shoulder of the jock in front of me.
I push past him and his group of friends and order myself three shots of vodka which I throw back in quick succession, before ordering a scotch. The vodka does nothing to settle the itch within. Nothing will do that, bar one thing.
“A grand for a one-on-one with Tigerlily.” The moment I hear her name, I have the urge to slam the guy’s, who is next to me, head against the bar.
His asshole friend, who looks like he enjoys glory holes, shrugs. “That’s a lot of cash. You’d want her pussy to be lined with gold for that sort of money.”
“It isn’t just her pussy I’m interested in.”
Lotus’s warning comes to mind, and I about lose my shit where I stand.
“They gaslight as a gentlemen’s club, but it’s no secret if you wanted your dick sucked or wanted to rough one of the girls up, the management would happily turn a blind eye.”
Gulping down my scotch, I flag down the bartender that I want another. “Too bad, boys,” I calmly state to the guys next to me.
They have no idea what I’m talking about until I make myself very clear.
“Tigerlily is off the clock for the rest of the night. Maybe even for the rest of the fucking year.”
The fucker, who dared speak about Tiger like nothing but a whore opens his mouth, but I soon close it.
“If you go anywhere near her, I’ll find out where you live, and I will slit your fucking throat in your sleep.” And I mean every single word.
He and his friend exchange worried looks before they run away with their tails between their legs.
“Tell all your friends!” I shout, cupping my hands around my mouth.
The bartender looks at me and smiles. “She a friend of yours?” she asks, placing my drink down in front of me.
Pulling out a twenty, I shake my head. “No.”
She frowns, clearly confused, but doesn’t press.
With my scotch in hand, I shove aside anyone who stands in my way, on a mission to find her. I shouldn’t be here, we’ve established this, but now that I am, I can’t leave without answers. I need to know why the fuck she sold herself out.