all those motherfuckers who made fun of his drunk-ass mother, and laughed at him for wearing torn-up clothes, begging for food when he was hungry, they would have to recognize.
Recognize that he had arrived. He was the damn man! If anybody felt the slightest urge to try anything stupid with him now, he had someone in his corner that none of them would dick with.
He poured another glass and tossed the drink down his throat, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
Now, to make sure the stupid cunt Sienna didn’t fuck up his plans.
5
Sienna took a deep breath and slowly released the pent-up air in a small puff.
Damn.
She hadn’t had to do a lap dance in a long time, but since Damian wanted to prove a point, that she was totally under his dominance, she had to swallow what little pride she had and do what she had to do. She’d do anything to keep her brother safe. She was all he had.
Her eyes searched the crowd for Damian, but she didn’t see him. But she knew his eyes were on her, somewhere.
No doubt he was watching her across the room behind one of his “special” two-way mirrors, getting his laugh on, knowing how much she hated this.
She surveyed the crowded throng of men and slowly threaded her way through the club. She heard the murmurings from some of the club’s regulars, surprised to see she was on the floor. She hadn’t had to work it, hadn’t had to do any lap dances for a long time.
She also caught the surprised—and mocking—glances of several of the dancers in response to her arrival on the floor. She stiffened her back, plastered a purposeful half smile on her face, and lazily surveyed the men.
“Come on over here, baby doll, and come sit on Daddy’s lap.”
Sienna glanced down and kept her face casually disinterested, careful not to show her disgust at the groping man’s hands roaming her ass.
“I don’t need a daddy, sugar. Been there, done that. Now, if you want my time, the money’s gotta be right,” she purred, trying, unsuccessfully, to pluck his meaty hands away from her ass.
“Oh, I got the dollars, baby, you better believe that. Now come on over here and sit that fine ass down on my lap. Be a good girl and give Daddy a dance.”
He grabbed her, circling her wrist with one beefy hand. Caught off-balance on her stilettos, Sienna landed, hard, in his lap.
“I didn’t think I’d ever get this chance. To think I almost let my wife nag me into staying home with her instead.” He breathed the comment alongside her neck; his hot whisky-and-cigarette breath nearly singeing the fine hairs alongside the nape of her neck, beneath her wig.
She tried hard not to cringe at the way he slurred his words, asking her to sit in his lap—his dick already hard and pointing straight at her—along with his creepy reference that he was her daddy.
God, Damian knew just what to do to humiliate her, Sienna thought. He knew she hated this part of stripping more than anything.
She swallowed and closed her eyes, allowing her body to take over and forcing her mind away from what she was doing. What she had to do.
She was starting to bounce on his lap when she felt a hand cover her hand, calmly removing the drunk’s beefy hand from around her wrist.
Startled, she felt her eyes fly open.
“I believe the lady promised this dance to me,” a deep baritone voice intoned with little inflection.
Sienna glanced up swiftly. Her gaze slowly traveled up a long, hard body, settling on a stern face she’d come to look for in the crowd over the last week.
Her heartbeat quickened. It was him. The man she hadn’t been able to get out of her mind, the one she’d been dancing for—him and him alone—over the last week…hoping she’d see him again, yet praying he wouldn’t come back.
Ignoring the drunk’s protest with a hard look, the man calmly lifted Sienna off his lap, tucked her under his arm, and led her away to a darker, more secluded area of the club.
Quiet, unnerved by not only his presence but his overall masculinity, Sienna allowed him to lead her. He sat down and held out a hand. Hesitantly she placed her hand in his and looked into his deep, light gray eyes. Although she knew he was asking her to dance for him, it seemed as though he wanted something more.
By taking his hand, she was agreeing to give him what he wanted.
“I’m sure one of the other girls would be much better at this than me. It’s been a while for me,” Sienna whispered, her eyes trained on the sensual full curve of his hard mouth.
Her gaze traveled over his angular face, taking in his deep-set gray eyes, framed by short, thick lashes, before traveling down his aquiline nose, sensual, hard full mouth, ending at his squared chin, which held the faintest hint of a cleft.
His thick sable-brown hair was cut close to his finely shaped head, tapering to almost skin past his ears. If not for the slightly longer length on top, he could be a poster boy for the U.S. Marine Corps.
“This isn’t something you do often?” he asked, sitting farther back in his seat, settling her on his lap.
“No, I don’t. At least not in a while. I dance on the stage, occasionally do the smaller stages, but that’s it.”
She forced the words out of her mouth, straddling his hard thighs, trying her best to concentrate on dancing for him, and not get caught up in the erotic fantasies she’d had going on about him over the last week.
“What’s your name?” he murmured, catching her off-guard with the question.
“Sinful Feathers. Sin.”
“No. Your real name.”
She began to dance, slowly gyrating her hips, rolling her buttocks along his jeans-covered, hard thighs.
Sienna never gave her real name to anyone at the club. It was such an intimate thing—as crazy as it sounded, considering she regularly shed her clothes for scores of men.
“Mine’s Garrett. Garrett McAllister. Friends call me Mac.” He gave his name, although she hadn’t asked.
Just as she used a spin on her real name to give her emotional distance, she’d never wanted to know the names of the men she danced for. She needed the space, and with this man, she definitely hadn’t wanted to know his name. She didn’t want to feel as though this were anything more than it was. A dancer providing a service for a client. Nothing more, nothing less.
He waited for her to respond. Instead, she turned her head away from his piercing gaze and continued to move her body in time to the music.
She glanced around the room, feeling as though everyone were staring at them.
No one was giving them any more notice than any of the other dancers performing one-on-one for the male clientele.
“It’s
