Get Your Sexy On. Kimberly Kaye Terry

made her back down was the knowledge that he’d carry out his ugly threat and hurt her helpless brother.

      “Now get your ass out there and make me some money,” he said.

      She held his gaze for long moments, refusing to look away.

      He broke first, turning away from her. The breath she’d been holding rushed out of her. She’d opened the door to leave, until his next words halted her in her tracks.

      “Tonight I want you working the floor.”

      “What? You know I don’t—”

      “Tonight, and any other night I want you to, you will do what the hell I tell you to do. Now get your ass out of here, and get to work,” he said, and turned away from her in cold dismissal. “And Sin?”

      Sienna half-turned to face him. “What?” she asked in a low voice.

      “If I were you, I’d be careful. Very careful. You owe me, and when I say the debt is collected, then the debt is collected. Don’t make me have to remind you who’s in control around here, again, bitch.” The threat, along with the deadpan expression across his thin, pale face, sent chills racing down Sienna’s spine.

      “I think I have trouble.”

      “What trouble, Damian?” the low, deep voice asked, his tone calm, casual, conversational.

      Immediately Damian raised his thumb to his mouth and began to chew nervously on his nail. He paced the length of his office. In disgust, he yanked his fingers out of his mouth, forcing himself to resist the urge to bite his nails to the skin.

      A weakness he tried his damndest to overcome, but whenever he talked to Carlos—even on the phone—the old habit reared its ugly head.

      “One of the dancers wants to quit.”

      “And?” the man drawled in his smooth, barely accented voice.

      “It’s Sienna,” he said abruptly, and waited.

      There was a heartbeat of silence.

      As he waited for the response, the nerves in Damian’s gut clenched to the point that he felt like hurling.

      “What have you done?” The voice that was once smooth took on a sharper tone, the accent became thicker.

      Damian nervously grabbed the expensive bottle of Glenfiddich single malt and poured it into one of the Waterford Crystal shot glasses set on the bar in his office.

      “I have every confidence that you will do whatever it takes to make sure this doesn’t happen, sí, Damian?”

      “Uh, no. I mean, yes. She’s not going anywhere. I’ll make sure of it. You can count on me, sir.”

      “Good, Damian. That is good. Because I would hate for something unfortunate to happen, were she to leave. I’ve so enjoyed our association.”

      The dial tone on the other end signaled the end of the call.

      Damian hung up the phone and sat down listlessly in his chair; fear and the consequences of what Carlos would do to him if Sienna left churned a hot path through his gut.

      He looked around at the elegance of his office, at all the rare, expensive prints carefully hung on the wall, the expensive leather furniture, the wine rack with an assortment of high-priced wine—all of it represented how far he’d come from the poor snot-nosed kid from the wrong side of town who ran away.

      He was no longer the picked-on street kid who was trying to make enough money to make rent because his strung-out whore of a mother was too fucked-up most times to give a damn if he ate, and mostly forgot he existed, nine times out of ten.

      Not only did he own one of the most profitable strip clubs in downtown DC, but he was an associate of one of the most powerful men in the city. Even if the man didn’t acknowledge him in public, had to keep a certain “distance,” Damian knew that if he played his cards right, he’d score big.

      And all those motherfuckers who made fun of his drunk-ass mother, and laughed at him for wearing torn-up clothes, begging for food when he was hungry, they would have to recognize.

      Recognize that he had arrived. He was the damn man! If anybody felt the slightest urge to try anything stupid with him now, he had someone in his corner that none of them would dick with.

      He poured another glass and tossed the drink down his throat, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

      Now, to make sure the stupid cunt Sienna didn’t fuck up his plans.

      5

      Sienna took a deep breath and slowly released the pent-up air in a small puff.

      Damn.

      She hadn’t had to do a lap dance in a long time, but since Damian wanted to prove a point, that she was totally under his dominance, she had to swallow what little pride she had and do what she had to do. She’d do anything to keep her brother safe. She was all he had.

      Her eyes searched the crowd for Damian, but she didn’t see him. But she knew his eyes were on her, somewhere.

      No doubt he was watching her across the room behind one of his “special” two-way mirrors, getting his laugh on, knowing how much she hated this.

      She surveyed the crowded throng of men and slowly threaded her way through the club. She heard the murmurings from some of the club’s regulars, surprised to see she was on the floor. She hadn’t had to work it, hadn’t had to do any lap dances for a long time.

      She also caught the surprised—and mocking—glances of several of the dancers in response to her arrival on the floor. She stiffened her back, plastered a purposeful half smile on her face, and lazily surveyed the men.

      “Come on over here, baby doll, and come sit on Daddy’s lap.”

      Sienna glanced down and kept her face casually disinterested, careful not to show her disgust at the groping man’s hands roaming her ass.

      “I don’t need a daddy, sugar. Been there, done that. Now, if you want my time, the money’s gotta be right,” she purred, trying, unsuccessfully, to pluck his meaty hands away from her ass.

      “Oh, I got the dollars, baby, you better believe that. Now come on over here and sit that fine ass down on my lap. Be a good girl and give Daddy a dance.”

      He grabbed her, circling her wrist with one beefy hand. Caught off-balance on her stilettos, Sienna landed, hard, in his lap.

      “I didn’t think I’d ever get this chance. To think I almost let my wife nag me into staying home with her instead.” He breathed the comment alongside her neck; his hot whisky-and-cigarette breath nearly singeing the fine hairs alongside the nape of her neck, beneath her wig.

      She tried hard not to cringe at the way he slurred his words, asking her to sit in his lap—his dick already hard and pointing straight at her—along with his creepy reference that he was her daddy.

      God, Damian knew just what to do to humiliate her, Sienna thought. He knew she hated this part of stripping more than anything.

      She swallowed and closed her eyes, allowing her body to take over and forcing her mind away from what she was doing. What she had to do.

      She was starting to bounce on his lap when she felt a hand cover her hand, calmly removing the drunk’s beefy hand from around her wrist.

      Startled, she felt her eyes fly open.

      “I believe the lady promised this dance to me,” a deep baritone voice intoned with little inflection.

      Sienna glanced up swiftly. Her gaze slowly traveled up a long, hard body, settling on a stern face she’d come to look for in the crowd over the last week.

      Her heartbeat quickened. It was him. The man she hadn’t been able to get out of her mind, the one she’d