Claiming His Fate (2 page)

“The team’s ready to roll out.”

I nodded toward Scab. “Throw his sled in the back of the war wagon and make him follow us up. I don't want to have to explain the loss of a member due to his own idiocy.”

Gates smirked, a rare sight on the normally stoic shifter. “Understood.”

He grabbed Scab by the arm and half-dragged him from the meeting room. Idiot that he was, Scab cursed and blubbered the entire way. I’d have to do something soon to knock the attitude out of him. He’d been pushing the limits of respect for too long, and I’d let him get away with it because I understood the battle between man and wolf in Anbizen shifters. But as the president of our den, it would be my job to remind Scab of the proper way to interact with fellow shifters. And I’d give his reminder with teeth and claws instead of words.

The roar of four engines coming to life interrupted the relative silence of the meeting hall. The sound called to me, made me crave the throaty rumble of the Victory Boardwalk I’d driven out from Detroit. If I couldn’t have a willing woman under me, at least I could have the power of my favorite small cruising bike between my thighs. 

“That’s my cue.” I reached across the table and clasped Jameson's forearm. “Ride hard, my brother.”

“Keep it shiny side up. And good luck above the cheese curtain, my friend.”

I straightened my cut and grinned. “I'm a two-hundred-plus-year-old wolf shifter, a member of the Feral Breed, and the president of my fucking den. I don't need luck.”

TWO

Cherry

I fought back a growl as another customer pinched my ass. I turned to remind the pincher of the rules, but the face smiling at me was one of my favorites. Old Ben Miller had been a regular for years, rolling into the club on his Rascal nearly every night. He spent his retirement money on watered-down drinks and attention from any girl willing to look past his frail body to the twenties he offered.

“Cherry, baby. When’re you gonna get up on the stage and shake that thing for me?”

I forced my lips into a smile. The man asked me that question at least once every shift, and I always gave him the same answer.

“Now, Ben. You know Mr. Morris only likes the skinny girls dancing the pole.” I leaned over as if to whisper to him, giving him a good view of my cleavage. “He thinks these curves will get y'all too excited.”

As expected, Old Ben tucked a bill into the cup of my bra and gave me a wink.

“I can still get it up, you know. Don't even need none of that Viagra.”

I patted his knee. “Good for you, Ben.”

The overhead speaker crackled before the DJ’s voice thundered through the room.

“And now, on the main stage, get ready to make it rain with Dynasty!”

Ben's eyes locked on the pole where Dynasty would be dancing in about ten seconds. “Oh, now she's got a real nice set of titties on her.”

“She sure does. Have fun, Ben.”

I visually checked on my tables as I walked away. Working at a strip club had never exactly been on my list of career choices, but when life hands you lemons, you make lemonade.

Or you tuck those bad boys in your bra and learn to shake it like the girls working in this dump did.

“Anything you boys need?” I smiled at the two young men at table three and cocked my hip as I'd been trained to do. Anything to draw attention to “the assets,” as my boss loved to say. Skinny, flexible, willing-to-get-naked girls made bank on the stages, though not out on the floor. Those of us with a little more meat on our bones, a few more soft curves to grab hold of, went home with the most tips out of the waitresses.

“I'll have a gin and tonic. Matt? Yo, Matt.”

The second guy at the table finally looked up. Eyes glassy and unfocused, he made my jaw clench. I had a drunk on my hands.

“How about I get Matt here a nice glass of ice water or a cup of coffee?” I turned to leave the table but stopped when someone grabbed me by the hip from behind.

“Where ya going, beautiful? I got a lap you can sit on right here.” Drunk Matt laughed and turned to his friend. “I've got a lot more she could sit on down here as well.”

I pushed his hand off my hip and turned, scanning for security as subtly as possible. Drunk guys in this place were trouble; drunk younger guys were dangerous. Matt fell into the dangerous category if his baby face was any indication of his age.

“Now boys, I do believe I told you the rules when you walked in. No touching unless I touch first. And absolutely no lap dances. I'd be more than happy to find you one of the dancers if that's what you're looking for.”

“Fuck the dancers. I want your big ass bouncing on my cock.” Drunk Matt thrust his hips off the seat of his chair as he jerked his arms up and down. So very charming.

“Sorry, Matt. But my big ass and I are not for sale. Now let me get you your drinks.” 

Drunk Matt laughed but released me nonetheless. My hands shook as I took those first steps away. Face burning and fighting the urge to scream, I strode to the bar. I was so damned tired of this place.

“G and T and a Folgers, please.”

Caleb nodded once and glanced up. I took a reflexive step back as his eyes met mine. Those eyes were the creepiest shade of green—unnaturally pale, the color nearly washed out. The unusual color and huge red scar running across his cheekbone made the hair on the back of my neck stand up every time he looked at me.

He smirked, his top lip curling over his canine teeth in a way that spoke of aggression, of predator versus prey. And by the look on his face, he knew exactly how uncomfortable he made me.

“Hey, girl.” Chanel approached the bar with a smile and a swagger, interrupting my bizarre interaction with Caleb. She was a pretty girl with a huge rack. Perfect for waitressing at Amnesia Gentlemen’s Club. 

“Hi, Chanel. How're the boys?”

“Two rum and diets, a sex on the beach, and a bucket of lights.” Once she finished giving Caleb her order, she turned and grinned. “Oh lord, David is driving me to drinking. I swear that boy is seven going on seventeen. But little Michael is my perfect baby still. He got two new teeth this past week and barely even made a peep about it.”

I smiled. Chanel was a great mom—kind, loving, and concerned. She often reminded me of my own mother, whom I missed every day.

“Two teeth?” I tutted and shook my head. “That's crazy. You tell that baby to stop growing.”

“I wish.” She sighed and brushed a piece of hair off her face. “How's Julian doing? You get him into that special school yet?”

My smile froze, turning plastic in an instant. “Um, no. Not yet, but I’m working on it. Oh, there’s my order. See ya later.”

I grabbed the tray of drinks Caleb set on the counter and hurried away. It was never easy talking about Julian's health. All my coworkers knew about the accident that had taken our parents’ lives and left Julian without his sight, but none of them fully understood what he went through every day. None of them had ever been around a kid who’d lost the use of one of his senses. It was agonizing and cruel, and the school teaching him a new way to navigate the world cost a fortune. Hence my working at a strip club.

The degree I’d earned in Computer Information Systems didn't do me a lot of good once I realized how crappy the places hiring paid. I quickly figured out the better choice financially was working here for cash. When the crowds were decent, I'd make more in tips in a weekend than I made in a week sitting behind a computer in a cube.

Lessons learned and all that.

The rest of the night was pretty much the same—deliver drinks, flirt, wipe down tables, smile, do my best not to smack the handsy jerks who didn't follow the rules, flirt some more. By the end of my shift, my feet hurt, my back ached, and I reeked of beer due to a clumsy drunk and a full drink tray.

There was nothing I wanted more than a shower, a pair of flannel pajama pants, and my bed.

I walked off the floor at the end of my shift with a stride that had me eating up the distance between me and freedom. I had almost reached the changing room when I heard my least favorite sound in the world.

“Cherry, I need a girl for a party.” My boss sat in his office behind his massive desk, which was covered in dirty magazines and even dirtier ashtrays. Those smoking bans didn’t apply to him, apparently. I tried to avoid him most days because, like Caleb, there was something too aggressive about him. He gave me the major creeps.

Taking a deep breath and hoping like hell for a miracle, I leaned into the open doorway. “I'm sorry, Mr. Morris, but my shift just ended.”

“I don't remember phrasing those words as a question, Cherry.” He glared at me, turning my blood to ice. I didn't understand why I always struggled with a fight-or-flight response to him, but I did. And I usually preferred the flight option. But apparently that would not be an option tonight.

“Yes, sir,” I said, my voice a little quieter than normal. “I'll just go call my brother to let him know I'll be late.”

“Good girl. And Cherry? Clean up a little, will you? I need my girls pristine for this group. They'll be here in ten minutes, so don't take long.”

I clenched my jaw as my hand curled into a fist behind me. “Of course, Mr. Morris.”

As I walked away, he yelled, “And wear the blue panty set. It makes your ass look fantastic.”

I sighed as I shoved open the changing room door. If I was lucky, I'd have time to shower, grab a bottle of water, and scarf down a sandwich from the kitchen before having to hit the floor again. Luckily, Julian was at a friend’s house for the night, so at least I didn’t need to worry about him while I worked the party. And perhaps I’d even make enough tonight to buy something special for him. 

Eight minutes and a costume change later, I was in the largest of the three private rooms at the back of the club. The rooms offered comfortable seating for our guests, a private stage, one personal waitress, and the renter's choice of two girls to entertain them. I hated working the private parties. Unlike the rest of the club, there were no cameras, and the only rule the girls had to follow was to make sure the customer left happy. From what I'd seen in the past, that included lap dances, hand jobs, and blow jobs on a regular night. On a more exotic night, when the party host paid for a “special event,” things could get a little too kinky for my taste. Blood play, breath play; I’d even witnessed a foursome involving one dancer and three groomsmen. 

Nothing really shocked me anymore.

Rules regarding waitresses stayed in place, though. No touching unless we touched first, no nakedness, and no lap dances. Another reason why I stayed a waitress. The tips as a dancer were nice, but there was no way I could go home to my fifteen-year-old brother and look him in the eye after doing any of that. 

Julian knew where I worked. There were no secrets between us, not since our parents died four years ago and left him for me to take care of. He knew all about my job choices and why I decided to be a waitress at Amnesia. But at least I could hold my head up when I got home, could look him in the eye and tell him about my day without having to worry he’d ever find out something that would make him feel ashamed of me. 

It was the one consolation in my shitty little life.

“Showtime.” Star tiptoed in through the back door of the room and stepped on stage. Porsche opened the door off the main hallway and led in a group of men. I put on my best smile, ready to flirt. 

A tall blond man in a dark gray T-shirt and leather vest was the last to walk in the door. Gorgeous, utterly delicious, and totally sin incarnate. Those descriptions flew through my head as I took in the muscles, the wavy hair, and the tight-as-fuck jeans. But when he turned my way and met my stare, my knees nearly buckled. One look into those sky-colored eyes and my body responded. Within a single heartbeat, I was dripping wet and ready to throw him on the floor so I could have my way with him. 

Well, shit.

THREE

Rebel

“So basically we throw a party and get lap dances.”

I scowled at Scab. He'd been far too excited about this plan ever since we discovered the clawed woman was an employee at a strip club between Milwaukee and the Illinois border.

“This isn’t a party. We’ve booked a private room so we can determine how this woman ended up with claw marks.”

Scab shrugged. “Sounds like a party. God, I hope they've got a blonde with a big ass. I haven’t had a good lap dance in weeks.”

“Have a little respect, you cretin,” Gates growled. “If there is a nomad in the area, these women are in danger. And if the authorities catch wind of this guy before we catch him, we as a species are in danger.”

“You know, Gates, if you’d get a little pussy now and again, you'd be in a much better mood.” Scab walked right up into the face of the snarling Sergeant, a definite challenge. “You've got this whole GQ model thing going for you. The ladies totally fall all over themselves trying to throw their pussies in your face. Get out there and take advantage of it. Even a pretty wolf like you needs to get his dick wet now and again.”

The tension in the air grew thick, the rest of my team responding with various low growls and muscle twitches as they fought the urge to shift. My wolf didn’t react, though. He’d established his dominance over Gates long ago. These men were no challenge to our authority, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t enjoying the power play.

Gates loomed over Scab, lip curled and hands clenched into fists. Scab held his ground, holding eye contact with an effort that showed in the way his hands shook and the sweat began to bead on his brow. But eventually the smaller man’s wolf forced him to acknowledge his lesser status by turning his head and baring his neck to Gates. 

The larger shifter merely huffed and leaned against the van parked behind him. “I’m not interested in getting my dick wet, but thanks for the advice.”

“Suit yourself.” Scab shrugged and stepped away, his voice rough and his movements jerky. If I had to guess, he and his wolf didn’t agree on the confrontation. I’d need to watch him closely around Gates to make sure he didn’t try to go all sneaky-fucker. That kind of bullshit could tear a den apart. We needed to have faith that our brothers respected us, no matter what.