Stripping a Steele Page 3

  She will own that stage and leave every man in that room spilling with need and desire.

  At the end of the day, she has to, because if she doesn’t, everything could fall apart.

  Chapter 4

  Christian

  Jordan told me to meet him at the penthouse. He said 8 p.m. sharp. The bastard sent me a text with an address to a rundown strip club on the edge of town. I’d never be caught dead in a place like this if he didn’t blindside me with the last-minute change in our plans. All I can think is that one of our shitty clients is in this club and that I’ll be handling some Steele family business tonight.

  I wait in my car until I see Jordan’s jet-black Maserati peel into the parking lot. He slides right up next to me, casually exiting the vehicle after he parks it. “Get out of the damn car, you pussy.”

  As brothers, Jordan and Logan have always known the best ways to get me to act out. I think that in every family siblings are good for pressing buttons. It’s an instinctual trait that has to be acted out, otherwise – are you even family? Challenging me or calling me a pussy is my trigger. He’s lucky we are blood. If we weren’t, I’d already have him on the ground with a broken jaw and nose.

  Everyone outside of our family views me as this billionaire party boy, and I am, to an extent. Whenever you’re in the public eye you will do whatever is necessary to keep up appearances. For yourself, for your family. In a way, I do that by being seen by the paparazzi. They’ve always loved me, the youngest Steele, the one who doesn’t look like he’s related to Logan or Jordan. I can recall a time as a child, that they even questioned my paternity because of the vast difference in appearances between my father, brothers, and I. I’m the blonde sheep of the family, so to speak. Everyone else may view me as this spoiled rich party boy, but my brothers know exactly what I am.

  A calculated monster.

  A weapon at their disposal.

  Brooklyn doesn’t even know what I really do for Steele Enterprises, and if you asked anyone, you’d find out that I own a few clubs, and maybe they’d add in that I have a say in certain business decisions. I do own a few clubs, but I’ve hired capable managers to handle them for me. You only see me at the clubs to keep up my party boy status.

  It’s funny, many of the men we do business with think I’m weak because of my public image. They have no clue until it’s too late, that I’m the one who is sent to collect payment. After all these years, word has travelled around that I’m the bloodhound of our family. I had hoped it would instill fear – that we wouldn’t have so many problems with payments. We’ve had enough with trying to keep the feds off of our backs. Luckily, we’ve been able to succeed at that with Logan’s leadership. I was out of the game for a while after my accident, and I use that term loosely. I was in no accident; the brake lines were cut to my car and I crashed – barely leaving that accident alive. I knew who was behind it, the only problem was proving that Rafael Ramirez had anything to do with it. That fucker is going to pay.

  “Did you hear me?” Jordan snaps, I’m pulled out of my daze by the ferociousness in his voice.

  “No, I didn’t. What were you saying?”

  “Shit, Christian. You need to pay attention. I didn’t just bring you here for the fucking surprise I’ve got planned, we’ve got business to do.” He glares at me, tucking his hands into the pockets of his pants as he leans against his car. “Matteo is requiring our services. He hasn’t been in town for quite a while due to his…partnership falling apart.” Matteo Varca, an errand boy for the Italians. We’d heard recently that his marriage to Arielle had fallen apart. I’m not surprised by this. She is a woman who would take you by the balls and make you squeal. Matteo is a man who, well, is scum.

  My brothers and I do business with the mobs, bratva, cartel, and mafias. It’s how we stay in business, we certainly couldn’t pick and choose who to do business with, and when it came to North America – neither could they. We run this continent. We handle every gun that is transported, and if it wasn’t us, it was the boy at the corner store at the end of your street, and I can guarantee they were caught. It doesn’t bother us, though; the small fish who try to do what we do end up keeping the cops and the feds busy. It keeps the heat off of our back, and we’re all supportive of that.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see a red Porsche pull into the parking lot. I make no mistake, this is Matteo. He always has been a flashy fucker. A small smile slips past my lips, knowing that him being back in town will stir up a bit of trouble, especially given that Jordan just confirmed his separation with Arielle. She may be his wife, but I am no fool – Arielle is the one with the power here.

  It’s interesting to understand how each mafia rules. The Romanians view the women as obsolete, giving them practically nothing. They just want their women there to fuck or as breeders for whenever they want more children. The Italians are almost the same; only they want the women present to show them off as their shiny little toys. I have met Arielle a few times and knew from the moment I met her that she wasn’t like the other Italian wives – first, she isn’t Italian whatsoever. She married into Varca’s family, which tells me that she will be stirring up a lot of trouble.

  Matteo slips out of his Porsche, walking towards Jordan and me. “I believe we should go inside gentleman, where things are more…quaint.” I almost chuckle; the old Italian is worried that his wife has put a hit on him. Knowing Arielle, she very well might have.

  Jordan and I follow the old man into the strip club called Russo’s. From the outside, it looks like a complete dive, but as you walk through those doors, it gets a tad better with each step. I’m pleasantly surprised when I see the entire space before my eyes. To the left, there is a DJ booth, next to that is a full-service bar, and booths line the vast space. My eyes automatically drift around the entire space; it’s habit now. I’m always looking for a way out in case shit goes south. You never know what will happen, or when it will happen, so it’s best to be prepared in any given circumstance or situation.

  “Have you been here before?” Jordan asks Matteo. The old man turns to both of us and smiles slyly.

  “Of course, I have. Russo was an old friend of mine. Who do you think helped him build this place?” He chuckles as he snaps his fingers and a woman with bleach blonde hair in stilettos comes running up. “Frankie, darling, give us the VIP treatment tonight. I want to be secluded and see the whole show.”

  “Of course, Mr. Varca, shall I get you anything else while you’re here tonight?” She looks to the old man, and he smiles and nods. “Yes. Three whiskeys on the rocks and bring me your best girl for a lap dance later. I don’t want any of these girls who look like newborn fawns. I want your best girl. You know the deal, she dances, she gets a tip.” Frankie nods before she takes us over to a booth that is exactly what Matteo asked for. It gives us the element of intimacy while we can still see the entire show. As we get acquainted I see a couple girls around the joint. There are three separate stages, two are off to both sides with a few chairs around both of them, and then there is one in the middle. Neon lights flash throughout the club to the beat of the music, the girls sway their bodies seductively to the tune.

  “Let’s talk business, shall we gentleman?” Jordan beams, smiling as he leans back into his seat.

  Matteo nods slightly, raising his hand up in the air. I wonder what he’s doing when I see Frankie come walking over with our whiskey. She sets each glass carefully in front of Matteo, Jordan, and then myself. “Do you need anything else, Sir?”

  “Not yet. I shall let you know when I require your…services.” Matteo licks his lips and smiles as Frankie blushes, nodding at him as she walks away. I follow her with my eyes and see her disappear behind the stages.

  “You haven’t required our services for quite some time, Matteo. This intrigues me, is this for you personally or is Gabriele requiring our assistance?” Gabriele DiGiovanni is the head of the Italian Mafia. His men are everywhere, his power unquestionable, and yet, the ma
n barely leaves Italy. We’ve worked for him in the past, but not for quite a while.

  “Gabriele is. It has been quite a while, he hasn’t foreseen any need to have more arms moved across the states, however, due to unforeseen… developments, we require your assistance yet again.”

  “What do you need?” Jordan asks, sipping at his whiskey.

  “We need you to move a shipment of guns that we already have in the States. They are hidden in an old warehouse just outside of New York City. If we send any of our men near it, it’s bound to be tied to Gabriele, which we cannot allow to happen. They have eyes on our men, the feds do not have eyes on you. You boys are the best at what you do, I don’t know how you’ve outsmarted them for this long, or how your father did it…the old bastard never did share his secrets with me.”

  “It’s what’s kept us in business,” Jordan laughs, and I nod to his assessment. We wouldn’t be giving anyone advice on how to move arms, it’s what made us a necessity. If we weren’t a necessity, we would be discarded. People say that you need to stay relevant in any business. In our world, on the other side of the grass so to speak, if you don’t stay relevant – you get yourself killed.

  “That it has. Gabriele needs this moved within the next three weeks. He needs it to go to Los Angeles. There have been troubles with his sister, so his men need to be prepared. I will send you an address to ship them to, given that you can meet our deadline.”

  “Of course, we can meet the deadline. Although, given the short time frame you will have to pay our expedited rate,” Jordan says coolly to Matteo, who nods in agreement. He’s just agreed to pay us over two hundred thousand in extra funds on top of our normal rate.

  I turn my head at the immediate shift in the music from some bass thumping pop to something a little slower paced. “You’ve been waiting for her all night, and boy is she excited for you! Gentleman, here is Russo’s very own….STAR!”

  The men in the club all hoot and holler, and the vision that comes out from the curtain is someone that I’ve seen before. I’ve been searching for this girl – for fucking months. I can’t take my eyes off of her; off the crimson red of her lips, the way her hair is perfectly curled into flowing waves, at those long legs walking seductively across that stage.

  It’s as if everything around me disappears. All I see is her, the girl I’ve been looking for. The first time I saw her she snuck away, and I’ll be damned if I let it happen again.

  She rolls her shoulders, letting the silk robe slide slowly down her back until it hits the stage. Her moves are effortless, as if she’s part of the song, moving in complete synchrony with it.

  When I put my lips on you, I hear your voice echoing all through the night with me. Baby, cry for me.

  Slow and steady, like a professional tease, that is how she was doing it, working up the crowd as if she was stroking each one of them. I knew some men would be turned off, finding out someone they were sweet on danced in front of drunk men, but let me be clear, I know about the ugly side of life. I know all the reasons women have for taking such a job, and when it is drugs or sex, there is an air and look about them that screams of used scum. This, though, this was beauty, perfection, and pain; pain that makes her have to know just what to do to get her tips.

  I try my best not to drool as she approaches the pole that is there for her use, swinging herself around it slowly and then placing her back up against it, only to slide down and back up again, giving a side view of her perfectly round little ass cheek. I was jealous as hell that all these other men were getting to see her like that, but I know she has her reasons. I can see the mask she is wearing. Right now, she is Star, and that is her persona, nothing more. It is no different than the party boy I let everyone believe I am.

  I am afraid to turn back and look away because I don’t want to miss a single second of her sensual moves. I am as hypnotized as any ordinary man. Just lucky for me that I am not one, for I would never stand a chance.

  I was never able to get her name before. At least now I know two things, her stage name is Star, and she works at a dingy little strip club called Russo’s that I know I will be returning to.

  She doesn’t know this yet, but the girl is mine, and she has been from the very first moment I set my eyes on her.

  I will not let my Cinderella disappear from me ever again.

  “I see you’ve discovered your surprise,” Jordan gloats, taking a long sip of his whiskey.

  “That I have, brother, that I have,” I murmur, my eyes not wavering from the beauty on stage.

  My Star.

  Chapter 5

  Selena

  Text The crowd is rowdy tonight. Every man in the joint loved my dance, and if I didn’t know that for sure, then my tips definitely confirmed that. I move quickly, scooping up my bills as I walk behind the stage and go into the side entrance of my dressing room. I am still getting used to it, and to be honest, I think it will take me a while to grasp the fact that Frankie gave me this dressing room. I should be thankful for it, and I am, but I can’t help but wonder if there’s more to this than just my clothing being sabotaged.

  Honestly, I didn’t want to be treated differently than all of the other girls because all that did was put another target on my back. Frankie could have given other girls the spotlight every Friday, but she chose not to, and that told me two things:

  I was the best girl she had on the payroll.

  I was raking money in for the club.

  There were no other reasons to have me on every week. Frankie is a smart woman, I trust her judgement when it comes to her business and bottom line – money is money, everyone is money hungry, including my dear boss.

  Because of my home situation, Frankie lets me come in, do my dance, and leave. I wouldn’t call it special treatment, or admit that I’m getting special treatment to anyone, but it’s plain as day – I’m getting it. Usually, I do my dance, grab my cash, and leave as soon as possible. I’m a pretty cut and dry girl.

  In the beginning, I used to stick around longer to see if I could go up a second or third time. When I was newer, Frankie would let me do that, but now, since I’m headlining in a sense, she won’t. It makes sense, if I go out there a few times and make the tips I am every time, all of the customers would be broke and leave, and that isn’t good for business.

  I’m slipping my robe back on when there’s a light rap to my dressing room door. “C’mon in,” I urge whoever is on the other side.

  The door opens, and I’m met with Frankie. She slips in and shuts the door behind her. “I don’t normally ask this of you,” she starts to murmur, barely maintaining any sort of eye contact with me. “Would you stay later tonight? Matteo would like a dance for him and his buddies. He’s willing to pay a hefty tip, Selena. If I were you, I’d do this. You’d make quite a bit of cash.”

  I want to say no, that I won’t stay and give a dance to the old Italian creep. He’s always given me the willies. Through the years I’ve done a good job at avoiding him at all costs, it seems my luck has run out, though. I don’t want to do this, but I know that I can’t be selfish. I literally can’t afford to be selfish. I know what kind of money Matteo has. Lots. I’ve never danced for Matteo or his friends before, that doesn’t say much, though, the man hasn’t been around lately. I’d say that’s because he’s married to a woman, thirty, or maybe forty years his junior, and she figured out he’s been fucking Frankie. If I think hard about it, I haven’t seen the man in weeks, and when I do see him, I’ve always stayed away.

  There’s not really a reason for my distance, besides the fact that he’s a sleaze. That’s reason enough, though, isn’t it?

  “Yeah, fine. I’ll stay,” I tell her, removing my robe from my shoulders and placing it on the chair next to me. “Where is he?”

  “In his usual spot,” Frankie says, and I can’t help but hear the disappointment in her tone. I wonder why she sounds defeated, but it hits me like a ton of bricks. He didn’t ask for her, he asked for someone e
lse.

  “Frank, are you sure you don’t want to do it? You know I’m tight on cash, but…” Frankie waves her hand to silence me before she speaks.

  “Selena, go out there and get that cash. Stop doing whatever it is that you are and just do your damn job.” She goes to the door and slams it behind her. The entire time I’ve worked here I have never seen Frankie slam a door or use that tone of voice with any of us. I was right, her feelings are hurt.

  I do what I’m told and listen to my boss, walking out of the dressing room until I’m in the main part of the club. I spot Matteo and his two buddies from a distance and looking at their table I can see that they look to be drinking whiskey, or maybe a dark bourbon. I avoid the table, so I can get them all refills on whatever they’re drinking. “Hey BunBun,” I call over to Bunny, our resident bartender, and the coldest bitch in here. She gets her name from her god-awful attitude. It was a joke one of the customers made, calling her Bunny because of her warm and fuzzy personality.

  She glances over to me, not a woman of many words. “Can you fix me up a round of whatever Matteo and his buddies are drinking?” Bunny nods at me before she gets to work. I lean against the bar and wait as she fixes their drinks, wondering exactly who he has with him.

  “I have been looking for you.” I don’t mistake that husky growl anywhere. I’ve heard it once before, from a man with so much power that it frightens me. He makes me shake in my bones. I don’t know if it’s the power he holds or the danger that surrounds him. Who am I kidding, it could just be the legend himself.

  Christian Steele.

  I met him a few weeks back at a party. I wasn’t supposed to be there, my friend Brenna was, and she got us both in. But oh, I was not supposed to be there. Brenna is an interesting type, she works in PR and got us into opening night of Alec Rosseau’s newest art exhibit in downtown Atlanta. I’m a big art freak, couldn’t afford a piece to save my life, but to be able to have just a few hours of no responsibilities, sipping champagne amongst the elite while in awe of Alec’s newest pieces was something that I couldn’t pass up. Brenna knew my weakness, and boy, did she get me good.