His Stripper – Dance For Me Read Online Isabella Starling

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Bad Boy, Crime, Erotic, Mafia, Romance, Virgin Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 30636 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 153(@200wpm)___ 123(@250wpm)___ 102(@300wpm)
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Read Online Books/Novels:

His Stripper - Dance For Me

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Isabella Starling

Language:
English
Book Information:

Hazel is down on her luck, without a job or a place to live and things only get worse when she gets into a fender bender with a beautifully dark man named Myles. He’s supermodel gorgeous with dark hair, and piercing eyes.

She’s afraid, and worried. With no money she’s not sure how she’ll repay him.

When he offers her a job at his club dancing, she doesn’t know what to expect, and she certainly isn’t prepared to fall for the man. What started as repayment soon becomes obsession, need, and want. But a man like Myles has secrets and when Hazel discovers just how dark the man she’s falling for is will she run or will she stay?
Books by Author:

Isabella Starling



1

Hazel

Don’t cry. Don’t cry… I keep telling myself in my head, yet the pressure in my eyes keeps building, and I know I won’t be able to hold back much longer. I can’t cry. If I cry, my glasses are going to fog up, and then I won’t be able to see where I’m going.

I tighten my hands on my steering wheel as I make my way through town. My car makes a pinging sound, reminding me that I’m driving on E. Like I need another reminder of how screwed I am.

My tank is empty. I have no money. No job. No home. I’m so screwed.

My stomach picks that exact moment to growl. Yeah, I know, I haven’t eaten today either. I spent my last five dollars on dinner yesterday, hoping I would get the job I interviewed for just now.

Of course, I didn’t. As soon as I walked in, the manager told me the position was already filled. I’m pretty sure he was lying, but there is nothing I can do about it.

I could sell this car, but then I have nowhere to sleep. I might get a few hundred dollars for this old piece of junk. I could eat and stay in a motel for a few days, but what then?

Randy’s voice fills my head…

“You can stay here, Hazel. I’ll take care of you, but you’re gonna have to do some stuff for me.” He grins, his yellow teeth on full display.

“Like what kind of stuff?” I know right away I shouldn’t have asked.

“You can let me fuck you, for starters…”

I left that same day, the day I turned eighteen. Randy and his wife, Monica, were the last of many foster homes I lived in. Randy was a creep from the beginning, but he never actually touched me or even made a blunt suggestion like that. Not until after my birthday, when he didn’t have a legal obligation to let me stay at his house.

A part of me knew something like this was going to happen. That’s why I have been saving every single penny since my sixteenth birthday. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to get by for the last two weeks. I hoped I would have found a job by now, but that has been much harder than I thought.

The car beeps again. The flashing E light might as well be a billboard telling me I suck. I glance down at it. The needle is below the actual E now. I need to find somewhere to park. Somewhere I can sleep…

CRASH.

My whole body jolts forward. My forehead hits the upper part of the steering wheel as my seat belt cuts into my shoulder and stomach. Groaning, I sit up straight and try to regain my bearings.

No, no, no!

I didn’t see the traffic light turning red, and I didn’t see the car in front of me stopping. A car that I hit. I fucking hit a car! Even worse, it’s a nice car… a really nice car.

There is nothing I can do now to stop the tears. I stop fighting. I don’t even try. I simply give up and let the tears come. One, then two, and before I know it, I’m sobbing uncontrollably.

I look up when I hear a car door being slammed shut, and I find a man has gotten out of the car I just hit. My glasses are already fogging up, but not enough for me to miss how handsome he is. Great. Of course, he has to be good-looking.

Even with the angry frown on his face, he looks like he just stepped out of an Armani billboard. Dark jeans mold to his thick legs, and a black button-up shirt stretches over his muscular chest with his sleeves rolled up, revealing tattoos on his forearms.

He starts walking in my direction, and I lower my head. I let my long brown hair fall into my face, acting as a curtain. As if that could hide me.

Closing my eyes, I wish I was somewhere else. No, scratch that. I wish I was someone else. Someone who has their life together. Someone who has a family.

Someone who isn’t me.

2

Myles

What the fuck? Did this fucker behind me seriously just hit my car? I can’t believe this shit. I don’t care who the hell is in that car, I’m ripping them a new one. Someone is going to pay for this.

I get out of my car and slam the door shut behind me. I’m so fucking angry, I feel like punching something… or someone. Preferably whoever is responsible.

My mind already reels with how I’m going to drag the fucker into an alley to end his life. Ace is not going to be happy to send the clean-up crew for this, but I don’t give a fuck. This moron hit my car, and what good is it being part of a powerful mafia family if you can’t kill random people for pissing you off?


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