The Biker,The Billionaire,And Me
heislawyeree3 · Ongoing · 33.9k Words
Introduction
Meet Nico Bellami: billionaire heartthrob, sinfully handsome, and absolutely done with being controlled.
She’s Red: curvy, mysterious, and a stripper who’s never been touched. She dances to survive, not to seduce—but she ends up saving a drunk billionaire from a biker gang in the worst part of town.
She means to help him home.
Instead, she crashes his engagement party.
And before she can escape, he pulls her close, smirks at the cameras, and says—
“This is my wife.”
Chapter 1
Intro...
Welcome to Crimson Halo—the most elite strip club in the city.
Where billionaire heirs and dangerous biker kings drop three million dollars a night just to watch their favorite girls dance.
And Red?
She wasn’t just another performer.
She was curves, danger, and quiet fire—wrapped in lace and mystery.
With hips that could hypnotize and breasts that defied gravity, she moved like sin and looked like salvation.
But she was hiding something no one knew...
Red
“Red!”
Miss JLo’s voice sliced through the bass-heavy beats of the dressing room, sharp and impatient.
Red exhaled, her gaze lifting from the mirror. Time to face her again.
She stood, adjusting the hem of her sequined outfit, and slipped into her heels. The click of them echoed through the hallway as she approached the door.
Miss JLo stood with her clipboard, fake lashes, and that all-knowing smirk.
“Marcelo from Italy’s here again,” she said. “He dropped two million. Cash. All for one night with you honey.”
Red blinked. “What?”
Miss JLo stepped closer. “He wants to be the one. Said he’ll pay to be your first. Girl, this is your golden ticket. Do you know what two million could do for you?”
Red’s heart dropped. That kind of money could change everything—her surgery, her never ending debts, and freedom.
But still—her stomach twisted.
“I’m here to dance, not to sell my body,” she said quietly.
Miss JLo scoffed. “Opportunity like this comes once. You think shaking your hips for chump change will get you out of this hole?”
Red bit her lip, staring at the floor.
Two million..
This could cover everything. She could stop worrying about dying before she hit twenty-four. She could breathe.
But her chest tightened.
She straightened her spine. “No. I’m not for sale.”
Miss JLo rolled her eyes and walked off, muttering something under her breath already knowing Red would reject the offer.
Red sank back into the chair.
She was twenty-three. A virgin. A stripper. A walking contradiction. With curves that made men drool and a face too soft for this world, Red was the Crimson Halo’s main attraction.
But behind the lights and the music, she was just a girl trying to live.
Three hundred dollars a month. That’s what she earned—saving every penny to pay for the surgery that might keep her alive and to cover the debt her mother left behind.
Miss JLo was the owner of Crimson Halo—the kind of woman who ran the place like a business, not a family. To her, every girl was a product. And Red? She was the most expensive on the shelf.
She always advertised Red like some rare diamond, whispering her name to rich men in smoky booths and VIP rooms. Tonight was no different.
“Marcelo Italy wants you,” she’d said. Like it was nothing.
Red had heard the name before. Marcelo wasn’t just any man—he was a known drug lord. Dangerous. Powerful and twice her age. The kind of man who got what he wanted, no matter the cost.
And now he wanted her.
Her first time.
Red clenched her fists, jaw tight. No way.
She didn’t come here for this. She wasn’t like the other girls. She didn’t care how much money was on the table.
That first time—what little she had left—meant something.
She wouldn’t waste it on Marcelo Italy. Not even for two million.
Time to get going. She sighed as she changed into her decent dress, pulling off the glittery thong she had used to perform for the hungry men earlier.
It reeked of sweat and cheap perfume. She folded it quietly and tucked it into her backpack.
The hallway lights came to life as she stepped out, heels clicking against the floor.
The music still thumped in the distance, drowning out the sound of half-drunk men shouting over each other.
“Hey, Red... give me a private show,” one of them slurred, licking his lips like he hadn’t eaten in days.
“Damn, baby, shake that ass again,” another chimed in, his eyes dragging over her body like he owned it.
She ignored them as usual, brushing past the vulgar whispers and catcalls, making her way to the backdoor. Her shift was over, and all she wanted was to get home, crawl into bed, and forget the night.
But then, her eyes landed on something —
A clean-cut, handsome young man—probably not older than thirty—sat at the edge of the bar.
His tuxedo looked like it had been hand-stitched in Italy, and the watch on his wrist could pay off half the club’s debts.
In front of him sat nine empty bottles of whiskey. From the way his head swayed slightly and his eyes blinked in slow motion, he’d been drinking all night.
What really caught her attention, though, wasn’t the man.
It was the group of men standing too close behind him.
The Nexus Valley.
A dangerous biker gang known across the city for stealing from the rich and beating anyone who got in their way. She’d seen their type before—rough, tattooed, always reeking of trouble. They weren’t here to drink or flirt.
They were circling him like vultures.
One of the Nexus Valley men leaned closer to the drunk guy, eyeing his watch like it was already his.
“Rich boy don’t even know where he is,” he muttered to his friend with a chuckle.
“Bet that watch would look better on me,” another said, low and gritty. “Tux too. Let’s help him outta it.”
They all laughed.
Red felt her stomach twist. She didn’t like getting in the middle of trouble, but something about this didn’t sit right. She could walk away. Pretend she didn’t see.
But she didn’t.
She stepped closer, her heels clicking against the floor.
“Excuse me,” she said loud enough to catch their attention. “He paid for a private night. He’s with me.”
The tallest one turned to her, tattoos crawling up his neck. “You his girl now, sweetheart?”
Another snorted. “Didn’t know rich boys liked used goods.”
Red forced a smile, ignoring the sting of their words. “He likes what he likes.”
Without waiting for permission, she slid her arm around the drunk man’s shoulder. He reeked of whiskey and barely stirred as she tugged him to his feet.
“Come on, baby,” she whispered, her voice steady even though her heart raced.
The bikers just watched, smirking, letting her pass. They weren’t here for a fight.
Red guided him through the hallway and out the back door, her arm wrapped tightly around him. He stumbled beside her, completely gone.
“You’re lucky I saw you,” she muttered under her breath, dragging him into the night.
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