The Sinner's Club [18+] Complete

chapter eight.

IT'S SATURDAY NIGHT and the club is busier than I've seen it.

Every table and stool at the bar is filled, every booth and VIP section overflowing.

The lingerie I wear—a sheer, white bralette and lace panties—is from the changing room. Cheap in comparison to the set Nathaniel gave me last night.

But that doesn't matter. None of this matters; all I have to do is survive it.

"This way," Cynthia says, striding through the many patrons.

"Fuck me harder!" A woman cries out, clawing at the man furiously pounding into her on one of the tables.

Above us, naked aerialists hang from swathes of silk, opening their legs and arching their backs as they twirl.

Cynthia stops right beside the raised platform. A red, velvet armchair sits on it.

"You're here tonight," she tells me. "With Dante."

One of the male workers.

My eyebrows furrow. "What do we do?"

"He'll strip you first. Then, he's going to finger you, make you come twice—they don't have to be real orgasms, but if you're going to fake it, you need to do it well—and then fuck you. Dante is experienced; he'll take the lead."

Is this a joke? My mouth hangs open. There's no way she's serious...

"I'm not...doing that," I breathe out.

An eyebrow creeps up. "If this is you refusing to work, you need to go and speak to Nathaniel about it. He wanted you on the stage tonight."

Fucking bastard.

"But I warn you, he doesn't take refusals well."

Don't I know it...

Bare-chested, dressed only in a pair of leather pants, Dante approaches the stage.

"You ready to go?" He lightly touches my arm, attempting to be comforting.

"I..." have no words. And also no choice.

Cynthia is right; me refusing to do this will only result in Nathaniel's ire. I owe him a lot of money and I need to do whatever I have to in order to pay it back.

How many nights of this will I have to endure though? He hasn't given me a timeline, no indication of how long I'm going to have to work for him.

Standing resolutely with his back to a wall, surveying the club, is Reaper. His gaze meets mine and I wonder to myself about how long he's been working here. Does he owe Nathaniel money? Or is there more to the story?

Regardless, he does his job diligently and now I must do mine. That's just the way it is.

"I'm ready," I tell Dante quietly and step up onto the stage. A spotlight suddenly blares down on us and the music changes from a base-thumping, headache-inducing tempo to something slower. More sensual.

"Just follow my lead, alright?" Dante says in a quiet voice.

I force myself to nod and he slides in behind me, urging me back into his hard chest.

The straps of my bralette are teased down my arms.

There are so, so many eyes on me right now. Watching my every move. Studying the slow exposure of my body.

From the darkness of the hallway, a figure emerges.

Some heads swerve, as though they can sense him.