It wasn't everyday that a white boy stepped inside of The Black Diamond Strip Club, after all it was in the hood, southwest Atlanta to be exact, which made everyone there look at him suspiciously wondering what the hell he was doing there because he was clearly out of place.

With that being said there was only one thought on everyone's mind.

Was he five-O?

And if he was, then why would the police even bother because compared to other clubs in the city, The Black Diamond was a little hole in the wall strip club a good five miles from downtown Atlanta and a few more from Buckhead where the white strip clubs where located.

Which begged the question, why would he stop at their little humble establishment? Niggas were just trying to earn an honest living.

Something just wasn't right about him being there and that's why Terry kept his eyes on him from the moment he entered the club and sat to order a drink.

From his station in the corner of the club Terry could literally see everything.

At six-four, three hundred and twenty-five pounds, Terry was an imposing figure to say the least and his dark skin always glistened with a light sheen of sweat no matter what the temperate outside as if his large body just seemed to draw heat.

Even now as he watched the white boy, he had to wipe away the moisture that had gathered along his forehead with a clean white face rag.

The front door of the club opened, temporarily drawing Terry's attention away from his only Caucasian patron.

It was Fish and Terry quickly motioned him over with the wave of his hand.

Pointing to the white boy who was currently ordering another drink, he asked Fish if he'd seen him drive up.

Fish was the local drunk that hung around outside of the club trying to earn a few bucks to feed his addiction. He was a functioning alcoholic, doing little odd jobs here and there and would promptly get lost once he made enough money to buy himself a pint of gin.

Terry had him outside picking up trash around the club and promised him five dollars once he was finished. That's why Fish was there. To collect his money.

"Yeah I saw when he pulled up. Bruh is in a sleek black Porsche and it's sweet, man. I swear if I had a car like that..."

Terry sort of stopped listening as Fish ramble on in his fantasy.

Cops didn't drive Porches that was for damn sure. Not even the federal ones making the big bucks.

He pulled out his phone and texted Keith at the bar.

What's white boy drinking on?

Within seconds he got a reply.

Bourbon. The best in the house. His words.

Interesting, thought Terry as some of the tension left his big overheated body now that he knew bruh wasn't the Po-po looking to bust up his little club, but never the less he decided to keep an eye on him just to make sure there was no trouble.

Bonnie immediately peeped the black Porsche parked outside of the club as she walked up to the door, briefly wondering if the owner of the luxury vehicle was some ball player or rapper before she went inside to begin her night.

Every now and then they did get a homegrown celebrity looking to make it rain at the club. It didn't happen often, but when it did it made for a very good night and boy did she need the money right now.

No joke.

Her car was in the shop and it would cost five hundred and fifty dollars to get it fixed.

And if that wasn't enough, her rent was due in two days and thanks to her crackhead sister, she no longer had it, which meant she had to make that money back asap.

"You're late..again."

Bonnie refrained from rolling her eyes and getting an attitude as she turned around to face the giant of a man who towered over her petite five feet two frame.

After all, Terry was her boss and she needed this job.

"Terry you know I'm riding Marta until my car is fixed. The train was late, which made me miss my bus, so it wasn't my fault."

He scoffed. It was a very convenient excuse considering even when she had a fucking car, her ass was still late to work.

But the thing was he couldn't fire her if he wanted to because out of all his girls she made him the most money.

Bonnie was by far the prettiest girl he had dancing for him. She was light skin with green eyes and she had a hot little body which she knew how to move and other than being late, she gave him no trouble at all, she came to work, made that dough and then bounced. In and out. She minded her own fucking business.

"Where's the Porsche?" She asked before Terry could respond further to her excuse for being late to work, her green eyes eagerly scanning the club.

He chuckled softly in-spite of himself. Game recognizing game. Bonnie was about that money and he couldn't fault her for it because he was the same way.

"The white boy." He answered.

Her eyes zeroed in on him and in a manner of seconds she sized him up just by how he looked alone.

Hugo Boss suit.

Italian leather shoes.

A hundred dollar hair cut.

Her fucking mouth watered. Damn, she could practically smell the money from where she stood.

"He's definitely no rapper."

Terry laughed. "You think."

"Baseball player?" She wondered a loud because he was white and from what she could see from the back of him, he was of an ordinary height and build.

"Either way, he's not balling. Dude been here over an hour and hasn't thrown a single dollar, but he's drinking though. Bourbon...the expensive stuff."

Her eyes quickly scanned the club to see which girls were dancing tonight.

She only saw Teresa, Valerie and Ebony.

It was almost laughable. Shit, if she was him she wouldn't throw them a dollar either.

But what got Bonnie was the fact that neither of them where dancing for him.

Didn't they recognize money when they saw it? Or were they too intimidated to approach him because he was white?

Well either way, Bonnie didn't know and frankly she didn't care.

She needed to make her rent money tonight and would worry about getting her car fixed later.

"In ten minutes, I want you to have Benny put on Pony, okay?"

It was time to go make that money.

Damon Salvatore was oblivious to his surroundings. Of course, he knew that he was in a strip club, but he wasn't really paying attention to what was going on around him.

He was inside of his head. His mind a million miles away. But not really a million miles, more like five where his father lay fighting for his life in Atlanta's top trauma hospital in downtown Atlanta.

God sure did have a sense of humor.

Imagine his wealthy, pompous father Giuseppe Salvatore occupying the same hospital as the homeless, people on welfare and the working class.

Maybe it was a good thing he was in a coma, Damon thought to himself as he sat their drinking his bourbon, which wasn't that great but would do the job of silencing his mind of what was to come.

Just four days ago, his father had a stroke while at work and had to be rushed to the hospital. His brain began to swell and he had to have emergency surgery were the doctors had to remove part of his skull.

It didn't look good. In fact, his old man didn't look good.

Seeing his father like that got to Damon more than he cared to admit. And tonight, he'd suffered a seizure.

So Damon was in a really bad place right now, having a hard time wrapping his mind around everything that was happening, hence his rash decision to stop at this strip club which was a few miles from the hospital.

He just needed a drink. That's all. Something to take the edge off. A distraction from all the shit that was happening in his life.

But it wasn't really working to be honest because all he could think about was his father.

I'm just a bachelor
I'm looking for a partner
Someone who knows how to ride
Without even falling off

Damon heard the music, but he didn't look up from the glass of bourbon sitting in front of him.

But then two tiny feet in six inch stripper heels appeared in his line of vision. They were pretty feet, with shiny white polish painted on pedicured toe nails.

Damon lifted his head up and realized there was a girl dancing in front of him. A very pretty girl. With long wavy ombre colored hair that was dark at the top and got lighter towards the ends. She was short but she had curves in all the right places and amazing legs that looked buttery soft.

Gotta be compatible
Takes me to my limits
Girl when I break you off
I promise that you won't want to get off

Every thought that was inside of his head magically disappeared and it was a relief as he focused solely on her gyrating body.

It was as if she was placing a spell on him. Hypnotizing his mind as she danced.

And all he could do was watch, but his blue eyes ate up every movement.

If you're horny, let's do it
Ride it, my pony
My saddle's waiting
Come and jump on it

She was in all black, his favorite color. Wearing one of those bikini looking lingerie sets with the garter belts attached to the bottoms and fish-net stockings.

If you're horny, let's do it
Ride it, my pony

She suddenly dropped to the floor and began hunching the ground as if she was imitating a man fucking.

Sitting here flossing
Peeping your steelo
Just once if I have the chance
The things I will do to you

She sat up, facing towards him with her legs open and slid her right hand down the middle of her body, touching herself while looking dead at him.

Her eyes were green.

You and your body
Every single portion
Send chills up and down your spine
Juices flowing down your thigh

If you're horny, let's do it
Ride it, my pony

My saddle's waiting
Come and jump on it

She began grinding her hips as if she was literally riding him.

Damon's dick twitched inside of his pants and began to hardened underneath the table as he watched her ride, imaging himself beneath her.

He licked his lips.

Bonnie was beginning to get pissed off though as she danced for him, but her face didn't show it because she was a professional, but the song was coming to an end and this guy hadn't thrown not one dime her way.

What was his fucking problem? She'd danced exclusively for him for an entire song and nothing.

"What's the matter, handsome...you don't like my dancing?" She asked, and then stood up and turning her back to him, she squatted down in her six inch stripper heels and began popping her ass mere inches from his face.

If you're horny, let's do it
Ride it, my pony

My saddle's waiting
Come and jump on it

Never had Bonnie Bennett given a free dance and she wasn't about to start now.

"The song's almost over. Tip me." She said looking at him from over her shoulder.

Damon snapped out of the slight daze she'd put him in and placing his hand inside of his jacket, he pulled out his wallet.

Clearing his throat, he pulled out two hundred dollar bills and handed it to her. But instead of taking it, she stepped closer, her feet on either side of his glass of bourbon and Damon placed the money underneath her left garter belt. His finger-tips lightly grazing her thigh and her skin was as soft as it looked.

"See, that wasn't so hard." She said, and then turned to walk away.

Damon immediately spoke up, stopping her. "Wait!"

Bonnie turned back to him to see what he wanted.

"Yes?"

Damon swallowed hard. For a split second his mind going blank as she stared at him with those green eyes of hers.

"I want another dance." He said.

"It's gonna cost you." Being up front because she wanted no misunderstandings.

Damon nodded his head and Bonnie watched in utter fascination as he opened his wallet back up and pulled out every last bill inside of it.

"How many dances will this get me?" He asked looking up at her.

Bonnie smiled down at him. "Baby, you've got me for the entire night."