Bound To Protect. Anya Summers
an hour until the replacement gets there. Will you be all right, or do I need to find someone else to cover it?” Dante asked.
Michael waved him off. “I’ve got a call to make. I’ll be fine.”
“Who are you calling at this hour?”
“Jared. He needs to look after his own with this,” Michael explained, swishing the scotch in his glass at the thought of the fucking mess of things he had to deal with.
Dante hissed. “Fuck, I didn’t think of that. Give him my best. Be back in a bit. And try not to drink your way through the bottle. We need you to keep a level head.”
Michael nodded as Dante sauntered out of the penthouse. With his scotch in hand, he trod back to the bank of windows—the night now full dark, with the bright lights of the Quarter illuminating the waterfront—and made the call.
“What the hell could be so important that you’re calling me at this hour, Michael?” Jared’s Scottish brogue filtered through the receiver of his cell.
“I wanted to give you a heads up about a debacle I’m facing with a spy in our midst. Just in case they have infiltrated your neck of the woods to expose us all.”
“Bloody hell, man. Go back to sleep, lass,” Jared said.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake your wife up.”
“It normally wouldn’t be an issue, except Shannon has been keeping her mum up, and we’re expecting another this autumn,” Jared explained, sounding tired.
“I didn’t know you two were expecting again. Congrats on that front.”
“Thanks. Shannon will have a little brother come September. But moving on, what’s this about a spy?”
“I’ll explain. You might want to pass it onto Declan and the rest of your group, as well,” Michael said, and proceeded to give Jared McTavish as much information as possible. Jared owned Pleasure Island in the Bahamas. The lifestyle resort was the premiere destination for billionaires, rock stars, and movies stars in the lifestyle who wanted to vacation with their submissive, or to meet submissives during their stay. Jared had met his wife, Naomi, there. Michael and Dante had entertained a plethora of submissives during their stays on the island.
The thing was, if one person in the scene was being attacked, they circled the wagons and protected others in the lifestyle. It was the only way they survived.
And by the time Michael ended the call, the only thing he had left on his mind was wondering where the hell he was going to find a woman to pose as his fiancée.
Chapter 3
Sabrina’s fingers trembled as she adjusted the itty-bitty outfit and gave herself a once over in the mirror. The sailor’s outfit covered the naughty parts for the time being. Tonight would be fine. She could do this, go out on that darkened stage under the spotlight and dance to the catcalls. She had a body most men lusted after already anyhow, not that she had ever experienced sex—or lust, for that matter, with everything else on her plate. All she had to do was pretend it was a fashion show, and not that she was taking her clothes off for money.
Her stomach rolled at the thought.
Besides, it wasn’t money for herself, but for her brother, Alex. He needed her to go out there and give it her best shot. They had until the end of the month for Sabrina to make good on their rent before they were evicted. And only a week left of funds to pay for her brother’s much-needed at home care.
She couldn’t remember a time when she wasn’t tired or strapped for cash.
It wasn’t her brother’s fault. His medical conditions required constant medical care, as well as medicine that was outrageously expensive even with his insurance—which, if she didn’t earn more money, she wouldn’t be able to pay for either.
The trust her parents had left them had been whittled away under the burden of his expenses until it went bone dry six months prior.
That was why she was at Bayou Sin, one of the hottest and classiest strip joints on Bourbon Street in the French Quarter. Using her curvaceous form to make money to pay for Alex’s care was the only option Sabrina had left for quick cash.
And she was up next. She tried not to hyperventilate.
“You’ll do great, honey,” Betty Lou said, and squeezed Sabrina from the side. Her raven hair was styled up in a high ponytail, her makeup expertly applied, and she wore nothing but a royal blue thong. Sabrina had to admit, the woman had a great pair of boobs, and she wondered if they were real or not. If she was a betting kind of individual, she’d place money that they were fake. No woman she knew had breasts which were that big, and that perky, without support.
Although her size C cups were nice enough, or so Sabrina thought, Betty Lou made her feel like she had tiny apples by comparison that shortly dozens of men were about to see in all their glory. Sabrina would have to get over her modesty, and fast. “Thanks, Betty. I appreciate all your help. I’ve got to admit, I’m a little nervous.”
“So was I my first time. It’s a lot like having sex. The first time, you’re a scared virgin, but after a while, it becomes old hat. The guys out there are going to love you.”
Yeah, that was part of the problem. The whole virginity thing. Sabrina had been taking care of people for the last thirteen years, and working to keep a roof over their heads at the same time. There’d never been time for sex—or dating, for that matter. She worried that at twenty-nine, she was what society would refer to as a dried up old maid—or at least would have, a hundred years or so ago.
“Sabrina, you’re on.” The director’s voice boomed in the dressing room.
Fear squeezed her chest, and she prayed she wouldn’t pass out from lack of oxygen. She just had to remember to breathe. “Coming.”
Betty gave her a thumbs up. Sabrina wished she could say that she strutted to the curtain with confidence. But in all honesty, it felt like with each step she took, another piece of her soul was extinguished. She wanted to rage at the unfairness of it all, of her burden. And she hated herself for even considering her brother a millstone. When their mom had died, she’d made Sabrina promise that she would take care of Alex, even though her mom had understood the immense responsibility of what she was asking of her daughter.
That had been ten years ago. And the weight of it hadn’t gotten easier to bear over time; it had only gotten heavier.
“Bayou Sin would like to welcome to the stage for the first time, the lovely, luscious Lola. Let’s give her a big round of applause.” The director’s voice came over the loudspeaker, announcing the stage name Sabrina had picked to provide her with some anonymity.
The black velvet curtain was drawn back. The bright spotlight blinded her. She tried to remember to paste a seductive smile over her lips, which she had painted a bright, siren red. With her stomach in knots, she put one foot in front of the other, making sure her hips swayed in the sensual fashion that Betty had instructed her to use. And she was swamped with male catcalls, whistles, and applause.
She tried to focus on anything but the men’s leering faces as she swayed her hips to the music and gripped the pole. She crawled inside herself, pretended she was at a club on the beach, dancing with no cares or worries. It was the only way she would make it through the next ten minutes of her life.
She swung her body around the pole. But some of their words bled through.
“Take it off, honey.”
“Show us your tits.”
“Don’t be shy, baby.”
After her next turn around the pole, her hands went to the front clasp on her studded bra. This was it. The moment she had been dreading. She wanted to back out. She wanted to run and hide, and forget that she had ever had to go to these lengths.
Alex’s