CONTRACT-BOUND DESIRE: A STRIPPER AND HER ALPHA

SAGE

This was my world.

And it knew me by a different identity entirely.

Nightshade.

Marcus passed me the glass of gin, it had the colour of urine and… remarkably tasted even worse, but it was useful.

"We have very important people present today, Shade. I need you to bring your A-game."

I sighed and clipped the strap of my mask in place.

"I always bring my A-game, Marcus. It's why I'm your star attraction."

His eyes flicked over my cleavage for a quick second.

"I know, I know. But..." He leaned closer. "With the caliber of men we are hosting tonight? You have to sweep them off their feets, intrigue them with your costume, captivate them with your legs wrapped around that pole, and lastly… if they want a private dance—"

"No."

"Shade...."

I shook my head.

"No, Marcus."

I couldn't even believe he was saying this, knowing fully well how the last "private dance" ended. With my heel through the arm of a pervert who had believed that he owned every dancer on the pole just because his pocket was fat enough.

"Listen to me Shade, these men present today are of very high caliber. You need extra cash for her medication don't you?"

I dropped the eyeliner.

"You paid me late yesterday, I assumed you'd add some manner of compensation to my payment today?"

I was banking on that. I only had fifty bucks in my belt hook, I needed more money if I planned to survive rent and foot granny's medication.

"Compensation?" He crossed his arms. "I did pay you, did I not?"

I was about to start throwing hands.

“You paid late. Our employer—employee contract clearly states that any payment made after the usual time is a breach of agreement.”

Marcus laughed.

"Well, if we are going by contract agreements, it was also not stated in the contract that I, as an employer, was obligated to loan you anything. But I still loaned you money, didn't I?"

My fingers curled into fists on my lap.

"Which I have been paying back for the past four years."

"Exactly. So what is the problem?"

"The problem?" I could feel heat rising in my chest, that strange flare that always came when I was angry. "Our deal was simple, Marcus. You loaned me the money I needed. You take 50% out of every paycheck I receive for four years. The remaining 50% I'm supposed to receive on time to live on, to manage my life with, you barely give it to me on schedule."

He shrugged, utterly unbothered.

"I work hard," I continued, my voice rising despite my best efforts to stay calm. "I earn so much money for this club. I take shit from these annoying, entitled men every single night. I dance my ass off on that pole until my muscles scream. And at the end of the day, I go home with peanuts while you enjoy the lion's share of it." I swiveled the chair around, meeting his eyes. "What I am asking is that my pay comes on time, it is not too much to ask."

"Shade, Shade....." He held up his hands like he was trying to soothe a wild animal. "You are getting too stressed, and I don't like it when you're stressed. It is bad for business."

I took a deep breath, trying to rein in whatever this feeling was that threatened to boil over.

"How much of my debt is left?"

He tilted his head, considering.

"Fifteen thousand."

I choked on my own saliva.

"What?"

"Fifteen thousand dollars."

"That's… M-Marcus, the money I borrowed from you wasn't even close to—what are you saying?" My voice cracked.

Four years.

Four years of this, and I still owed him fifteen thousand?

"Haven't you heard of interest, sweetheart?"

I almost ripped the mask from my face and stomped on it right there. My whole body was shaking with rage.

His finger lifted, tapping gently under my chin, forcing me to look at him.

"I'll make you a deal," he said softly, like he was offering me salvation. "Do a private dance tonight. Just one. And I promise you that all you owe me will be cleared."

I stared at him.

"Do this private dance, and you will not have to pay me anymore. Okay?" His smile was gentle. It would've passed off as genuine if I didn't know the con-man that hired me.

"You'll be off the hook."

Fifteen thousand dollars.

Gone.

Just like that.

All I had to do was dance for one man.

In private.

My stomach churned.

I didn't want to do this, at all.

But my options were thinning quickly at this point.

"Who is he?" I heard myself ask.

Marcus's smile widened.

"You don't need to know that. He is visiting this part of town as a tourist on account of his friend.”

I shrugged. It's not like I cared to know the identities of the customers anyway. Just like I didn't want them knowing mine.

"He is human though? Right?"

Marcus grinned.

"Sure. Sure."

"Marcus...."

"He is."

He knew that I hated getting mixed up with werewolves. I was an outcast, they didn't like outcasts, especially not outcast omegas.

No shit. I didn't like them either.

"How do I know it's him when I see him?"

Marcus smiled, pouring the glass of gin down his throat.

"He has an icy skull tattoo on his neck, and a slight northern accent, fur coat, and… stuff like that."

"Is he here yet?"

Marcus did not bother explaining. He took my wrist and guided me past the curtain and into the pulse of the club.

I hated the music in this place even though my body learned how to dance to it.

We cut through the crowd, and I had to wedge myself between two dancing bodies.

The Velvet Norte was known for its booze and crowds.

“Keep walking,” he murmured.

We reached the VIP section eventually.

Marcus slowed and lifted his chin, directing my attention without touching me again.

“There.” he said quietly, pointing at a figure in a corner.

The man sat alone.

Wearing a fur coat.

He had broad shoulders, with a stillness that did not belong in a place like this. When he turned his head slightly, the tattoo revealed itself. An icy skull carved into the curve of his neck.

Goosebumps broke out across my skin, prickling down my arms, along my spine, under the silk of my costume.

My breath stuttered.

His steel-grey gaze lifted, locked on mine.

And the world went very, very still.