Pretty Dark Vows

PRETTY DARK VOWS RUTHLESS HEARTS CALLIE ROSE Copyright © 2023 by Callie Rose All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. * * * For updates on my upcoming releases and promotions, sign up for my reader newsletter! I promise not to bite (or spam you). CALLIE ROSE NEWSLETTER CONTENTS 1. Riley 2. Maddoc 3. Riley 4. Riley 5. Riley 6. Riley 7. Riley 8. Maddoc 9. Riley 10. Dante 11. Logan 12. Riley 13. Riley 14. Riley 15. Riley 16. Dante 17. Riley 18. Riley 19. Riley 20. Riley 21. Logan 22. Riley 23. Dante 24. Dante 25. Riley 26. Riley 27. Maddoc 28. Riley 29. Riley 30. Riley 31. Riley 32. Riley 33. Dante 34. Logan 35. Riley 36. Maddoc 37. Riley 38. Riley 39. Riley 40. Riley 41. Riley 42. Riley Books by Callie Rose 1 RILEY One of my many past mistakes liked to say I had a body made for fucking. He was wrong. Good sex is great for letting off steam, but I’ve yet to meet a cock—or a man attached to one—who didn’t show his true colors in the end and let me down. This, though? This is what my body is made to do. It’s made to dance. I close my eyes, shutting out the club full of sleazy, married shitbags who come here to pant after my body every night, and focusing instead on the thud of the bass as the pulsing rhythm infuses my limbs. I arch my back and roll my hips, then release the clasp between my shoulder blades that holds together the barely-there lace of my top, letting the scrap of material flutter to the floor. The music picks up, and I swing around the pole, eliciting a few whoops and hollers from the crowd. “Hey, Destiny! Over here!” A tatted-up musclehead calls out my stripper name. He’s at the edge of the stage, raising his voice to be heard over the music as he beckons. “Come a little closer, baby.” He’s not showing me any cash yet, so I ignore him and wind my body around the cool metal pole in the center of the stage instead. I wrap one leg around it so all that hard steel is right where Musclehead wishes his cock could go, then let my head fall back as I roll my hips against it, waiting for him to get a clue. His eyes track every move, and he finally licks his lip and pulls out a few bills. “Come on now, quit fucking the pole already and come on over here,” he calls, waving the cash at me as he grabs his crotch with his other hand. “I got what you need right here.” I smirk at him. Like I haven’t heard that before. Heard it and won’t be falling for it—not ever again. Especially from anyone I meet here. But I still let go of the pole and take his money, because as much fun as it may be to pretend I’m dancing for myself, that’s not really why I’m here. I’m here for Chloe. My little sister has no one to look out for her but me. Our worthless dad proves that fact every time he lets one of us down, but now that I’ve finally gotten her out from under his roof, things are going to be different. Once Musclehead stuffs a few bills into my g-string, I twist away before he can try to cop a feel. Standing back up in my stilettos, I run my hand down the center of my body and turn in a slow undulating circle to survey tonight’s crowd. Club M is a shit hole that doesn’t exactly attract the highest level of clientele, but it’s Friday night, which means a lot of these guys have just gotten paid. I can work with that. The edge of the stage is packed, and I drop low at the same time the music does, pulsing to its beat with my knees spread wide as I let my hand slide down my body. More men call out my stripper name, more bills start to litter the stage, and I work every asset I have, determined to bring in as many tips as I can before my shift is over. When the DJ finally changes the music to signal that my set is wrapping up, I spin myself around the pole one more time, then lower myself to my knees and move into a slow crawl that’s guaranteed to make every man watching beg to get me into one of the private rooms in the back once I step off the stage. Not happening. Not tonight. They don’t know that, though, and I make sure to hold some eye contact with every man who has cash in his hand as I advance across the stage, collecting the bills that they’ve already thrown down for me. When I finally get to the edge, I roll smoothly to my feet and hook my fingers in the thin straps of my g-string. The musclehead from earlier is trying to say something, but his hands are empty and I’m not interested in hearing it, so I turn to the man closest to me and tease the stretchy scrap of black lace I’m wearing down to the top of my sleek, shaved pussy. “Put it right here, Daddy,” I purr, even though I’d shoot myself before calling anyone that if he wasn’t about to pay me. Biting my lip, I add in a breathy voice, “You know you want to.” And sure enough, he groans and shoves his wad of cash in my