Pulled Under. Kelli Ireland
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other shit in typical fashion. He loved this part of the night, when his nerves were strung tight enough to make the muffled buzz from the crowd skate across his skin with a slightly abrasive touch. It thrilled him and, if he was honest, kept him nervous—scared?—enough to ensure he forced himself to seize his alter ego by the balls, get onstage and dance his ass off. Otherwise? The urge to just settle into the background and play with his day trades was almost overwhelming.
“Levi!” Several of the men shouted greetings. Only two walked up to him and shoulder bumped him, though.
Eric and Justin, his two best friends, were winding up their dancing careers after finding success in the nine-to-five world. Part of him was jealous, but it had nothing to do with their financial accomplishments. The envy that ate at him and made him feel like a total ass was based on the relationships the two men had found.
Eric and Cass had been together long enough that Eric was starting to talk about rings and lifetimes and houses.
Justin and Grace were already engaged, having loved each other far longer than the few months they’d been together.
Every time they all went out, Levi was the fifth wheel. That he was envying his boys was one thing That he was letting himself slip into feel-sorry-for-himself territory was another. Disgusted, he drove a fist into the locker.
Eric opened his adjoining locker. He didn’t turn around when he asked, “Feeling a little violent tonight, Einstein?”
Levi snorted. “Seriously? You guys need to let the nickname go. I’m not the one with the doctorate.” He completely ignored the questionable violence call. It was too close to the truth.
Justin popped Eric with his towel, dropping trou without blinking an eye. “I might have the doctorate, but you’re the one with your own company set to make millions.”
Eric nodded toward Levi. “And the captain of finance here is going to out-earn all of us with his giant brain and play trades.”
Or dump them all into financial ruin. Levi gently banged his head against the locker, forgetting about his bruised forehead until the first shock of pain registered. “Ow.”
“Man, what happened to your head?” Eric leaned in close. “You look like you met the wrong end of a two-by-four.”
“Actually, it was the office door.”
Eric winced. “What’d you do, trip over your IQ and run headlong into your potential?”
“No, you gossipy wench. I didn’t. I happened to move at the same time—” he paused, looking around before mumbling “—at the same time the investigator from the IRS shoved her way in.”
Eric and Justin both stilled.
Levi leaned against the locker and crossed his arms. “What’s worse, Kevin kept the real ledger from me before I bought into the club.” He glanced around, feeling ridiculously paranoid. The other men moved in closer. “I was going over it today when the agent from hell showed up.”
“And?” Justin quietly pressed.
“Something’s not right.”
“Not right as in ‘Kevin can’t do basic math’ or not right as in ‘We need to pack our stuff and get out before we’re dragged down’?” Eric asked.
“I don’t think we need to get out. Not yet, anyway. And you guys in particular should be fine. I’m part owner, though, which could get a little dicier. I spent the morning with the ledger and trust me when I tell you there’s a good chance we’re going to get tagged, and hard, for something more than a little tax hiccup.”
Justin’s brow creased. “Why?”
“The IRS sends auditors when they want to look into the books. This woman identified herself as an investigator and asked not only for the standard books but also for the personnel and financial files.”
“Shit,” both men said in unison.
“Not a word to anyone else.”
“No way,” Justin muttered.
Eric nodded once. “What he said.”
Levi cocked his head to the side, listening to the music. “Your set just cued, Nick,” he shouted to one of the other dancers.
“On my way, boss man.”
“I’m after Nick, so I should get out there.” Levi opened his locker and pulled out a military uniform. “How obvious is the bruise on my forehead?”
Justin dug around in his locker and pulled out a pen and scrap of paper. “I’ll pass a quick note to the lighting guys and let them know not to run a purple or blue light over your set. Should be fine.”
Thinking about his upcoming performance, he absently touched the bruise again. “Hey. Let me borrow a piece of paper and your pen when you’re done.”
“Sure.” Justin scribbled out his note, retrieved another piece of paper and handed it and the pen over.
Levi quickly jotted down his own note and folded it twice, wrote a name on the outside and returned the pen. “Thanks.” Dropping his towel, he absently stepped into first his black G-string and then his rip-away fatigues. He sat on the bench and pulled on his combat boots and white undershirt. As the marquee dancer, he was onstage longer than most. He had a sexually suggestive song to entertain to, and he’d changed up the routine a little tonight to showcase his physicality. If Harper Banks proved brave enough to show up, he’d give her a show she’d never forget.
The crowd screamed as Nick took the stage.
“Keep this to yourselves, okay? Catch you guys later.”
Traversing the dark hallways, he stepped over cords and cables, the butterflies in his stomach building. He was going to up the heat to cook the crow he intended to serve Harper Banks. She wanted to make snap judgments on his intellect based on his appearance, wanted to believe that his IQ was equivalent to his biceps circumference? Fine. Let her. Until then, she was going to want him. He’d make sure of it. Then he was going to clean up the books and go over them line by line with her, defending every debit and credit with calm aplomb. She could suck it.
A stagehand met him in the wings. He pressed the note into the guy’s hand. “Find Donovan and give this to him as fast as you can. It’s about my set.”
The young man nodded, took the paper and disappeared down the side of the stage and into the crowd.
Rolling his head back and forth and then rotating his shoulders, Levi bounced on his toes and scanned the crowd as the emcee announced his routine.
“Ladies, you’re in luck tonight. Who here has seen Levi work the stage?” Screams. “Sounds like you can’t get enough of him. Well, the feeling’s entirely mutual.” The music started, an electronic beat with a woman’s moans and gasps in the background. “Welcome Levi to the stage!”
The crowd went wild.
THE ENERGY FROM the crowd filtered through Harper, slowly bringing her away from the wall to stand at one of the few empty tables near the back. She was on her second beer—thank you, Donovan—and beginning to get into the show. The men were spectacular, the athleticism undeniable, the dance moves seriously hot. More than once she’d had to remind herself she was here to observe the club’s business practices, not its men.
So far she hadn’t spotted anything illegal happening on this side of the curtain, but the night was young. After the show, she’d make Levi take her backstage so she could see how the dancers were logging their cash tips because, from what she’d observed, the take was damned impressive.
The lights went down and the hum of the crowd built to a static white noise that made the fine hairs on her arms rise. Faint gunfire sounded over the speakers. A very patriotic