8 Chapter 8: Ryker

I hadn't dressed up; I'd dressed to be noticed. By her. I hadn't mistaken the way she'd held my stare when her attention could have roamed to any number of attractive guys at Chase's bachelor party. Seven days had been six too many. I'd endured Club Swank more than any woman deserved, yet here I sat, waiting at the bar, again. For over an hour, I'd nursed my scotch and watched as one dancer after another paraded across the stage to the tune of another raunchy song, half-dressed. None of them held any appeal, nor did the company of any of the guys who hung out here. I tried my best to remain unnoticed, but in U21's world, the best friend of Chase Silvano was almost as good as the man himself.

Most of the dancers were keenly aware of my disinterest, and those who weren't learned quickly. The ones I'd grown up with asked too many questions, and if Diamond didn't make an appearance shortly, I'd chalk it up to the stars not aligning and go home. I didn't make a play for women, especially not in a place like this.

If the music hadn't been so loud, Starr would have heard me groan when she sat on the barstool next to me. Or maybe she had and didn't care-desperation did strange things to people.

"Hey, handsome." It wasn't original, but neither was her metallic-yellow outfit that left nothing to the imagination.

I raised my glass and lifted my chin. It was the closest thing she would get to a greeting. Yet somehow, it didn't faze her that my attention hadn't left the empty stage.

Her small fingers grazed my forearm, and my eyes fell to the place she touched. I wasn't special; all the girls did this kind of thing in hopes of landing some sap in a back room. Her eyes held mine when I glanced up, and I felt sorry for her. Her free hand twirled a strand of hair in what I guessed was meant to be a seductive gesture. "I can help you wash those troubles away."

Before I could reject Starr's offer, the lights went out, signaling the arrival of another performer. Luckily for me, the second the stage illuminated, I caught sight of what I'd come for. Flashes brought her into focus. Each beat, every note highlighted glimpses of someone far more stunning than I'd remembered. Diamond was ferocious, yet dainty. Intense, but subtle. Everything about her was captivating, and her music choices were impeccable. "Whore" by In This Moment was a statement about why she was here-even I picked up on that. Had she been singing, I would have felt each word delivered to me as though it were just the two of us in the room and she was punching me in the gut.

With so much to see, it was difficult to focus on one thing. Her toned thighs were exposed instead of covered in fishnets. I'd be damned if the silver, lace-up corset wasn't sexier than the black one she'd worn last week, and the matching metallic combat boots gave her the tough appearance the lyrics depicted. She worked a sheer cover so seductively it became an extension of her arms. Darkness entombed her for a split second, just long enough for her to give her back to the audience, drop the scarf, and sharply turn her head over her shoulder. The chorus echoed and when the band screamed, "I could be your whore," she locked eyes with me.

She'd known precisely where I was in the audience.

Anger radiated from her dark-blue eyes, squinted a hint. If looks could kill, she'd have pinned me to the bar with two daggers. I'd only thought the first song she'd danced to fit her perfectly. She bent at the waist, and her silver G-string caught my attention, holding it on her tight ass.

I lifted my glass to my lips, taking a deep drink, and I attempted to hide the effect she had on me. My throat constricted when I swallowed, and my heart pounded against my sternum. I hadn't noticed my fists clenching and releasing with each man who approached the stage. My teeth ground together with every hand that tucked a bill into her panties, and when some punk reached up to grab her tit, I stood abruptly.

I'd all but forgotten Starr even sat next to me until her nails dug into my skin where she still held my forearm. The glare I gave her must have warned her off because she released me. If Raid hadn't been on the guy who'd managed to cop an unwelcomed feel, I would have. Yet Diamond never missed a beat. She was a crowd favorite, as I knew she would be. Every dick in Swank stood at attention while she gave the audience her all. I shouldn't have been shocked, nothing in this place should surprise me, especially not a girl on stage taking off her top. If I could have roared and pounded my chest, I would have gone caveman just before I swept her away.

Somehow, the idea of her fingers working their way through the ribbon that drew her corset together had me blinded. I desperately wanted her to take it off; I just didn't want anyone else to see what she had covered. It wasn't much. Hell, her ass and her pussy were barely hidden, but her breasts were personal. In the time it took me to recognize the absurdity of my feelings, the fabric fell to the stage. Diamond spun on the pole, sank to the ground in the most erotic split I'd ever witnessed, and in the process, wound me tight as a coil.

Her eyes never left mine. I felt whatever grudge she held as if I'd had anything to do with it. Then it dawned on me. It was hatred that gleamed in her expression. The hardened gaze she cast my direction was exactly that. Most women who took that stage had shame written on their faces-at least when they first started. At some point, they had succumbed to the life they'd screwed themselves into. This girl was pissed the fuck off, and it appeared she associated me with that fury, which only meant one thing.

She believed I was U21, and she clearly hated everything about it.