Читать книгу Bound To Protect - Anya Summers - Страница 7

Sabrina’s fingers trembled as she adjusted the itty-bitty outfit and gave herself a once over in the mirror. The sailor’s outfit covered the naughty parts for the time being. Tonight would be fine. She could do this, go out on that darkened stage under the spotlight and dance to the catcalls. She had a body most men lusted after already anyhow, not that she had ever experienced sex—or lust, for that matter, with everything else on her plate. All she had to do was pretend it was a fashion show, and not that she was taking her clothes off for money.

Her stomach rolled at the thought.

Besides, it wasn’t money for herself, but for her brother, Alex. He needed her to go out there and give it her best shot. They had until the end of the month for Sabrina to make good on their rent before they were evicted. And only a week left of funds to pay for her brother’s much-needed at home care.

She couldn’t remember a time when she wasn’t tired or strapped for cash.

It wasn’t her brother’s fault. His medical conditions required constant medical care, as well as medicine that was outrageously expensive even with his insurance—which, if she didn’t earn more money, she wouldn’t be able to pay for either.

The trust her parents had left them had been whittled away under the burden of his expenses until it went bone dry six months prior.

That was why she was at Bayou Sin, one of the hottest and classiest strip joints on Bourbon Street in the French Quarter. Using her curvaceous form to make money to pay for Alex’s care was the only option Sabrina had left for quick cash.

And she was up next. She tried not to hyperventilate.

“You’ll do great, honey,” Betty Lou said, and squeezed Sabrina from the side. Her raven hair was styled up in a high ponytail, her makeup expertly applied, and she wore nothing but a royal blue thong. Sabrina had to admit, the woman had a great pair of boobs, and she wondered if they were real or not. If she was a betting kind of individual, she’d place money that they were fake. No woman she knew had breasts which were that big, and that perky, without support.

Although her size C cups were nice enough, or so Sabrina thought, Betty Lou made her feel like she had tiny apples by comparison that shortly dozens of men were about to see in all their glory. Sabrina would have to get over her modesty, and fast. “Thanks, Betty. I appreciate all your help. I’ve got to admit, I’m a little nervous.”

“So was I my first time. It’s a lot like having sex. The first time, you’re a scared virgin, but after a while, it becomes old hat. The guys out there are going to love you.”

Yeah, that was part of the problem. The whole virginity thing. Sabrina had been taking care of people for the last thirteen years, and working to keep a roof over their heads at the same time. There’d never been time for sex—or dating, for that matter. She worried that at twenty-nine, she was what society would refer to as a dried up old maid—or at least would have, a hundred years or so ago.

“Sabrina, you’re on.” The director’s voice boomed in the dressing room.

Fear squeezed her chest, and she prayed she wouldn’t pass out from lack of oxygen. She just had to remember to breathe. “Coming.”

Betty gave her a thumbs up. Sabrina wished she could say that she strutted to the curtain with confidence. But in all honesty, it felt like with each step she took, another piece of her soul was extinguished. She wanted to rage at the unfairness of it all, of her burden. And she hated herself for even considering her brother a millstone. When their mom had died, she’d made Sabrina promise that she would take care of Alex, even though her mom had understood the immense responsibility of what she was asking of her daughter.

That had been ten years ago. And the weight of it hadn’t gotten easier to bear over time; it had only gotten heavier.

“Bayou Sin would like to welcome to the stage for the first time, the lovely, luscious Lola. Let’s give her a big round of applause.” The director’s voice came over the loudspeaker, announcing the stage name Sabrina had picked to provide her with some anonymity.

The black velvet curtain was drawn back. The bright spotlight blinded her. She tried to remember to paste a seductive smile over her lips, which she had painted a bright, siren red. With her stomach in knots, she put one foot in front of the other, making sure her hips swayed in the sensual fashion that Betty had instructed her to use. And she was swamped with male catcalls, whistles, and applause.

She tried to focus on anything but the men’s leering faces as she swayed her hips to the music and gripped the pole. She crawled inside herself, pretended she was at a club on the beach, dancing with no cares or worries. It was the only way she would make it through the next ten minutes of her life.

She swung her body around the pole. But some of their words bled through.

“Take it off, honey.”

“Show us your tits.”

“Don’t be shy, baby.”

After her next turn around the pole, her hands went to the front clasp on her studded bra. This was it. The moment she had been dreading. She wanted to back out. She wanted to run and hide, and forget that she had ever had to go to these lengths.

Alex’s face flooded her vision. He would suffer and eventually die without his medication, without a roof over their heads.

Sabrina unhooked the clasp, and let the material fall, pasting a fake smile on her face as the men went crazy. She did a little shimmy and looked above the crowd going wild and tossing money in her direction. She swung around the pole again, and was brought up short.

What was he doing here?

It was Dante Rousseau, owner of Bayou Sin, and one of the people Sabrina cleaned for during the day. With a scowl marring his strong brow, he pushed through the throng with ease, his wide mouth set in a grim, firm line. Before she realized what Dante was up to, he’d grabbed her by the wrist, hauled her forward, and tossed her over his shoulder.

Over the din, Sabrina heard the director introduce Jessica. Shock gave way to fury. How dare he?

“Put me down!” She kicked and pounded her fists against his back. Male laughter reached her ears, and it only made her rage burn that much brighter.

“Quiet,” he ordered. His iron grip on her body tightened, and he swatted her rear with a hard wallop.

He had spanked her, like she was a misbehaving child! She was too stunned to respond.

His broad, muscled shoulder dug into her belly. She grew dizzy from having her world turned upside down. Where was he taking her, and why? The scent of frying food assailed her as they left the main floor, while an old Etta James number played in the background. But Dante kept moving, kept walking, passed through another door, and shut it behind them.

Her world was righted, and she found herself sitting on a leather couch in the man’s office, with Dante kneeling before her.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she snapped.

“I’d like to ask you the same thing.” His gaze dipped to her chest. And for the briefest of moments, she spied hunger in those intense chocolate depths before he flicked his gaze back up to hers. Dante reached over his head and dragged his tee shirt off.

Miles of smooth, contoured chest muscles were now exposed to her gaze. She’d always thought Dante was hot, with his simmering, magnetic stare, but that was before she had seen him without a shirt on.

Holy Mother of God!

Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. They were both half-dressed and alone in his office. When he reached toward her, she stuttered, “W-w-w-what do you think you’re doing?”

His dark brow rose. “Covering you up, love.”

Shame, thick and putrid, slammed into her. Because, for the briefest of moments, she’d thought he might want her in that way. Now, instead, her naked chest made her feel ashamed.

“I don’t need your shirt.” She crossed her arms in front of her breasts and stubbornly refused the offer. He’d made her a laughing stock in his club.

“Put it on. Because I sincerely doubt you’re going to like being dragged down Bourbon Street with your cleavage on display.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.” Especially when I still have to figure out how to make enough cash to pay rent. She was paying an in-home nurse to watch Alex, which was extra money they couldn’t do without if she didn’t make up the difference.

He cocked his head. “Or maybe not… maybe you want to strip. Do you? Is this the life you want?”

Sabrina flushed. Of course she didn’t want to do it. But there were a lot of things she had been forced to do in her lifetime, things she didn’t enjoy yet did them anyway because someone had to get the damn job done. If not her, then who?

Warily, she yanked the shirt from his hands and held it against her chest. The spicy scent from his cologne engulfed her. She said raggedly, trying not to cry, “Why did you do that? I’m never going to be able to go back out there after that. After what you did.”

“Thank God for that.”

“Why do you care? You own this place,” she said, shoving her arms through his shirt and pulling the material down over her chest. The material dwarfed her body, but then again, he was a big man, who stood at least six foot two, and was powerfully built. Dante was a man who took care of his body, and likely spent hours in the gym maintaining the level of fitness he displayed.

“I do. And you’re not a stripper, love. If you are, if that’s what you truly want to do, then I won’t stop you. But look me in the eye and tell me that it absolutely, one hundred percent is what you want to do with your life.”

Her lower lip quivered. She pressed them together. She wouldn’t cry. Wouldn’t let herself cry. She glanced away from the intensity of his gaze.

“Can you, Sabrina?” His voice took on a patient, kind tone.

She squeezed her eyes shut to hold back the tears that wanted to fall. “No.”

“Then why are you here?”

Because her life was circling the drain and she had no other options. She had no other way to make enough money to keep a roof over their heads.

“I need the money,” she whispered raggedly. The enormity of her failure slammed into her. They would be homeless by the end of the week. Her brother, for whom she had fought long and hard to keep his condition relatively stable, or as stable as it would ever be, would descend into madness. And it was all her fault. She couldn’t work enough, wasn’t smart enough, or educated enough to have a job that would pay her what she needed to support him.

“Why didn’t you come to me? You know I would help you out.”

She shook her head. It was too much; she needed too much money. This wasn’t something that could be solved with a few hundred bucks. She needed thousands, between rent and her brother’s care. He should be in an assisted living facility, but she couldn’t afford it. Sabrina had scraped by paying for an in-home nurse so that she could work. And she wasn’t financially viable enough to get a loan from a bank. She knew that because she had tried. The bank manager had all but laughed at her feeble attempt.

“I have to get back out there. I need to earn it.” She started to rise, but Dante clamped his hands on her wrists.

“No, love. Sorry but you won’t be taking your clothes off here.”

“Then I’ll find another place on Bourbon Street.” She steeled her shoulders, hating the disappointment that swamped her, that made her want to curl up into a ball and weep.

“No, you won’t. I’ll tell them I fired you for stealing, and none of them will hire you. Come on. I have something better, something you won’t need to take your clothes off for.” Dante dangled a carrot.

What could he possibly have to offer? She had no idea but at this point, she was willing to listen. “I need to get my things.”

“Where are they at?” he asked her.

“In the back with the other girls, at the station they gave me to use. Why?” she asked with suspicion. Just what was the man up to?

Before she realized what he was doing, her hands were cuffed and attached to a loop she’d not seen before on the wall above the couch. Her wrath resurfaced in a blink. “Dante, let me out of these things. What are you doing?”

“Making sure you don’t leave while I get your stuff. I’ll be back in two shakes,” he stated, rising. He strode out of his office without his shirt on, shutting the door behind him.

They would all think she had been in here banging the boss after the way he had carried her out of there, only for him to head back out without his shirt on.

“Aargh!” she screamed, and twisted, trying to yank her hands out of the cuffs, all while blinking back the flood of tears that threatened. She wasn’t going to let them fall, or let him see what this did to her. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to fight like hell. If she was going down, she would rather do it swinging than whimpering in a corner.

The door to Dante’s office opened and he emerged, his arms full of her purse and clothing.

“You son of a bitch! Let me out of these damn things and let me go!” she yelled, her internal panic rising.

“Afraid I can’t do that, love. I think we need each other right now.”

“Like hell we do. Let… Me… GO!” she said through clenched teeth, finding that it was far easier to bask in fury than wallow in sorrow.

He considered her, shoving her stuff into her bag. “The cuffs look good on you. Now, I can either carry you out of here, or you can leave with me quickly and quietly. Your choice. And you’ve got ten seconds to decide, or I’ll make the choice for you.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

His friendly gaze shuttered into that of a stern task master, leaving her chilled to her core. “Try me.”

Sabrina stewed over her choices. He had her purse, which held her keys, her phone, and her damn clothes. She was chained up in his office, and he held all the cards. She doubted the police would say or stop anything if he did as he threatened.

Still, on principle alone, she couldn’t, wouldn’t, cave to his brow beating. Her night had already been bad enough. She had failed to make the money that would keep a roof over her brother’s head. And it was all Dante’s fault. If he’d left her alone, she might have been able to get caught up on rent.

“Screw you,” she spat.

“Have it your way,” he replied with a deep, tired sigh, and did exactly as he’d promised.

The only thing she hadn’t factored into her equation in thinking she might have a chance to get away from him, was that he had a reserved parking space for his big black Escalade right out the back of the club. Nor had she factored in that he was going to keep the handcuffs on her. Or that, when he got her into his vehicle, he would attach a chain to her cuffs which was connected to a loop on the floorboard.

Sabrina knew all about his lifestyle, that he was into some pretty heavy duty kink. She cleaned his penthouse, the offices, and state-of-the-art personal gym on the fourth floor, as well as the private rooms of his exclusive kinky club. You learned a thing or two about a person when you cleaned for them. And if she was a mite intrigued by the furniture and what went on there, she ignored it, and had done so for going on two years now.

“You’re an asshole,” she snapped as he climbed into the driver’s seat and tugged his seatbelt on.

Dante just laughed and, with a shake of his head, said, “You’ll revise that statement before the night is over. I’ll be your fairy fucking godmother before bedtime.”

She snorted and glanced out the passenger side window. If he was her fairy godmother, she was the Queen of England.