Claiming His Fate Read Free Page 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