Pack or Prey (Wolfblooded book 1)

Chapter 11, Part 1

July 4th 2011 9:45 p.m.

Fourth of July at a strip club could get interesting. There were lots of patriotic costumes, red, white, and blue sequins, pyrotechnics, and more than a few sparklers. One of our newer, more ambitious dancers had petitioned our boss to do an act that made me cringe in pain just thinking about it. Not only would shooting off a roman candle be against fire codes, but the way she wanted to hold the giant fire-stick would probably haunt me every Independence Day from now until the day I died. Some things just were not meant to be seen.

Tonight's music selection ranged from "American Woman" to "Cherry Pie" to—gag me—"Firework" from Katy Perry. Yes, Andre knew how to milk the holidays for all they were worth. To me, it was predictable and cheesy, but I wasn't the one in charge so there was little I could do about it. I simply followed the Independence Day spirit in my own little way.

I rebelled by gothing-out with black latex, spikes, and heavy liner and dancing to "Blood" from In This Moment. Andre had grouched about it, but eventually gave up. He had twenty other girls to be his little dolls. I was a lost cause.

Unlike the playful music the other girls danced to, this was raw and angry. Maria Brink's growling voice unlocked that box I’d carefully tucked my anger into. Everything from the shitty way I'd allowed myself to be treated in the past to the feeling of betrayal from my best friend got shoved in there and locked away until I let myself get lost in the dancing. For a few hours, I let it all spill out through my body in a sweet release of endorphins and sexuality.

Once my set was done, and my tips cleared from the stage, I ducked into the back and changed into my floor outfit. I had a few different ensembles I used when I walked the floor during the other girls' sets. It was pretty common to see a girl in two or three outfits each night.

Kept things fresh and fun, I suppose.

I slid into a pair of black pinstriped shorts that fit like a second skin and were scandalously short. Bend over too far in them and a guy could almost see my ovaries. A black lace bra fit snug against my chest, helping to push up that supple bit of cleavage. A matching fedora and suspenders that hugged my curves finished the look, and I was ready to make my way to the main floor. First a drink at the bar, and then a walk through the club, looking for anyone wanting a dance or even just a little flirty conversation. Tonight was already pretty good as far as tips went. Anything else was just icing.

I slid over to the bar, smiling and flirting my way through the crowd, and hit the bartender up for a shot of whiskey. When I looked ahead of me, I found that Liz was there waiting for me, drink in hand.

"That was a refreshing change," she said as she sipped on whatever fruity cocktail she was trying out tonight. I had to love her for braving the tension between us right now.

"Thanks," I said awkwardly. I wanted to just forget about everything that happened that morning, wanted things to be like they were before all the crazy. I wanted that easy friendship back. "I thought I'd break the whole 'Born on the Fourth of July' trend."

"Well, it worked," Liz laughed. "That was a pretty... harsh song."

"Not if you really listen to it."

"How so?" she asked. "She's basically asking her guy to be a jerk to her."

"That's not how I hear it. To me, she's saying she hates all the good things he does because it's what makes her love him even when he's really just a bad guy."

"Hmm," Liz said as if she really didn't get it. "So why thank him for the abuse, then?"

"Because, that's what finally gives her the courage to break away from him," I said, my smile long gone.