Chapter 1

~MARLOWE~

A light flush of sweat coated my skin for I needed a fix, and I needed it badly, so when Auriella held out the pills in her hand, I took them from her without question, quickly swallowing them with a drink from my bottled water.

"Your dad wants you in the room tonight. He said you have a request," she told me, watching me recap the bottle. She crossed her arms over her chest, her gaze narrowing under the harsh fluorescent lights of the kitchen corridor.

I grimaced, the plastic of the water bottle crinkling beneath my fingers. "Do I have to? You know what happened the last time."

She gave a small snort, her mouth twisting into a sneer. "Of course you do," she quipped, her tone that of disbelief I was even asking.

At fifty-two, Auriella was my dad's ol' lady, as well our House Mother, and it was her job to make sure everything ran smooth within the compound, as well the clubhouse, and just like my dad, she ruled it all with an iron hand. I'd seen her beat the shit out of some of the girls for a simple eye roll when they didn't like what they had been told to do. I didn't like Auriella much, and she didn't like me, but out of all the ol' ladies Dad had had, I guess I liked her the most. However, she was still just another in a line of many.

Dad was a viral man, and women had always seemed to flock to him. I suppose it had something to do with who he was. Stye Mills, my dad, was the president of a motorcycle club; The Sons of Morning Star, and as such, I'd seen some pretty damn bloody fights between the biker mamas over him. I'd never known my mom, as she had died giving birth to me, and life hadn't been easy because of it. Many of Dad's ol' ladies had tried playing Mom, or best friend to me, but I had seen through their bullshit. I wasn't stupid.

That's the only good thing I could say about Auriella, she didn't pretend to be anyone but who she was. And though I was respected by the members as the club's president's daughter, I was still nonetheless part of the stable of dancers, prostitutes and topless waitresses, and she treated me as such. Most times I served the bar, but tonight it appeared I'd be working in the back, though.

So ten minutes later with the drugs cruising through my system, I found myself standing before the door of my private room. I'd been assigned this one, and though I didn't know why I was the only one who worked in this particular room, I'd never voiced the question. I learned long ago you didn't question anything Dad said or did. In fact, this was the only room, I did work. I didn't entertain in the other private rooms as most of the girls did. Yet, again, I hadn't questioned it, I was just thankful I didn't. Nevertheless, that didn't take away the nerves I was now working with.

After drawing several deep breaths, I readied myself for dealing with the man inside. Well, not actually me, but rather my stage persona, Mystique, was preparing, and she, well, fuck, I, was scared shitless about it. 

I hated finding myself in this position again. The last time I entertained barely three weeks earlier, I'd sworn I'd never do it again after I'd endured a beating; the guy had damn near killed me. Thinking about it now, I realized I hadn't seen the prospect around since then.

As I tried to stop the slight tremors that raced through my frame, I smoothed the boy style shorts that bared my lower ass cheeks, my palms sweating against the spandex. Then reaching up, I plumped my boobs in the matching bra-styled top, adjusting the straps until they cut into my skin. With a resigned sigh, I pushed a small button on the wall next to the door and started my introduction music.

Afterward, hand on the brass doorknob, I twisted it and stepped into the room. The low throb of music greeted me, its low pulse echoing within my body, and placing my butt against the wood door, I pushed it shut until the latch clicked. As I did so, my eyes landed on the man in the chair.

He sat low in the seat, his legs stretched out before him, ankles crossed. But at my entrance, he raised his head, then, with slow movements, sat the tumbler in his hand onto the tabletop beside the chair. Afterward, uncrossing his ankles, he straightened, peering in my direction.

The dim lighting in that section of the room kept me from making out his features, but I could feel his eyes on me as his scent surrounded me, enveloping me within its allure; a mixture of spice and something...something musky and intoxicating: essentially male. A scent I knew well.

I gave a small groan, a sudden flood of desire washing through me, my thighs pressing together. Torin Montero had been gone for the last three days making a run, and I was happy to know he was back and safe. The runs were always dangerous and some of the guys didn't always make it back. Rivalry between our club and some of the other clubs always made for nasty business situations.

There were a shitload of good looking men in our club, but Torin was the only one I'd ever wanted so badly, that as a teenager, I'd spent many nights having erotic dreams about. He was, as well, the only man outside of my dad Stye and my brother, Dillon, that had ever held my heart.

Shame washed through me and suddenly, I wanted nothing to do with this. I didn't want Torin seeing me like this, strung out on whatever the hell Auriella had given me and dancing in a sex room for whatever man paid my dad enough money. 

I wasn't a whore, but taking off my clothes in front of whatever man filled that chair when I danced made me feel as though I were. Yet, I couldn't refuse. Torin had requested I dance for him, and if I didn’t, Auriella would beat my ass black and blue.

As the first dance song on my soundtrack began to echo about the room, I heard the low, thick cadence of Torin's voice. "Dance for me," he ordered, his tone a smooth command that rippled through the space.

The time for escape had passed, and I drew in a deep breath, my lungs expanding painfully. The throb of the music kept time with the pulse beating between my legs, and stepping forward across the slick linoleum floor, I made my way over to Torin, then began sliding my fingertips slowly across his left collarbone and onto his leather-clad shoulder.