Chapter 2: Ryker

She wasn't old enough to have the moves or the confidence she stomped onto that stage with. I'd practically memorized that video when it had come out-and lived on the fantasies for four years behind bars-and this girl had done the same. Her perfect C-cups bounced under the fitted lace of her black corset. As her slender fingers worked their way down, taking the zipper with them, my eyes followed past her black thong to her creamy-white thighs. I took in every inch of her fishnet stockings and her fuck-me patent leather heels. The Taylor lookalike owned the attention of every man and woman in the club, and she knew it. Her expression matched every lyric that echoed off the walls, and I wondered if she could sing half as well as she danced.

She met my stare, yet she didn't shy away like most women did. Her navy irises pinned me to my chair, and anger winked at me from behind hooded lids. Everything about her was perfect for the song and the floor; even her eye makeup was on point. Black on black on black would have been overkill for any other dancer at Swank. Plain and simple, they couldn't have pulled it off. She didn't just pull it off-she jerked my dick with it.

There was something there, although it wasn't lust-not on her part. Her body felt the music, her legs, her arms. The sway of her hips. And holy fuck was she flexible. But she never looked away. Not one time did she lose focus-on me. Beneath the charisma and the arrogance, there was determination, and that was foreign to this place which meant she was new. And I'd bet money she was barely legal. But she moved like sex with a grudge, and I needed to know who she had to avenge.

As suddenly as she had appeared, the lights went out, and the music stopped. When the typical neon pink illuminated the club again, she was gone, as was every trace that she'd ever been before me. I stood to check the sides of the stage, and then I glanced around the room, but she hadn't come to the floor. I didn't get it. New girls loved the floor. They made a hell of a lot more money down here, selling lap dances to the regulars who wanted fresh meat, than they did on the stage having ones stuffed in their panties or thrown at them. This girl had ghosted the place. I wondered if maybe she'd gone to change to do another number, but when I glanced at the clock, I realized it wasn't likely.

I pushed out of the people huddled together. They'd all resumed partying. I, however, needed more information about the girl and why she was being exploited. I chose to label it concern versus unrequited hedonistic hunger. "Cherry." The waitress had gotten halfway back to the bar and hadn't heard me. "Cherry!"

She swung her bottle-red hair over her shoulder to face me. "What's up, sugar?"

"Who's the new girl?"

"Diamond."

Interesting. Typically, Jesse gave the girls their stage names, and there was always a reason. Cherry had hair to match the alias, even if it came from a box at Walmart. Cinnamon had a landing strip the exact shade, coupled with a spicy persona. Candy because she was sweet, and she played that role. Raven looked like a female version of the crow. Every girl was easy to spot. But Diamond didn't suit. "Seriously?"

Cherry shrugged. "Jesse saw something in her. Who knows."

"Is she dancing again tonight?" I sounded desperate, and I partly was. I just wasn't certain why. Other than the way she had captured my attention, stilled my heart, and aroused my curiosity, she held no interest. She was far too young, even if she were eighteen, which I doubted.

She handed her tray to the bartender to load up more shots. "Nope. It's her first night. One dance and done. I'm sure she'll be back this week."

Shit. If she only had one number, she'd likely already changed.

"Thanks, Cherry."

With as little fanfare as I could muster, I climbed the steps to the stage, making sure to stay clear of Coco during her number. The black curtain draped from floor to ceiling in a half moon around the sides and back of the dance floor, and I didn't think I'd ever find an opening to get through. There were only a couple of girls still dressing for their final performances of the evening. None of them even flinched when they saw me, in fact, they pretty much ignored me.

I couldn't remember the girl's name who now stared at me with wonder. At one point, she'd probably been pretty. Drugs and the streets in this neighborhood took a toll on youth and aged women faster than normal. When she spun her stool to face me, the star tattooed between her bare breasts gave her away.

"Starr, did you see which way Diamond went?"

Her shoulders slumped, and her smile faded. She didn't bother with words; instead, she pointed to the exit. It took me three steps to reach the door and another one to actually get through it once it was open. There wasn't much activity in the dimly lit parking lot behind Club Swank. With all of Union 21's peddlers inside, sales weren't happening on the sidewalks. The streets were quiet except for my heavy boots on the gravel. Just as I got beyond the piece of shit Ford that sat next to the building, I saw the black Lexus. And then Diamond.

She'd wrapped a jacket around herself, but she still wore the fishnets and the heels. My dick twitched as her hair whipped around her cheeks in the wind, and she lifted her hand to move it. Then, her eyes caught mine just like they had on stage, and she held on for a beat longer than comfortable. Yet before I could determine what it was I'd seen or what she might have tried to communicate, she got into the back of a Lexus that belonged to Union 21.