SATIN EMPIRE BY B. B. HAMEL – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: B. B.
- Language: English
- Genre: contemporary romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
Alana
I sneak into the strip club armed with an oversized hoodie and a black
and white grainy picture my cousin texted me a couple of days ago.
This is not my first titty bar. I didn’t exactly grow up around these places,
but when Gran died and Mom found herself shouldering the burden of a
ten-year-old girl with no help, no real maternal instinct to speak of, a house
that needed constant repairs, and a lifestyle that involved a serious amount
of designer clothing, she turned to dancing to help pay the extra bills.
Which meant that when most kids were playing sports after school or
watching cartoons, I was sitting in the back of a strip club that smelled like
sweat and body glitter doing math homework and listening to the other
dancers tell stories about their clients. Most of those stories involved things
I didn’t understand and definitely weren’t appropriate for little old ten-yearold Alana.
Now though, I love a good small-dick joke as much as anyone else.
The bouncer checks my ID and waves me through. It’s not common for
girls to come alone to places like this, but not totally unheard of. I keep my
hood down and I have a baseball hat pulled low over my eyes. The club is
crowded for a Thursday night at ten, and I pause near a table to watch a
very attractive blonde girl do some shockingly acrobatic moves that leave
her twisted into positions that would probably end with me in the ER if I
tried them.
My heart’s racing, and I’m nervous as hell as I grab a seat in the back and
sit down in the booth. I grab my phone and text Noah, my hands shaking
slightly.
Alana: This is so weird. I feel like people are staring at me.
Noah: Nobody’s staring. Just take deep breaths. You have that picture,
right?
Alana: Yeah, but it’s really crappy. I mean, seriously, how am I supposed to
recognize him with this thing?
I pull up the photo in my images app. It shows a man in three-quarter
profile, handsome, with a square jaw, dark hair, and an expensive suit. He’s
walking toward a Lexus parked along the curb. I can’t tell much more about
him though—the shot’s grainy, not in color, and the guy’s wearing freaking
sunglasses.
Noah: It’s the best I could do, okay? It’s not like there are tons of high-res
images of mafia princes sitting around on the internet. They’re pretty
careful.
Alana: I know, I’m just getting nervous. What if he doesn’t show up?
Noah: He will, I promise. Just be patient.
But my cousin must not know me very well, because patience is not one of
my many wonderful traits.
Decent at singing? Sure, I sound amazing in the car when the volume’s
turned up loud. Hilarious and charming? I’ve been told I’m the life of the
party. Mostly by my mother when I was a little girl, but I’m holding onto
that. Knowledgeable and kind? Now I’m just making stuff up but, whatever,
I’m the best
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