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Touched by Death: A Reverse Harem Romance (Gods of Death Trilogy Book 1) by Ruby Ryan (1)





Being a woman helped me get into places others couldn’t.

I sat in the parked car, staring out the window at the warehouse-looking building across the street. The rain sounded like frozen peas hitting the roof of the car, making it hard to hear myself think and even tougher to see. Which sucked, because it was my job to see what was going on. If I missed it, I might not have another chance.

“How much longer?” the cab driver asked from the front. His redneck accent was as thick as the smell of mint chewing tobacco in the cab, and he had a long nose like an elf.

“I told you I don’t know.”

“You didn’t say we’d be sittin’ here,” he complained. “Job only said bring you here.”

“Quit bitching,” I snapped. “The meter’s running, so you’re getting paid without having to drive in this shit. If anything, you ought to thank me.”

He grumbled something under his breath.

I squinted through the smeared window. I wasn’t looking forward to running out in the rain, but there was no sign of it letting up. It was the kind of day where you wanted to stay inside with a book and a cup of hot tea.

But I didn’t have the luxury of choosing where to be this morning.

Across the street, a figure jogged down the sidewalk holding the collar of his raincoat up. Despite that, I caught the faded blue of a baseball cap. Was it the Colts hat he always wore? I couldn’t be certain.

He turned, disappearing inside the front door of the building.

“Consider yourself free, Dobby,” I told the driver. I tossed him a $20. “I don’t have a sock, but I hope this’ll do.”

Before he could ask who Dobby was, I opened the door and ran out into the rain.

My leather coat did a good job of protecting me as I crossed the 50 feet into the sheltered doorway. I stopped to shake off most of the water before opening the door and striding inside.

The sound of pumping music bombarded me the moment I entered. The strip club was reasonably crowded for a Wednesday afternoon; two of the four stages were occupied by dancers, and at least 50 customers were scattered throughout. I paused in the door to look for my mark. I felt a few seconds of panic until I spotted him: sitting at a table near the unoccupied stage to the right, waving down a waitress.

I caught a good look of his face underneath the blue Colts hat. Yep. It was him.

Pulling my eyes away, I slid over to the bar. “Rum and coke,” I told the girl behind the bar. I paid with cash, leaned against the wood, and sipped my drink.

Eventually the stage he was waiting at lit up and a stripper came walking out on pink fuck-me pumps and matching lingerie. I laughed when the DJ announced her as Candy. Seriously, was there any more stereotypical stripper name than Candy? That was worse than choosing a sports car as your stripper name.

Not only that, but the girl couldn’t dance. She moved a split second out of sync with the music, constantly trying to catch up while she strutted and humped the pole in the middle of the stage. Her tits were so big there was no chance of pretending they were real. Giant volleyball tits. I wondered how guys could find that attractive. It would be like fucking a blow-up doll.

When her set was over she gave a bow. I was surprised she had the back strength to stand back up afterward. My mark stood and said a few words, then left his table to meet her at the edge of the stage. Candy took him by the hand, led him across the room, and disappeared through a back curtain guarded by a fat bouncer.

I gulped the rest of my drink in one swig.

I weaved through the crowd of perverts and scantily-clad waitresses carrying trays of watered-down drinks, letting the thumping bass music bolster my confidence. I wasn’t afraid, but a tingle of anxiety ran up my spine as I rehearsed what I was going to say.

The bouncer at the curtain held out a pudgy hand. “Can I help you?”

“I’m here to see Mickey.”

His frown deepened. “Mickey ain’t here yet.”

“He told me to wait for him in the back. I’ve got a private audition.”

The bouncer looked me up and down, taking in my tight-fitting jeans and leather jacket. I could see him sizing me up, making a judgement call.

I would never be a rail-thin model. My bones were too big. But there was more muscle than fat to my build, and I had enough of a hip-to-waist ratio to turn heads. My mousy hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, and I wasn’t wearing my best makeup, but I gave the bouncer a sly smile.

He hesitated, then nodded me on.

The music was more muted in this hallway, giving it a private, secluded feel. Doorways with black curtain dividers led into private rooms on either side of the hall, half of which were currently drawn closed. As I walked down the hall I could see legs underneath the curtains: some clothed, some not.

I came to the room with Candy’s pink pumps underneath the curtain. I slowed down, walking as quietly as I could. I could hear soft sounds coming from inside, maybe even a moan…

…I kept walking past it.

The hallway ended at a closed door—a real door, not a curtain. Next to it was an open rack of clothes and costumes: at a glance I saw a nurse’s costume, a plaid schoolgirl skirt, a cowboy hat and whip. All the freaky stuff to tickle someone’s particular fetish.

I took a deep breath, opened the door, and slipped inside.

I felt around the wall until I found the light switch. It was an office slash storage room: the entire right side was filled with stacked boxes of alcohol, cocktail napkins, straws, and other bar supplies. The left side of the room held a work desk with two widescreen monitors. Next to that was a black leather couch. I shuddered to think of how many girls had convinced the strip club owner to hire them on that couch.

I sat at the desk and hit the spacebar to dispel the screensaver. There was no password, and the operating system was Windows XP. Old as hell. I didn’t even need to use my USB rootkit to access the file system.

I grinned to myself. This was going to be easier than I thought.

Both monitors were occupied by a security camera software, segmenting the screens with dozens of different camera views. The left monitor showed everything in the main room: eight different camera views of the stages, two cameras behind the bar, and three other cameras that showed random sections of the club’s interior. Normal security cameras.

The right monitor? That showed camera feeds of each private room.

I found my mark instantly: third video down, his blue hat discarded on the couch. Candy was on her knees in front of him, her lips moving up and down his cock. She had what men called DSLs: Dick Sucking Lips. And unlike her ability on the stage floor, it looked like she knew how to perform in private.

The man pulled her to her feet, put on a condom, then bent her over the couch. With her head buried in the cushion Candy reached back with both hands and spread her ass cheeks wide for him. I saw with surprise as he pressed his cock against her other hole, slipping it easily inside.

I watched, entranced, while he fucked her in the ass. I wasn’t a voyeur, but I liked porn as much as the next gal, and there was something extra sexy knowing this was live, happening right down the hall. Just two people I didn’t know getting their rocks off. Fuck, it was hot. I wanted to let my hand drift down between my legs, just a little casual touching…

Candy’s ass must have been as tight as her lips because the guy didn’t last very long. He pulled out, and Candy obediently turned around and went to her knees, pressing those ridiculous tits together for him. He pulled off the condom, stroked himself twice, and blew his load all over her cleavage while tilting his head back and letting out a silent cry of ecstasy.

I bit my lip. Alright. Maybe I could understand why men found those big fake tits sexy.

I shook off my trance and fished my thumb drive out of a pocket. While it connected, I examined the security camera software options until I found the “Export” section. I selected the right camera and told it to export the last five minutes to the thumb drive. A file copy bar appeared with that old Windows XP animation showing a piece of paper flying from one yellow folder to another. On the video feed, Candy was running her fingernails up and down the mark’s legs while softly kissing the tip of his cock.

The file was almost done copying when the office door opened.

Mickey was a muscular guy with a close-shaved head and a military tattoo poking out of the collar of his V-neck shirt. He flinched when he saw me.

“The fuck are you?”

I stood up and tried to act casual. 15 seconds left on the file copy.

“I’m looking for a job. The bouncer told me to come back here and wait. Said you take private auditions…”

I bit my lip and let the implication waft around his nose like perfume. Like the bouncer, Mickey took a moment to look me up and down. “Depends on what you’ve got under that coat.”

“Close the door and I’ll show ya.”

He hesitated. My heart skipped a beat as he glanced over his shoulder as if to go back and verify with the bouncer that he’d let me through. My story would fall apart quickly if they talked. But he’d clearly had a few drinks already, and there was more blood in his dick than in his brain. He closed the office door and sat on the couch, putting his hands behind his head.


Slowly, I took off my leather jacket, sliding it down my arms behind me and then pulling it along my side—allowing me to discreetly remove my thumb drive from the computer. I stretched, pushing my ample chest out toward him. Even without any exposed cleavage, it did the job of holding his attention.

I took three long, hi-popping steps toward him. Planting my hands on the wall on either side of him, I leaned in close until my chest was so close to his face he could stick out his tongue and lick my shirt if he wanted.

“How about I grab a costume from the closet?” I asked, turning away.

I don’t know what I would’ve done if he said no, but that was never a possibility. I had him the moment I took my jacket off. He watched me hungrily as I opened the door.

“Back in a sec,” I said, slipping into the hall.

The moment the door was closed I walked as quickly as I could down the hall. I cocked my ears to listen for the door to open behind me, for him to see that I was fleeing the scene of a crime rather than getting ready to suck his dick. All he would have to do was yell and the bouncer ahead would block my way.

The curtain to my left opened and a man bumped into me.

“Shit, sorry,” my mark said.

I gave him a pitying look. “I’m the one who’s sorry, pal.”

Nobody stopped me as I strode into the main room and out the front door to safety.



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