Soul Survivor (3 page)

He smirked again from behind his cup. “I would, but he doesn't seem the type to put out on the first date.”

My heart dropped as I stared into those gray eyes. “And I do?” I ran my tongue across dry lips. “Something tells me I should be insulted, Detective Kane.”

A growl reverberated from deep in Damien's chest. “Calling you wildly and unapologetically sexual is far from an insult, succubus.” With his small smirk, a dimple formed at the corner of his mouth. “And if you call me Detective Kane again, I won't be held responsible for what happens here”—his eyes flicked down—“on this table.”

I opened my mouth, tempted to call his bluff as something struck me. Damien didn't seem the type to date, nor did he seem like the kind of guy who would ask a girl out to dinner in order to wine and dine her. He could easily find a bedmate any night of the week with hardly a wink. I opened my mouth to answer when I heard a door shut behind me. I turned to find Drew coming out of his office, a stack of papers in his hands. His eyes found mine, a sad smile tipping his mouth—until he saw me talking to Damien. The hint of a smile immediately dropped, and he shuffled away, glancing back down at his paperwork. And away from me. I looked back over at Damien, who still stared at me with knowing eyes. They were half lowered and an amused smirk slid across his face.

“No, Damien. My answer is no.”

I finished the rest of my shift with no more excitement. Damien left shortly after I turned him down and Drew pretty much avoided me for the rest of the day. A little after eight o'clock, I was grabbing my stuff from my locker. I glanced over my shoulder before shifting into a leather jumpsuit that zipped up from crotch to cleavage.

Head down, I stalked out to the front and collided with Drew. I bounced off his tight pecs and, in my three-inch heels, almost fell backwards. He reached out a hand, grabbing my elbow just before I toppled over. His eyes landed on the tight leather buckling around my breasts, and his mouth stayed open. When he finally brought his eyes back to my face, he swallowed. “Off to work?”

I nodded. “Of course.” I gestured to the outfit.

He gave one breathy laugh—which was hardly a laugh at all—before answering. “It's hard to tell these days.”

“There's not exactly anyone to hold back for, anymore.”

“You have friends.” His eyes softened at the corners.

It was my turn to snort a laugh. “Like Kayce? Who do you think encourages me?”

Hands clenched on his hips, he let one rake through his hair and then fall to his thigh. “Why do you have to make everything so hard, Monica? You know I didn't mean Kayce. I meant me.
Me.
Your friend. I am still your friend.”

“Are you?” My voice was soft, throat closing with the threat of tears. “Because I don't believe it these days.”

“
You
were the one who said you didn't want anything outside of our one night together. That was your choice, not mine.” He wiped his palm over reddish blond stubble. “I don't get you. We were friends before.... Why can't we be friends now?”

“Because you made your choice, Drew. You chose her. And you can't ride a tricycle without having a third wheel.” I went to move past him and one hand darted out to grab my elbow. My skin beneath his hand sizzled at the touch. A heady electricity hung in the air between us, and I felt myself panting as I looked up into his green eyes. His wet lips pressed together and he swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing up, then down. I closed my eyes and memorized what his hand felt like on my body. I never knew if it would be the last.

“I haven't chosen anyone. Not yet. I'm just—”

“Shut
up
,” I snapped. “I don't want to hear it anymore. I get it. You feel guilty for fucking me so you're with her out of pity.”

His eyes flashed, anger resonating between us. He dropped my elbow, knuckles turning white with clenched fists. “I am not with her out of pity,” he spat.

I crossed my arms, narrowing my eyes at him. “Well, then, what would you call it?”

His voice was dangerous. On edge. “If you're going to make life so miserable for both of us here, why don't you just quit?”

I opened my eyes again and his were hard with nostrils flaring as he waited for my response. It was a question he had asked me numerous times over the past six months. A question I always gave the same answer to every time. It was a well-rehearsed dance we did.

“If I make
your
life so miserable, why don't you just fire me?” I said the words quietly, but with no less intensity. I moved to push past his shoulder, but stopped just as our bodies connected. Looking up, our noses were so close that one slight movement from either of us could have resulted in our lips touching. “We don't all get happily ever afters, Drew.”

T
he drive to Hell's Lair from the coffee shop is only about twenty minutes, depending on traffic. Lucien, the ArchDemon of Nevada and the closest thing to a brother I've got, is the owner and my boss. He's a pretty intimidating guy to most, but not to me.

The place was already crawling with the lowest of the lows when I slipped in through the tinted glass doors. Both humans and immortals frequented the club, so we had to be careful not to let our guard down too much just because it was a known demon bar in the immortal realm. As soon as I stepped foot in the club, my foot slid into a questionable puddle. It pooled into my strappy high heels, squishing between my toes.

“Ugh!” I screamed and shook my foot. Mystery fluid splattered off of me.

“You're late again, darlin'.” I looked up to find T, our bouncer and bartender, looking at me, arms crossed, eyes thoughtful. He wore big gold jewelry that came right from the
Mr. T
catalogue and he was a big guy—huge, actually. Lots of bulk that might be half muscle, half fat. I honestly never took the time to find out. Either way, he looked scary and could probably beat the shit out of most people.

“Yeah, yeah. What else is new?”

“Lenny's been looking for you.”

I checked my phone. 9:22. “I'm only five minutes late! Damn, he's picky.”

“You know Lenny. Late is late.”

I looked at T without turning my head. “Anyone looking right now?”

He shook his head. T's a man of few words.

Thank Hell. I stepped to the side of the mystery puddle and shifted my shoe and foot clean. “You gonna clean that up?”

“Already sent for the mop.”

“And do I even want to know what it was?”

His eyes caught mine, his smile a mere apparition. “Nope.”

Janelle, our newest dancer, came up to T with a mop and bucket. Setting it down next to him, she let her hand trail from his shoulder down to his lower back. “Here you go, baby,” she said, her eyelids half closed and a serene smile splayed on her face.

And then, something so odd happened that it made my breath catch in my throat. T smiled. A full-on, all-teeth-showing smile. As long as I've known the man, I've never seen him grin that widely. Janelle smiled wider, too, and scrunched her nose.

“I'll see you later, right?”

He nodded and she ran off backstage.

“Well, I'll be damned,” I said, leaning casually against his shoulder.

“You already are, girl.”

Just as I was about to get the details of the recent developments, Lenny's nasally voice rang out from my right. “Monica! You're twelve minutes late!”

I sighed and when I turned to look at him, I noticed he was wearing a new shirt. I could tell because he had left the size sticker on the arm. If I was a nicer person, I would have torn it off. Or at least told him about it. “Actually, I'm five minutes late. I've been here chatting.”

“Until you're in costume and ready to go on stage, you're considered late!”

I gestured to my leather jumpsuit. “What exactly do you think I'm wearing, Lenny? You think I go around dressing like this for kicks?”

He opened his mouth to retort, but thought better of it. My job was certainly more secure than his and he knew it. I walked slowly past him, staring down my nose at his little, ratlike features. “See ya later, T,” I said over my shoulder after staring down Lenny.

T gave me a quick nod and went back to mopping up the mystery puddle.

 

With the foul mood I was in, I chose an angry, energetic song to dance to. “Black Betty” pounded through the speakers and I started at the pole in the center of the stage. With the hard pulse of the first few beats, I straddled it, mimicking what I would do if it was a man I was riding. The guitar lick began and I climbed the pole, allowing my body to slide down in a spiral head-first. Using the energy of the music, I swirled my hips and thrust my ass in the air.

As I walked to the front center stage, more and more men were gathering around. I turned my back to them and lowered my body into a straddle, bending over so my ass, still leather-clad, was in their faces. Bills were being tossed onto the stage and I hadn't even taken anything off yet. I spanked myself, the sound of skin hitting leather ringing out over the music. Still in the straddle position, I pulsed my hips from side to side. I looked over my shoulder at the man standing right behind me.

“Spank me,” I said. His eyes grew wide, with fear or nerves I wasn't sure. No one was supposed to touch the dancers. “It's okay.... I've told you to.” I ran my tongue across scarlet red lips. “C'mon.” My voice grew more demanding. “Spank it. Hard.”

He raised a hand and struck me across the ass, squeezing my cheek at the end. I exaggerated my cry for the performance and hollered out in faux ecstasy. Standing upright again, I turned to face the front right side of the audience and unzipped the front of my jumpsuit in jerky motions that mimicked a hand job. Underneath, I wore a black, lace push-up bra and I peeled away the leather from my body, shifting my skin so that no lines or moisture from the leather showed. I unclasped the bra and my breasts fell out. They were full but not overly large. I found that the more attainable I made my body, my looks, the more tips I got.

I circled the audience, allowing the men to put the money in my G-string. I even let most spank me as I passed. The more the audience realized I'd let them touch me, the more likely they were to buy a lap dance later, I rationalized.

One man particularly caught my eye sitting at the front left side of the stage. He had a beautiful bronzed, olive skin tone—maybe of Cuban lineage—and dark hair that was cropped short. Large, chocolate eyes stared back at me with an intensity that almost made me stop in my tracks. I was wearing nothing but my thong at this point. Doing a back bend, I allowed my head to fall off the edge of the stage, and snaked my body so that I was lying on my back before him. My breasts heaved just below his chin.

He held a fifty-dollar bill pinched between two fingers, and I glanced down at my thong, signaling where he could put it. His eyes held mine, not bothering to look at my body, but he ran the edge of the bill from the center of my collarbone down between my breasts, circled it around each nipple allowing enough time for them to pebble. Then he ran the money down my tight abs before slipping it into the front of my thong. He let his hand linger, caressing the top of my landing strip until he pulled away. I gasped as he touched me, goose bumps covering my flesh. Even with that tiny bit of contact, I could tell this guy was skilled, an expert in his own right. His eyes remained on mine. There was something in his face that was familiar, though I knew I had never before met the man.

The song was coming to a close. I pulled myself up for a big finish upside down on the top of the pole. When I looked into the audience again, Damien stood at center stage. His hair was messed, as though he had been running his hands through it all day. The dark gray button-down shirt was unbuttoned to the middle of his sternum and he wore his signature leather jacket, even though the club was unseasonably warm inside. His dark, brooding stare directed straight at me. His eyes flicked to my Cuban big tipper, then back again at me.

 

When I came out of my dressing room, I was back in the leather jumpsuit, so tight that it clung to me like a second skin. Damien was waiting for me, leaning against the stage door like some sort of Johnny. He ran a tongue along his top teeth as I walked out and kicked himself off the wall. “Well, that was quite the performance.”

“Are you stalking me now?”

One eyebrow arched and the corner of his mouth tilted up. “I used to frequent this club all the time before you knew who I was.”

“So, then, that's a yes? You're a stalker.”

“Who said I was here to see you?”

“Well, are you?”

“Of course.” He smiled and sipped his beer.

Crossing my arms, I lowered my eyes to a scowl, but I was pretty certain my lips still held the slightest smile regardless of how much I tried to give him my bitchiest frown. “I'm really not interested in dating
anyone
right now.”

His silver-ish eyes flashed with—something that I couldn't quite put my finger on. “Good. I'm not really looking to date either.” His smile was an erotic proposal.

“Really? Then what the Hell is all this about?” I gestured dramatically at the two of us.

“I may not be so good with the romance,” he said with a flippant hand gesture, before stepping in so close that I could feel his pulse; the pounding of his heart strangely similar to another sort of pounding I knew we both desired. “But, Monica—I know a hundred different ways to make you come. And I want to show you each and every one of them.”

Damien's face was hard, his expression broad and resolute. Before I could speak, he gently placed a finger on my lips. “Before you object, take a good look at me, Monica. Do I look like the sort of man who's easily dissuaded?”

Our bodies were pressed together and I throbbed for every hot, hard inch of him. And judging by the annoying smirk he bore, he knew I did. My breasts were heavy and all too sensitive and my clit ached for attention, beating along with my thrashing heart.
It's just my succubus senses taking over
. I closed my eyes, trying to convince myself this was true. Finally, I stepped back. I needed air and being this close to Damien was sucking all the oxygen out of me. His hand darted out, grabbing at my bicep.

“Excuse me, ma'am.” The lumbering voice came from my left with the slightest hint of an accent—a Creole drawl. Both Damien and I flashed a look to the third person. It was the big-tipper from earlier. Damien's glare lowered and he exhaled long and slow. A warning. The stranger's smile was all charm. “Is this man bothering you?”

“Nope,” I said, pulling my arm from his grasp. “Actually, he was just leaving.”

“The Hell I was,” he growled.

Lenny scurried past us and Damien grabbed his shirt collar from behind. “I'm buying a private dance. With her.” He gestured at me.

“Interesting,” the stranger said. “I was about to do the same.”

Lenny's eyes glistened at the mention of a sale. “Well,” he said, “she is on the clock for a few hours. Who was here first?”

“I was,” Damien said, flashing a triumphant glance to the stranger.

“I'll pay double to go first,” the Creole man answered.

“Triple,” Damien said through gritted teeth.

The stranger smiled in a smug way. “I'll match that and I'll personally tip
you
as well as the lady here.” He gestured to Lenny, who brightened at the mention of a tip. “And trust me, I am a very generous man.” His large chocolate-brown eyes glistened and he glanced at me, licking his lips. It's not every day a fat, sweaty fuck like Lenny gets offered a tip in a female strip joint.

“Well, then,” Lenny said, “let me get your name, sir. . . .”

“Luis,” he said, sending a sheepish smile in my direction. I couldn't help but return it. That damn Southern charm.

“Wait” Damien shot out a hand, placing it on Lenny's clipboard. A low hum resonated through my body and I recognized it immediately as Damien speaking to an element. “Well, well, well . . .” He slid a sideways glance to me before leaning in and whispering something in Lenny's ear.

Lenny's face dropped, turning a ghostly pallor. He cleared his throat and looked down at his clipboard, marking something. “I'm sorry, sir,” he said, looking at Luis. “I'm afraid this gentleman was first. You can of course have the next dance.”

Luis cast another look toward me. “Perhaps another night,
mon cherie
.” He took my hand and brushed his lips across a knuckle. “I don't like being anyone's sloppy second.” After standing up straight, he pulled out two more bills, handed one to Lenny and the other to me. “For taking up your time.” The bill he placed in my hand felt stiff and when I unrolled it, I could see the hint of a business card inside. I tucked it into my cleavage.

“Thank you, Luis.”

“My pleasure.” He tipped an invisible hat to each of us—even Damien—and turned to leave the club.

Damien mocked the hat tip with a middle finger aimed at Luis, muttering some sort of expletive under his breath.

I put a hand on my hip and sighed. “You better be a good fucking tipper, Damien. You might have just cost me a month's rent.” I grabbed his hand and pulled him into one of our back rooms.

Once inside, I shut the door behind me and held out a hand, palm up. “Okay, pay up. Triple the cost. And don't forget the tip.”

“You seriously going to make me pay triple the amount?”

“Isn't that the deal you worked out with Lenny?”

He smirked again. “No, I think Lenny and I came to another understanding.”

I dropped my hand, tilting my head. “What did you say to him if it wasn't in regard to money? Lenny's only language is the dollar bill.”

“I told him that if he didn't give the first dance to me, I'd tell Lucien he was skimming money off the top.” He folded his arms dramatically across his chest.

It was hard to be mad at anyone who stuck it to Lenny, the little weasel. “You sneaky little bastard,” I said, mirroring Damien's crossed arms.

“Yep. So I could probably get away without paying you
anything
.”

I slowly walked toward him and pushed his body into the chair sitting in the middle of the room. “But you
will
tip, right?”