Ruined in Vows (Marchetti Family #3)

4. Asher

Chapter 4

Asher

T he smell of sweat and cheap liquor permeates the air, making me want to gag. I stare at the stage but focus on nothing.

This run-down shithole of a strip club is not the type of establishment I would normally frequent, but it’s been a rough day.

A bad two weeks, for that matter.

I laugh at the memory of that day, but it’s humorless. Walking in on your fiancée fucking your best friend since first grade is not funny.

The devastation of that day plays in my head like a movie, hitting me right in the chest. I don’t know which is worse, losing Calista or Brody.

All I know is that it hurts so bad, I feel the pain in my now dead heart.

It’s what brought me to this seedy place on the wrong side of town. I needed to get away. Needed to forget.

If only for one night.

Taking a sip of my bourbon, my head snaps up when catcalls break out all around me, and my gaze lands on the stage. A woman walks out in a lacy black bra and thong; not unusual in a strip club, but there is something about her. The way her head is held high, and although she screams confidence, I can see the vulnerability in her eyes.

I stare at her and, in that moment, something strange happens. Something that hasn’t happened since that day two weeks ago. My cock hardens in my pants. Shifting in my seat, my eyes trace every inch of her body from head to toe. Shiny, chocolate-brown hair that reaches her small waist. Chocolate eyes. Perfect, pert tits that bounce with every sway of her hips. Long, tan legs that would look so good wrapped around me. Flawless skin. Heart-shaped face with plump lips and a button nose.

Jesus.

No wonder the crowd perked up. The girl is fucking gorgeous.

I watch as she dances to a song, though I’m not sure what it is. My gaze is fixed on the stage in front of me, captivated by the woman moving her body like a temptress. Taking my eyes from her, I glance around, and sure enough, all eyes are fixated on her, like I knew they would be. A sliver of possessiveness and a whole lot of jealousy course through me. I pause. What the fuck? I never once felt like that towards Calista, so why am I feeling these emotions right now?

The song comes to an end, and the girl drops down, grabbing at all the bills on the stage. Its only then that I notice she didn’t strip. No. The angel is still in her underwear, yet she is by far the most popular girl that has danced so far. With a handful of money, she pushes up, straightens her spine, turns, and sashays away, only to stop when a drunk asshole grabs at her leg. I growl in anger as she slightly stumbles. It takes everything in me to stay in my seat, to not beat the living shit out of the fucker. But I don’t need to. Security is there in a second, pulling the man away and out the door.

The beauty on stage stares after him, her lips slightly parted. It’s then I see the innocence in her eyes, on her face. She looks young. Fresh faced compared to the other dancers. Blinking, she snaps out of wherever she just went and continues off the stage and through the curtain so I can no longer see her.

I watch the space she disappeared into long after she has gone and briefly wonder if she’s coming back out. This incessant need takes over me. The need to go back there, find her, and make her tell me everything about her. But I don’t. I stay seated, my eyes never leaving that black drape that has hidden the angel from my view. I sit there until the last girl comes on stage, until the lights come on, signaling the bar is closing.

I never see my angel again.

But that doesn’t mean I won’t be back.

I need to know her.

And I have every intention of doing just that.

The next evening, I find myself pulling up to Legs Eleven, the rundown strip club where I saw my angel last night. A woman like her should be nowhere near a place like this, let alone on the stage in her underwear while creepy dudes salivate over her. That may be hypocritical of me to say, being as I was one of those men last night, but I am not some weirdo. I just happened to be in the right place at the right time.

Hopping out of my car, I make my way to the entrance, pay the cover charge, and then find a free table near the stage. Not a minute later, a topless waitress appears, her eyes lighting up as her gaze rakes over my body.

“Hey sugar, what can I get you to drink?” she purrs, her finger darting out and running down my arm. I grab her hand, pushing her away. She frowns like she can’t quite believe I’m not interested.

“A water is fine,” I say coolly, my eyes back on the stage. She huffs, spins on her stripper heels, and makes her way to what I assume is the bar to get my drink. I watch as a naked girl wraps herself around the pole. She isn’t half bad. Just not my type, with her surgically enhanced breasts and cheap, dyed, bleach-blonde hair.

A half hour passes, and there is still no sign of my angel or my water. I am just about to turn to signal a waitress when the music starts. The lights dim even more, and the girl who I am here to see walks onto the stage. I watch as she takes a harsh breath, then looks up to the ceiling as if she is praying to someone who won’t answer her. Then, like she remembers where she is – as if you could ever forget – she starts moving her body in such a sensual way, my cock hardens in my pants.

Fuck me.

That has never happened before. Not until yesterday, at least.

If she can make me hard by just moving her body side to side, then I’m pretty sure that most of the men in here are in the same state. Anger courses through me at the thought. I glance around, and it’s the wrong thing to do because I suddenly want to rip every eye out of every socket in here. I want to get on that stage and cover her with my body so no one else can look at her.

“Here’s your water.” A feminine purr startles me out of my thoughts as she slams it down in front of me. As she turns to leave, without apologizing for taking so fucking long, I grab her wrist. She yelps, then scowls down at me. “Let go of me. No touching the ladies,” she hisses.

I jerk my head to the stage. “Who is that?”

She looks to the stage and back to me, a look of jealousy and disgust crossing her face. “Oh, that’s Crystal. I wouldn’t bother with her though. She’s a frigid, moody bitch. Thinks she is too good for this place, yet here she is, doing exactly what we all are. Stripping.” She yanks her arm out of my grip and sashays away.

The song comes to an end, and, just like last night, the angel grabs up the bills and walks away without entertaining any of the catcalls being thrown her way. I am up and out of my chair, making my way to the small booth in the corner. It has a flashing neon sign saying Book a Private Dance . I push my way in front of the two men in the queue, ignoring their disgruntled words.

“I want a private with Crystal,” I say impatiently, grabbing some notes out of my pants.

The lady, who must be pushing fifty, if not more, stares at me, her lips pursed. “Back of the line, asshole. You cut in.”

Slapping the bills on the counter, I make her jump. “I want a private with Crystal. Now how much will it cost me to have that?” I grit.

Her eyes narrow before her lips curve into a grin that screams that she’s about to make me pay extra. “One hundred dollars for the dance.” I start to count it out, stopping when she speaks again. “And a hundred for me. Just because you’re a jerk.” She flashes a look that dares me to argue. I won’t. I just want to get the angel to myself.

And I don’t care what it costs me.