Beneath a Blood Moon (9 page)

“Define hard stuff.”

“Vodka.” Danny took my hand, turned my wrist, and gave me a shot glass. “You know the drill, girl. All at once, and don’t choke on it.”

“Bitch, I know how to drink,” I growled, tossing the shot back. It burned all the way down. “Just put the damned jewelry on so I can get this over with.”

“Keep your lacy panties on, I’m working on it,” Danny muttered. “Stay still so I don’t jab you with the posts.”

Once she put the earrings in, she clasped a heavy necklace around my throat. After a few more tugs, she let go of me. “Damn, woman. You clean up pretty.”

“If I didn’t look good, the boss wouldn’t keep me around,” I retorted. With a one night fling bagging him fifty thousand, I had the feeling he’d try to keep me as one of his prostitutes, hoping for a repeat performance. I shivered.

Danny settled the strap of a purse on my shoulder. “Your wallet, keys, and tip envelope are inside. Knock ‘em dead, girl.”

My wolf was quick to reassure me we could—and would—if necessary.

My head buzzed from the vodka, reminding me I hadn’t eaten anything since a late breakfast, which I had thrown up before work. By all rights, I should have collapsed long before I made it down to the parking garage. The blindfold wasn’t helping and added to the disconcerting sway of the world around me.

Danny was right; the booze did help settle my nerves. With another drink or two, I’d be so hammered I wouldn’t care what happened with a high chance I wouldn’t remember much the next morning. If my client was willing to pay seventy thousand to have me for a night, he could afford a few shots.

At least George kept his hands to himself while guiding me down into the parking garage. Thankfully, the club’s employee entrance was located near one of the elevators, letting me escape without drawing much attention to the fact I was blindfolded.

“Here she is,” George announced, letting go of me. “Have a good evening, sir.”

I heard the heavy thump of his departing footsteps. My client didn’t say a word. One hand took hold of mine, while his other lightly seized my elbow, pulling me forward several steps. I shivered. The click and creak of a car door opening warned me I was close to losing any chance to escape.

If I ran, I wouldn’t make it far, not with my bank account as empty as it was. My wolf would rapidly eat through what little money I had left.

Getting into the car blindfolded was a mix of luck, careful guidance by my client, and trust he wouldn’t bang my head into something. By the time I was inside, squirming on a leather seat, my shivers had strengthened to full-fledged shaking.

Someone sat beside me, the strap of a seatbelt sliding over my chest and stomach before it fastened with a click. When he next spoke, he was somewhere in front of me. “Thank you for agreeing to join us, Miss.” 

I sucked in a breath, recognizing the smooth tenor. With the alcohol dulling my wits, I couldn’t remember who he was or where I knew him from. I slid my left hand off my lap to feel the seat. When my fingers brushed against the door, I determined the man was also the driver.

With twenty thousand on the line, I forced myself to draw a deep breath and remain polite. “You’re welcome, sir.”

“I hope you do not find the situation too disconcerting, Miss. I assure you this is new territory for both of us as well. A dear friend and associate of ours lost his wife earlier this year, and he has not found anyone new. The three of us are going to a dinner and a late-night show, and my wife and I decided it would be appropriate for him to have a companion for the evening.”

Usually, the husband wanted to bring another woman home for an evening of debauchery, though I had seen the reverse as well. But to want me enough to pay seventy thousand and give me to his friend? I flushed, wondering what I had gotten myself into. I had expected sex, not playing a sophisticate for a rich man needing a plus one. “Wouldn’t hiring from an escort service be more appropriate?” I blurted.

I clapped my hands over my mouth, horrified I had said what I was thinking.

A woman—my client’s wife, I presumed—laughed, her soprano pleasant and airy. “Oh, you’re adorable. What’s your name?”

I could have told them my stage name, but if I was going to be strutted out at some party, I didn’t want to be known as someone who took off her clothes for a living. “Sara, ma’am.”

“Call me Desmond,” the man stated. “My wife’s name is Wendy. We’ve hired you to accompany Mr. Sanders, who will be joining us shortly. He’s still in the club, likely hoping to see one more of your dances before joining us. He is unaware we have arranged for your company for the evening. He’s quite taken with you, Miss Sara.”

“I don’t jump out of birthday cakes, and I don’t do any weird stuff,” I declared.

My wolf was pleased with me and how I set limits before they could be set for me.

Wendy laughed. “I assure you, Miss Sara, you will not be asked to jump out of any birthday cakes or do, as you say, any weird stuff. All we ask is you remain with us—or with Sanders—for the entirety of the evening.”

“You’re paying a lot for just that,” I replied, unable to keep my doubt out of my voice.

“Do you not feel you are worth every penny of it, Miss Sara?” Desmond asked.

In a good week, I brought in a couple of hundred of dollars plus tips, which usually didn’t give me more than a hundred extra to work with. I paid my rent and could afford one or two classes a semester. Until my hungry wolf had come around, I’d been able to live paycheck to paycheck.

Twenty thousand was more than I made in a year.

“Charles, be nice,” Wendy chided. “Forgive him, Miss Sara. He sometimes loses sight of the fact that many women in your position are not paid nearly what they are worth—or treated half as well as they deserve. I took the liberty of inquiring with some of your colleagues. We’re well aware you do not typically accompany your clients home.”

“I don’t, not usually,” I admitted, clasping my hands together on my lap, wondering why two seemingly nice people would want to hire
me
. “I’m a stripper, not a prostitute.”

It wasn’t entirely the truth, but I wasn’t a prostitute often. While my wolf was quiet for the moment, I had the feeling I’d prostitute a lot more often with her around. Maybe I was a prude, especially for someone who stripped for money, but I didn’t want to be handed around like the other girls.

Before I’d become a stripper, I had been a one-guy girl. Desperation had forced me to change. Maybe there were men out there who didn’t mind how many notches I had on my belt, but I cared.

I sure as hell didn’t feel like I was worth every penny of seventy thousand dollars.

“We haven’t decided where to go for dinner tonight, Miss Sara,” Desmond stated, drawing my attention back to him. “What do you recommend?”

“You’re asking the wrong slut that question,” I muttered under my breath. I sighed, considered my words carefully, and said, “I don’t eat out very often, sir. I tend to stick to the buffets when I do.”

My wolf’s interest piqued at the mention of a buffet.

“We enjoy buffets,” he replied. “Which one do you recommend?”

“What time is it? The good ones close early.”

“Half past eight.”

Most of the good buffets would still be open, and after a moment of thought, I said, “Bacchanal at Caesar’s Palace. It recently reopened. If you’re looking for a buffet experience, that’s a good place to go.”

It was out of my price range as one of the Strip’s most expensive buffets, but if they were willing to spend so much hiring someone like me, I doubted the higher price would bother them. At least for one night, I could make sure my wolf got the food she needed, and with luck, she wouldn’t object too much to the vegetables and salads I preferred.

Hopefully, her dietary choices wouldn’t leave me spending the rest of the night throwing up.

“We haven’t been there yet, Charles,” Wendy said, her tone lightening with excitement.

“Then we shall go,” he replied. “Sanders really is determined, isn’t he? I better call him or the buffet will close before he figures out he’s out of luck up there. I keep telling him he should stick with me, but no. So stubborn.” I heard the rustle of clothes and a finger tapping away at a cellphone screen. While faint, I could hear the phone ringing. “Sanders, come down to the garage. We’ll miss dinner if you stay up there all night. No, I don’t want to wait for five more minutes. I have a present for you. No excuses. Get down here.”

“He’s going to be so mad at you,” Wendy warned.

“Better than him moping around for the next week when we came here so he could unwind and enjoy himself away from home. Sorry, Miss Sara. Sanders took his wife’s death really hard, and you’re the first lady he’s even looked at twice, so I thought I’d arrange an opportunity for him to meet you.”

A small, sick and demented part of me wanted to return to New York and pray my parents would forgive me despite knowing they wouldn’t, encouraging me to rip off the blindfold and run away back to the place I had once called home.

If I had a single grain of integrity, I would tell Desmond the truth. The boss had played him for a lot of money, and I was to blame.

I sighed. “I’m not worth what you paid. He charges five hundred a shift to let girls out early. The girl’s supposed to get a hundred an hour. You were ripped off. Cheated.”

“He said you wouldn’t accept at his regular hourly rate. Called you a high-class hussy who didn’t know what was good for her. You, Miss Sara, are apparently in high demand,” Desmond replied. I heard the steady drumming of fingers on leather. “While I agree you are of high class, I think the fact you don’t go home with just any man proves you are not a hussy—or a slut, hooker, whore, or any other derogatory term you may wish to mutter under your breath when you think I can’t hear you.”

“Have you forgotten I’m a stripper?”

“Lots of women strip to help pay their way, including young mothers, college students, and those who simply live in an expensive town.”

“Why the blindfold and the dress?” I blurted.

“Well, I certainly couldn’t take you out and about in what you were wearing. While I am not one to tell a woman what she can or can’t wear, I was concerned you might expire if you attempted to wear that outfit on the streets. Since we are going to a rather nice show after dinner, I thought you’d feel more comfortable wearing something venue appropriate. As for the blindfold, I’m really not sure. It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Charles, you’re terrible. Where is Sanders? It doesn’t take ten minutes to find the elevator,” Wendy complained. I once again heard a phone ring. “Sanders, where are you? I’m starving, and if I don’t get something to eat soon, you’re on the menu. Okay, okay. Fine, maybe it does take you ten minutes to find the elevator. Where are you? Go to the big staircase in the middle, turn left, and go to the wall. When you reach it, turn right and take the first left. The elevators to the garage are there. Third level, Sanders. Don’t get lost this time. You’ll be sitting on my side of the car, as your present is currently on the driver’s side.”

I bit my lip at being called a present, but kept my mouth shut. My wolf, however, was interested in why we were a present and who we were a present for. In her opinion, if two of his friends were willing to spend so much money on us, he fit many of my criteria for a mate.

That was good enough for her.

Charles laughed. “He really got lost?”

“So he claims. I think he was scoping out the casino looking for the lady,” Wendy replied, giggling. “We should make bets on how he reacts.”

“Fool’s bet. He’s going to be shocked and dismayed, then completely incapable of figuring out how to handle the situation I have put him in.”

“He’s not the only one who is trying to figure out this situation, dear. My apologies, Miss Sara. He gets carried away.”

“Hey, this was
your
idea, Wendy.”

“So? You’re the one who ran off like a looney—giggling, I’ll remind you. I should take your credit cards away so you can’t do any more impulse shopping tonight.”

“It’s Sanders’s fault.”

Someone tapped on the glass of the driver’s window. “What’s my fault?”

I didn’t know who he was, but he had a nice voice, his tenor fringing on baritone, with the faintest hint of a rumble when he spoke. My wolf liked the sound, so much like a growl.

“Oh, made it, did you?” Desmond asked. “Couldn’t find the lady in the casino?”

“Damn it, Desmond!”

“Get in the car. Wendy’s side.” There was no mistaking the command in Desmond’s voice.

The door opened. “Desmond, I swear I’ll—”

Wendy burst into laughter. “Happy belated birthday, Sanders. He didn’t have the heart to let you go to dinner and the show alone, so he invited her along.”

My wolf’s amusement overwhelmed my nervousness. Maybe our client—clients—had spent far too much on me, but she approved of them. They didn’t bark at us or bite. She couldn’t detect anything malicious about them. She could, however, smell arousal from the new male with the nice voice, which partnered well with his spiced, cinnamon scent.

Once again, I flushed as her interest affected me.