Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 105065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 525(@200wpm)___ 420(@250wpm)___ 350(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 525(@200wpm)___ 420(@250wpm)___ 350(@300wpm)
“We’ll sort this out later.” Lachlan pulls away abruptly and shoves his hands in his pockets. “I have business to tend to. Get dressed and head out to the front bar. The lad named Ronan will take ye home.”
“I don’t need a lift home,” I argue.
“That one is not up for discussion,” he says as he heads for the door. “Good night, Mackenzie.”
Chapter Nine
Mackenzie
Ignoring Lachlan’s instructions, I make my way into the pit. I figure I probably have at least ten minutes before one of the men comes looking for me.
I circle the room, keeping a close eye on the Russians and eavesdropping on their conversations. Unfortunately for me, they love to speak in their native tongue, so it doesn’t give me much to go on. But watching them, getting to know their mannerisms and seeing how they respond to the other dancers is a good place to start. One of them is getting a little too grabby for my liking, even though the dancer is playing it down with flirtatious giggles.
I walk past the table and bump it on purpose, spilling the drink that rests there.
“Oh no,” I gasp. “I’m so sorry.”
The guy looks up at me and I smile apologetically. “It’s my first night.”
He pulls a handkerchief from his suit pocket and starts dabbing at the liquid while he mutters something under his breath. The other dancer who I’m pretty sure is named Kaya, glares at me. She gestures across the room, and before I even get a chance to have a conversation with the guy, one of the Irish goons appears from the shadows.
He crosses his arms and looks down at the Russian, rattling off a stream of words I don’t understand. Except for the one I do.
Lachlan.
The Russian glares at me and shoos me away with his hand as the Irish guy grabs my arm and escorts me to the back.
He releases me with a glare and points to the dressing room. “Ye have no business being in the lounge area,” he says. “If that were any other lad, he’d be downstairs waiting to have some of his appendages removed by now.”
I glare right back and cross my arms. “It was an accident. I bumped his frigging table. It’s not like I was trying to get in his pants.”
“Doesn’t matter what the fuck ye were doing,” he says. “I’ll be telling Lachlan about it.”
“You go right ahead,” I insist.
“Get ready,” he says. “You’re due to leave. Now.”
He leaves, and I get dressed. I know I should go out front, but I just take the opportunity to peek through the curtain and watch some of the other girls do their dance sets. My suspicions were correct. The guys are all over them, trying to play grabass while they work the stage. Most of them don’t seem to mind. But when Sasha goes up on stage, they go unnaturally silent and keep their hands to themselves again. After she collects her tips, she comes back stage to touch up her makeup before she tries to set off again.
I snag her by the arm and stop her before she goes.
“How many sets do you do?” I ask.
“I do three a night,” she says.
“And that’s it, right?” I press. “It’s just working the stage, and lap dances. Nothing else?”
She gives me a sad little laugh and shakes her head. “No lap dances for you, honey. Lachlan thinks you belong to him I guess. Do you think he wants other guys rubbing all up on you?”
A weird look passes over her face as she says it, and I have to think there’s more than what she’s telling me.
“Oh.” I frown. I still don’t get it. Is this because he doesn’t trust me or because he wants me? And either way, what does it matter?
“So you do lap dances then?” I ask.
Sasha hems and haws and looks around the dressing room before she cracks. “Well, no. Not technically. I don’t know why, but one day Lachlan just told me I wasn’t supposed to do them anymore. I didn’t ask why.”
Of course not. I nearly roll my eyes. Who would second guess Lachlan’s orders. Still it confuses me. Does he have a thing for Sasha too? And why does the thought of that even make me feel uptight?
Sensing my train of thought, she shakes her head.
“It’s not that,” she says quietly and then bites her lip. “I think it’s just out of respect for my ex, but I don’t know for sure. Either way, I don’t really care. I just count myself lucky.”
“That’s why the other girls don’t like you either,” I observe.
She gives me a meek nod. “They think I act above my station. But I’m just another dancer. I doubt the men out there can even tell us apart.”
I want to ask her more while she’s in a giving mood, but then another man walks into the room, and Sasha goes tense and quiet. His gaze is practically glacial as he glances in her direction, and his body reflects the same stance. If I wasn’t paying such close attention, I would assume he hates her. But I am paying close attention, so instead, I notice the very brief flick of his eyes over her body and the way his pupils dilate before he moves his attention to me.
I don’t even have to ask to know this is my handler. Ronan Fitzpatrick. I’ve heard a few things about him too. He’s Lachlan’s soldier and confidante. Also migrated from Belfast around the same time which would imply to me that they are old chums. I hate to admit it, but he’s another handsome Irish bastard. He looks different from the others though. He’s impeccably dressed in a sharp suit and wears black- framed glasses. His posture is unnaturally stiff, and he has an impenetrable wall of cool civility surrounding him.
Sasha shifts awkwardly beside me, her eyes darting everywhere but at Ronan. I mentally catalogue that information for later before I tell her thank you and goodbye.