No. This was because something bad was going down.

Not a little badass’ll-fix-it kind of bad.

Something big.

If I were to say the girls were subdued, what I would mean was, they were subdued. They smiled, they were nice, but they did their jobs, took care in their whispered conversations, and fear permeated the air.

And none of this had anything to do in any visible way with bad guy bouncer, Dan Steiner.

I’d met him and I got it immediately. Friendly, eye contact, lots of smiles and an impressive-seemingly-genuine, “Don’t worry. The guys got your back. You feel trouble, just give us a heads up.”

Smooth. No red flags. No warning signs. He didn’t even give me a once-over.

Totally professional, even as my gut and the look he could not hide behind his friendly smile told me: totally bogus.

“I’m not liking this,” I whispered to Lottie.

“Told you,” she whispered back. “It’s bad.”

“How long has it been going on?” I asked.

“Steiner started about three months ago and this shit started, I don’t know, maybe a month after that.”

“Slow or fast?” I asked.

“What?” she asked back.

“He go girl for girl or did he take them all at once?”

She thought about it and said, “Slow. Girl for girl, I guess.”

“You see any money change hands back here or anywhere?” I went on.

She shook her head.

I looked across the dressing room at Meena, one of the strippers who was on break and re-oiling. She wasn’t avoiding us, but although she smiled and waved when she walked in, she hadn’t approached for any small talk.

“He’s not targeted you because of your cop and Nightingale connection,” I deduced.

“Yeah,” she replied.

“And he’s also keeping the girls clear of you because of the same thing,” I said.

“You think?” she asked. I looked from Meena to her and nodded. “That makes sense,” she concluded.

“Which means whatever they have on their minds, whatever talk they do, they do it when you’re not around so you don’t overhear them.”

“Yeah, probably,” she agreed.

“So with my last name, I’m fucked. And with the fear these girls have and my last name, no way we’re gonna get one to wear a wire.”

“Mm-hmm,” she mumbled.

Crap.

This meant we had two choices.

Since the girls were never going to talk to me, my being undercover was a bust. We’d have to abort, find another woman to go undercover and possibly alert Steiner to our activities because of it. Worse, this would cause an unacceptable delay and make these women live in fear for even longer.

Or I had to make the girls talk to me.

Which meant I had to find a way to make the girls trust me.

And the only way I could do that was become one of their own.

As if on cue, there was a knock on the door and when Meena called out, “Decent!” Lenny, one of Smithie’s bouncers, stuck his head in.

“Five minutes, Ally,” he said to me and his head disappeared.

Shit, shit, fuck.

Lottie reached out and squeezed my knee. “You’re gonna be great.”

“Mm-hmm,” I mumbled, straightening from my chair.

Lottie grabbed my robe and we headed out.

“Knock ‘em dead,” Meena encouraged, smiling at me as we passed her.

“I’m just hoping not to puke on any of them,” I told her honestly, and her smile got bigger.

“We all felt that way the first time,” she informed me. “And we all got over it. You’ll be fine.”

Right.

We headed out and Lottie led me backstage. Through a small part in the curtain I could see the dancers gyrating and I felt bile slide up my throat.

Lottie got close. “Breathe deep,” she advised.

I breathed deep.

The bile went away. The nerves didn’t.

“Two minutes, fifteen seconds, and it’s over,” she told me.

That was right. Two minutes, fifteen seconds then I was off the stage.

Though, my second song was longer.

Shit!

The place went dark and I felt the girls run by us, coming off stage.

Shit, shit, fuck!

That was when I heard Smithie’s voice coming loud, saying into a microphone, “You’re all in for a fuckin’ treat tonight! We’re debuting a new act. So put your eyes to the stage, put your hands together and welcome the Rock Chick!”

More darkness.

Lottie gave me a shove through the curtain and I walked through the dark, passing Smithie who muttered, “Fuck,” into the microphone as he tripped over the cord on the way out.

By rote, I went to my mark, in my head saying over and over again, two minutes, fifteen seconds, two minutes, fifteen seconds.

Then out loud, I whispered, “You can do this Ally.”

But I knew it didn’t matter. I could pep talk myself for another year.

I wasn’t going to be able to do it.

That’s when the guitars blared, the scratchy-fast “Yea,” hit, the lights came up, blinding me, and it happened.

It was like someone flipped a switch.

And the switch they flipped was rock ‘n’ roll.

Specifically, ZZ Top’s “Tush.”

I just started to move, everything Lottie and Daisy taught me flowing through my veins.

And then some.

I strutted. I squatted. I wiggled. I crouched low with one leg straight out to my side, slapped the stage and tossed my hair back as I pushed my breasts forward. I slithered. I undulated. I swung my black leather, short-shorts covered ass out and I did it wide.

Then I tore off the black tee that was cut off under my breasts and was held together at my shoulders by safety pins and tossed it aside, exposing a black bra with black and silver sequins.

Right after that, I ran on my black leather studded stripper platforms toward a pole, launched myself high, caught it, swung around, legs parted, and I felt a hush roll over the crowd.

I curled in, flipping my legs up high, well over my head and torso, straddling the pole, legs still wide, sliding down until I got near the bottom.

Once there, I put one hand down, then the other, swung out one leg, then the other until I was in a backbend. I pushed up off my hands to come to standing.

Immediately, I went into a squat, came up, swung my ass again while my fingers undid the heavy silver buckle of my studded black belt and I slid my shorts over my ass, hips, down my legs. I kicked them free and I was in black and silver sequined leather undies cut high in the back so they showed some cheek.

It was then I felt—actually felt—the crowd come to their feet.

In my platforms and sequined undies, I ran from pole to pole. Catching one, flipping over, wrapping my legs around it, letting go with my hands and arching my neck and back as I slid down, using only my legs until my hands hit stage.

A modified cartwheel then a run and grasp of the next pole, twisting around and around it at a dizzying pace, one leg curled around the pole, one leg held straight out.

Back to the next one where I caught it high and swung all the way out from my hands, toes pointed, legs spread wide and ended it curling in and doing a flip off the pole to land on my feet, ass near to the ground, knees bent high, legs spread and I slapped the stage with my hand between my legs.

I pulled out of that deep squat and strutted back up the stage with super-long strides, one foot in front of the other like the most kickass model in the history of models after she bitch-slapped all the other models before she hit the runway.

Too soon, way too soon, I heard the song winding down and right when the final guitar riff hit, I reached behind my back with one hand as I reached up my front with the other. I flicked the clasp at my back and yanked the bra away just as the guitars faded.

The lights went dark.

I ran offstage and Lottie was there to throw my robe around my shoulders. I shoved my arms through and pulled it closed.

That was when I heard it.

Nothing.

Silence.

Shit.

What the fuck?

On that thought, it happened.

A wave of sound so strong, no fucking joke, it nearly knocked both of us over.

The kind of sound I’d only heard at a rock concert.

Clapping, shouting, hooting, hollering, catcalling, feet stamping, hands slapping tables and finally a chant of, “Rock Chick! Rock Chick! Rock Chick!”

My wide eyes went to a smiling-huge Lottie just as she framed my face with both her hands, got close, and whispered, “Welcome to the sisterhood, baby.”

She touched her lips to mine just as we heard Smithie shout over the wild-ass, out-of-control ovation, “Knew you motherfuckers would like that! Now, get a load of Lottie Mac!”

Lottie dashed onto the stage.

Smithie came off.

And before I knew it, I was in his arms, held there tight.

“Knew that was hard. It’s always hard. But you did that for me and my girls. And you did me proud. Thank you, darlin’,” he whispered in my ear.

Before I could even blink, definitely before I could begin to process his heartfelt words, he was gone.

I watched the place where he disappeared for two beats before I walked into the hall and down it to the dancers-only bathroom. Buzzing so big I felt like I was vibrating, adrenaline sluicing through my system, I entered and thankfully found it empty.

I walked to the sink and stared at my face in the mirror made up in full-on slut, my hair curled and teased out to there.

I did this for a long time.

Then I whispered, “Fuck yeah. I’m a goddamned, fuckin’ rock chick.”

I just caught my own huge-ass smile before I turned from the mirror and sashayed out of the bathroom in order to keep doing my job.

* * *

Being quiet because it was dark, late and I saw by the moonlight lighting the room that he was asleep in bed, I entered Ren’s and my bedroom.

I bent to my shoes to take them off, just as a light came on and lit the room.

I straightened and looked to the bed to see Ren pushing up to lounge against the headboard, hair tousled (hot) but not looking sleepy (weird).

“Hey,” I whispered like he was still asleep. “Sorry I woke you.”

He said nothing. He just looked at me.

This was strange and a little scary. He knew what I was doing that night and he’d been cool about it. He said nothing. He asked nothing. He didn’t even give me any looks where his jaw was clenched or his lips were tight.

Now, the deed was done and he knew it’d been done.

So maybe he was no longer feeling like ignoring it or letting it go. Maybe he was feeling like reacting to it. Maybe in a not so good way. Maybe in an Italian American hotheaded macho alpha way.

Before I could ask, he twisted, stretched out an arm and grabbed something from his nightstand. He only had it in his hand for a second when he started to lounge back. But before he got into position, I froze, a chill running over my skin.

This was because “Tush” started playing from the Bose dock on his nightstand.

Fuck.

“Someone told you,” I guessed.

He shook his head.

ZZ Top rocked on as I stared at him.

Then, my throat closing on the words, I asked, “You were there?”

“Absolutely,” he answered. “You think I’d miss that?”

Oh shit.

Oh fuck.

Shit!

“I thought—” I started.

“Baby, you take your clothes off right now, you do it to this song, for me. My guess, those four posts’ll hold. If you break the bed, I don’t give a fuck.”

I just stared.

“You want me to start the song again?” he offered.

What was happening?

“I—” I began.

“Christ, you were so fuckin’ hot up there, I’m still hard.”

Oh my God!

He kept going.

“I’m gettin’ that my woman puts her mind to something, everyone better watch their ass. Because whatever she’s got a mind to do, she’s gonna kick its ass.”

Relief flooded through me, along with something else. Maybe a lot of something else’s. His words singing straight to my soul, I dashed to Ren’s side of the bed and launched myself, landing on Ren.

His arms closed around me instantly and he rolled us so I was on my back and he was on me.

He lifted his head and looked into my eyes.

“Don’t remember you dancin’ horizontally, honey,” he noted.