Unjustified Demands (Filthy Florida Alphas Book 2) (2 page)

I hate everything about this club. Walking through the front doors makes me feel like I’m being locked in a prison. The staring begins immediately. Men following me with their eyes, watching every move I make. I’m not a person; I’m a piece of meat, an image they want to jerk off to, a notch on their bedpost they can brag about.

Does that sound conceited? Maybe. There’s a difference between knowing you appeal to men and feeling beautiful.  I feel
tired
.  At twenty-six, I’m so damned exhausted of living, but I ignore it. I don’t have a choice.

“Hey, Ana!  Looking good tonight,” Joe, the sometimes-bouncer at The Dive, hollers out. I smile at him, my hand squeezing his big, scarred, beefy shoulder before walking on back to the private area.

I know the way by heart, which is good, because my vision is limited. My eyes are hidden behind my dark sunglasses. It doesn’t matter that I’m inside. I play a role, wrapping myself in a package that makes me a mystery, all designed to make men interested. They see something unobtainable.

In truth, the sunglasses hide the bags under my eyes until I get in the dressing room so Joyce can cover them in makeup.  Not being able to sleep is a bitch.

I sit down at the makeup table with a heavy sigh, letting my overnight bag I keep my shit in fall to the floor. Joyce immediately comes over and starts the major tease job she always does on my hair. I hate it. I usually wear my hair simple and straight. Hell, most of the time I tie it in a messy knot and go on. But I make money off of being the Ice Queen who every man wants to melt, so I let Joyce have her way.

“You’re late,” she chastises.

“Been out looking for Allen.”

“Still no luck?”

“None. I’m starting to lose hope, J.”

I hate having this conversation. I like Joyce. She’s been good to me, and talking about this stuff with her seems wrong. When she squeezes my shoulder tight in response, our eyes meet in the makeup mirror. We’re so different, but she’s like the mom I’ve never had. She’s fifty-two but looks to be in her early forties. She has this brown curly hair that she always has styled and teased yet clipped up out of her way. Joyce has these pretty green eyes with flecks of gold in them and they see far more than people give her credit for.

“If you don’t start sleeping, it’s going to affect your show, Ana.” 

“I know. I tried.” 

“Might have worked if you’d quit crying over that damn brother of yours.”

She’s not wrong. Still, I can’t seem to stop the tears. I lost Allen a year ago in every way that mattered. That doesn’t mean that having him missing is any easier. He’s been gone for over a month now. He’s disappeared before, but never this long.

“He’s my responsibility,” I tell her, the truth of that lodging in my stomach.

“Yeah, but he’s killing you.”

“I can’t help it.”

“I know, doll. I know. Let’s see what magic ol’ Joyce can work to hide those bags,” she says with a sigh, going to work on my face.

Twenty minutes later, Joyce manages to pull off a minor miracle and make me look good. I go to the wings of the stage and wait for my cue. Once I’m out there, I do my best to let everything go. I let the music take over and go through my routine like a well-seasoned veteran. I should be; I’ve been dancing for nine years now. I started before I was legal. It’s amazing what fake IDs and bosses who don’t give a fuck will get you. I can work the pole and I can shake the ass. I can do everything needed to make men horny and women beg for more. I can even look like I’m enjoying it when inside I’m slowly withering away. My set ends with yelling for more. I never give them that. Isn’t that an age old adage? Always leave them wanting more? I blow them a kiss and walk off, appearing unconcerned that my breasts are completely bare as my ass, except for a small string of material.  Big Joe puts the white silk robe around me and I lean up to kiss his cheek.

“Thanks, big guy,” I tell him. He knows I hate being nude. In fact, I hate everything about dancing. I did it for a few months when I hit sixteen. I needed the money to keep a roof over our heads because our strung-out mother was spending every dime she could on her next hit.
You have to do what you have to do.
When mom almost overdosed and did permanent damage to herself, I got free of her, in a way, and found new paths. Allen never bothered, instead following in mom’s footsteps. So here I am, dancing and trying to save my brother who is already too far gone.

“Another great show as always, Ana.”

I squeeze his arm like I always do and disappear to my dressing room. I have one more set to do tonight, and then I can leave. I need to try and search for Allen some more, or try old contacts I haven’t used in years. I can’t remember the last time I’ve slept. My mind churns through all the chaos that is my life and just won’t shut down long enough to allow sleep.

I sit down at the chair in front of my dressing table. Joyce hands me a cigarette and a light, which I gratefully take. It’s a routine of mine. I always have a smoke after I dance. The nicotine helps me to calm. It’s the only crutch I allow myself. I take a drag and my head goes back, eyes closing, and I try my best to squash down the panic over Allen. I’ve tuned out the room, so when a large hand wearing one lone insignia ring on his finger reaches over and takes away the cigarette, I’m unprepared.

“Sorry, you’re not supposed to be back here,” I say, annoyed, and look around for Joyce to signal for Joe. “And can I please have my cigarette back?”

“No.”

“No?” I ask the big tall mountain of a man. He’s easily six foot five, but he’s broad as a house. He’s got dark hair that’s cut close to his head in the back and a little longer on top, dark eyes, and he wears a suit that probably cost more than my entire budget for food did the last two months combined.  He screams money. Worse, he screams danger.

“My woman doesn’t smoke. That was your last one.”

“Your woman?” I ask. Something about the way he says that seems like it’s a done deal in his mind and my heart speeds up against my chest. Fuck.
Where is Joe?
“Listen, I don’t know who you think you are, but—”

“That’s easy, Ana. I own you,” he answers, and his words strike fear deep inside of me.

So much for keeping my head down and not drawing any attention.

I watch her eyes dilate with my announcement. Her breathing hitches in her chest.
Fear.
It can be the biggest aphrodisiac there is. At least for me. Ana’s picture didn’t do her justice. She’s fucking delicious. A tad too skinny, but she has a plump round ass that I plan to leave pink with my handprints, and tits that beg a man to fill his mouth with them and bite, marking them. Strangely enough, the part of her body that draws most of my attention is her neck. It’s long and slender, the delicate bones and corded muscle calling to the animal inside of me, and I want to clamp my teeth there every fucking day, leaving a bruise to broadcast to any fucking person around, man or woman, that she’s taken. My dick, the stupid fuck, jerks again. He’s been standing at attention ever since I saw Ana’s picture, and being this close to her is just making it worse.

“Ready to go?” I ask, my voice brusque. I’m so fucking hard it’s painful. I plan on pounding into that body and leaving her so sore, she won’t walk right for a week. It will serve her right for tying my dick up in knots.

“Go?”

“Yeah, pet, we have somewhere we need to go.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you. I don’t know you. If you don’t leave right now, I’ll call Big Joe in here to deal with you,” she huffs, and those eyes grab my attention. Her file said violet, and maybe they are, but right now I’d swear I could see sparks of silver. I’ve never seen anything like them before, and I’ve always been the kind of man who likes to collect rare finds.

“Go ahead, call Joe,” I dare her.

That seems to take her back for a moment. “Joe!” she calls, her voice thick with panic.

“Yeah, Ana?”  Joe says, coming back through the small area that leads to the dressing room.  “Oh! Hey, Mr. Anthes. I didn’t know you’d be here tonight,” he adds.

My eyes never leave Ana’s. I see the moment that recognition flares in Ana’s eyes. 

“You’re Mr. Anthes?” she asks in a whisper.

The words reach me, but barely. I’m enjoying the way her throat muscles move as she swallows. I feel my cock stretch against my slacks, demanding release.  In my head, I’m picturing holding onto Ana’s blonde mane and force-feeding her my cock, making her take me all the way back, stretching that pretty little throat just before she swallows down my cum.

“I am,” I confirm, knowing that even if she doesn’t know me personally, she will recognize the name that signs her paychecks. I grab the coat folded over her small dressing table when she stands.  “Put this on. We have business to discuss.”

“Business?” Her hand goes up to her throat.  I don’t bother answering her; instead, I hold the coat for her to slide into.  “What kind of business, Mr. Anthes?” she asks.

She looks like a small, frightened doe who’s just been discovered by the hunter, who has her in his sights and his gun loaded. My mouth twists in a wry smile. It’s an accurate analogy because she is my prey and I’m definitely loaded and ready to fire into her—or maybe on her.

“Now, Ana,” I order, and it could be my imagination, but I see a shiver of awareness run through her body.

“I can’t leave,” she protests, standing. “I have another set.”

“No, I don’t believe you do. Joe? Get one of the other girls to fill in for Ana.”

“Sure thing, boss. Libby can do it.”

“I can’t afford to take off.” I ignore her answer. “I need to put my clothes on,” she says, holding on tightly to the belt of her robe.

“I’d prefer you didn’t,” I tell her because I just plan on ripping them off of her soon. “Now put on your coat and let’s go. You’ve kept me waiting long enough.”

“Listen, Mr. Anthes, boss or not, I’m not leaving until I get dressed. Further, I don’t think I’m stepping foot outside of this club until you tell me where we’re going.”

I look at her then. She’s completely serious. It’s a glitch in my plan that I didn’t foresee. Usually, women know who I am and are only too thrilled to do what I order. The fact that Ana doesn’t, irritates and intrigues me all at once. It is…
unexpected
.

“Everyone out.” I order, and the room goes still. Within just a matter of moments, everyone that had been viewing my conversation with Ana is gone. The last to leave is Joe, and as the door shuts behind him, I can see reality sink in on Ana.

“What are you doing?”

“Waiting for you to get dressed so we can leave. You have two minutes.”

“I can’t get dressed with you in here!” I ignore her and lean against the closed door with my arms folded and wait. “You need to leave,” she insists again, the nerves coming through her voice loud and clear. It’s clear she’s not going to fall into my hands easily. I could use her brother as leverage, but I find myself reluctant to do that, even now.
Interesting.

I don’t know what it is about Ana. Normally I wouldn’t touch one of the dancers, or hell, any of the women that work for me. I’m careful about the women I choose. I have no explanation other than I want her and I always get what I want. Time to make that clear.

“Take off the robe, Ana.”

She looks around the room helplessly.

“I—”

“Take. It. Off.”

“I will not. Why on earth would I?”

“Because I ordered you to,” I tell her, taking a step closer. This might be more fun than I anticipated.