“I don’t think I’m better than anybody. We’re all here for the same reason, to make a living, that’s all,” I say.
“Girl, shut up. You don’t know why I’m here,” she snaps.
Okay, fuck off then and leave me alone.
I pack up my bag and storm out into the club. I have officially lost my clit throb. Now I’m just sexually frustrated and dying to punch someone in the face.
I take a few deep breaths until I calm my breathing, lock my bag in one of the lockers, and don’t speak to anyone until my music goes on.
My first dance is always “Bad Girl” by Girls Love Shoes. I start off-stage and dance with my silhouette behind the curtain for a few beats until I can smell the anticipation of the men in the crowd. And God, you can, you can smell it thick and heady in the air like a tangible thing.
As soon as I step out, my eyes follow the flecks of silver glitter that lay on the stage up through the soft heat of the lights right into the eyes of Corrado. He’s sitting off to the side, with a tall drink in his hand. I can see the condensation drip down the glass and over his strong thick fingers.
I turn my back to the audience and reach my arms over my head and grab onto the pole. Slowly I bend my knees and slide my ass down it. I peek over my shoulder at him and slide back up, a moan of his name on my lips.
Did he hear me whisper his name?
I turn, facing the room. Hundreds of hungry expressions look back at me. It’s really crowded tonight, and it makes me hesitate for a split second before I lean back and kick myself up into a Jade pose and lose myself to the rhythm of the music.
“Show off,” Candy laughs from the catwalk to the right of me. She’s dressed in a tiger-stripe leotard and is crawling around on all fours. She’s even wearing a pair of cat ears attached to a headband that’s holding back her wild curls.
I’m not showing off.
I spin around the pole into a Banana Split and try to ignore the guy in the front leaning over the stage waving a handful of Benjamin Franklins at me. One of the girls working the floor pulls him back by the shoulders and climbs over his lap. It’s Cherry. She can’t dance the pole but will give a guy a lap dance until he cums for a fifty in the private rooms. For another hundred she’ll meet you in your car and doesn’t mind an audience.
I watch her claw her hands around the wad of hundreds and crush them in her fists as she starts grinding on him slow. Some girls would get angry she’s stealing their attention away from the pole, but I’m not. Cherry’s got two kids under the age of five and an ex that hit her so hard the last time she saw him, she doesn’t remember his name.
Besides, I’m not here for just the money.
I’m here for vengeance.
Let’s just say I have daddy hang-ups.
Bigger issues than any of the other girls here, that’s for sure. I bet none of their families did what my own family did to me.
I slide over the dance floor to the edge, and hands, dozens of them, are slipping ones and fives into the straps of my G-string and into the pockets of the leather vest. They’re close enough I can smell their sour breaths and see the whites of their half-hooded eyes.
Corrado stands up from his chair and marches off to the back of the club. I lose sight of him in the throng of men staring back at me. I try to follow him with my eyes, but I know he’s gone, pissed off it’s not him touching me.
I know he likes me.
I’ve known for a long time.
I like him too. And that’s the reason why I need to talk myself into staying away from him. He’s going to throw a hitch in my plan.
I have a specific job to do and I can’t let my little crush on him get in the way.
When I step off the stage I’m drenched in sweat. Tonight the lights were harsh and unforgiving toward the end.
Back in the dressing room I pat myself down with a towel and yank all the money out of my outfit. I can’t wait to take a shower; during my last Bumslide to Split I got glitter where no fucking glitter should be.
I do a little make-up touch-up then head back out to the floor. I also want to get into Tony’s office and have a talk with him. I don’t ever want to be dragged to one of those card parties again. If it weren’t for Corrado…a shiver crawls down my spine just thinking about it. Jesus, Franco’s hairy old balls would have been slapping up against my ass.
In the hallway there’s a handful of girls crowding around some drunk guy. There’s glass all over the floor and it shines wet in the light. “Mop in aisle two,” Candy laughs up to me.
“No problem, you stand him up and I’ll get you a mop,” I say, as I watch her slip a hand nonchalantly into his back pocket to pull out his wallet. I pretend not to see. Candy doesn’t have kids, but she’s got a shopping problem and a guy she’s trying to impress with designer clothes and slutty lingerie. My face heats at the thought. It’s Franco. He’s old enough to be her father, but she’s been sleeping with him for so long she thinks she’s in love. She thinks he’s going to save her.
I’m sure Franco’s wife would disagree.
I jog down the hall and open the door to one of the back offices and grab the mop that hangs on the wall and hand it to one of the girls.
Standing in the doorway, I notice a dim light coming from one of the back rooms and look down the hall to count the girls. I know who’s on the stage and who’s on the floor tonight. The rest of the girls are robbing the drunk behind me and mopping up his spilled drink.
So who is in the lounge?
I step in and walk quietly to the back and freeze as my blood instantly rushes past my ears.
Corrado bolts up from one of the back couches.
My eyes travel down his body and stop on his unbuckled pants, his hands desperately trying to keep them up.
I look around for a girl. My heart is racing, because whoever it is I want to cunt punch. I’m breathless with jealousy. “Who are you here with?” I ask. My tone isn’t nice and I want to just crawl into a hole and die.
I’m so embarrassed that I walked in on him and someone else. Tears sting at my eyes. “Shit,” I breathe. “I…I’m so sorry—” I try to form words. I try to pretend that rage and hurt aren’t coursing through my insides. “I didn’t mean to interrupt anything, I…” Again I glance around to see which bitch I will envy for the rest of my life.
“I’m alone.” His voice is hoarse and raspy like he just got out of bed. “Watching you dance, I needed to…”
I open my mouth to say something, but words fail me.
He sits back down slowly, his eyes still locked on mine.
“I should go,” I whisper, but I don’t want to. I want him to ask me to—
“Stay.” His voice is rough and demanding.
“Stay?” I whisper.
“Take off your vest,” he says.
Slowly, I unhook the leather and let it slip over my shoulders and fall down my arms. I hold the vest with my pinky for a minute then let it drop to the floor.
He rakes a hand over his face, “Goddamn,” he breathes.
The ache between my legs pulses again. It’s the way he looks at me. Like he could devour me and still want more.
Without thinking, I slip my hand under the small patch of material under the front of my thong. I waxed a few days ago and my skin feels smooth and slippery.
I can’t help myself, I need to feed that ache.
“Show me,” he says breathlessly. “Show me your pussy.”
And I do. Slowly, I pull the material covering me an inch to the side. The air is cold against my bare skin, colder still when it hits wetness.
He slides his hand inside his jeans and leans back against the seat cushions. My eyes are on his hands, desperate to see him.
“I want to see too,” I whisper.
He smiles and brings his palm up to his mouth and runs his tongue down the length of it. I envy that hand.
He pulls out his cock and slides his wet palm up and down the shaft. He’s big and thick and my clit thro
bs harder just looking at him. “Sit down. Spread your legs. I want you to make yourself cum.”
I take a few steps closer and he leans forward, brushing his nose against my stomach as I pass, breathing me in. I sit down next to him, close but not touching, and I slide down my thong and spread my legs wide for him. There’s no other recourse I have but to press into myself and try to find some sort of release.
His free hand grips the back of the cushion where my head is. I think he’s holding himself back and that only makes me want him more. Sweat beads on his forehead and I can hear myself breathing heavier and heavier with the weight of his eyes watching me.
“Just watching you makes me need to cum,” he gasps.
His strokes get faster.
So do mine.
“Corrado,” I breathe, my insides ache so much I’m holding off cumming and I think it might kill me. “I’m so close.”
Then his hand is on me, pressing my fingers in deeper. He’s palming me, soaking his hands in my wetness and then back to stroking his dick, which now glistens with me. The sight pushes me over the edge and I feel the deep coil of sparks burst through my body. My heart beats wildly and my body trembles with a million spasms. “Oh God, oh God,” I gasp, squeezing my knees closed to ride out the orgasm.
“No, don’t close those legs,” he says, pinning my knees open.
He’s hovering over me now, his shoulder and elbow keeping my legs wide. I want to arch up against him and wrap myself around him.
“Fuck, fuck,” he grunts, as cum shoots over his knuckles and drips down his hands onto my stomach.
I watch as he finds release over me and smile up at him when he’s done.
“Next time I want you screaming my name when you cum,” he says.
“Then next time you better do more than just watch.”
Chapter 4
Corrado
Two hours before the club is scheduled to open I park in the lot and head in across the gravel. The lot is pretty much deserted, only one of the dancers' cars peeks out from behind the back of the building. It’s too early. None of them really want to know what goes on here in the daylight hours. Tony's Mercedes is there too, parked in front at a shitty angle.
“Selfish prick,” I mumble to myself. Later on he’s going to send out someone to fix it and when they ding the bumper he’ll cut the poor guy’s balls off.
Sometimes I think he does shit like that on purpose just to have a reason to hurt someone. I don’t think Tony Fretolli was hugged enough as a kid.
Who knows, maybe he was hugged too much.
I use my key and let myself in through the back.
My boots echo strangely across the faux marbled floor, the room’s surprisingly silent until I hear mumbles and someone’s muffled crying.
Shit. What the fuck is Tony doing now?
I pause to listen, then head for the back hallway, and push open the door with the low sounds coming from behind it. The room is bathed in red. Thick dripping red splatters of blood cover the back wall. Candy is on her knees panting and crying, her hands clasped over her mouth stifling her screams. Tony and Felony stand over her, both wearing the same shocked expression as Candy.
My eyes follow the splatters of red. They lead to a body. Franco's. His glazed eyes face up towards the ceiling and bullet holes spread out like a sick game of connect the dots across his chest.
Jesus. Poor Franco.
Not saying the fucker didn’t deserve it though.
I look to the girls. Candy's face is tear-streaked, her lips open wide puffing small rapid bursts of air. Felony leans forward as if taking in every detail. As soon as I’m close enough, her hands grasp my arms and she holds on to me tight.
It feels so damn good that I wrap my arms around her shoulders and bring her into my chest. She folds into me without a fight. I’m the safest bet in a cave full of monsters and she knows it.
"What happened?" I snarl, looking over her trembling shoulder to Tony.
Through a face full of snot and drool, Candy sobs, "I...I...I just found him heeerrrreeeee. I think. I think. I think," she bumbles and stammers, "I-think-he's-dead!" She raises a thin trembling hand to her face and wipes her whole arm across her nose.
"What made you come to that conclusion, sweetheart? The dozen bullet holes? Or the two gallons of red shit all over my fucking floor?" Tony rumbles angrily next to her. "Get her the fuck out of here," he bellows.
"But I was...I was with him last night..."
Tony and I exchange a look over the girls’ heads.
"I got her," Felony says, sliding her arms from around me and bending down to help Candy up. I’m instantly furious her touch is gone—more so than the fact that Franco got himself executed. Did Tony have anything to do with it?
"Stupid broads, they give me headaches," Tony hisses under his breath as soon as they’re out of sight.
My eyes scan the area. It doesn't even look like he put up a fight. It’s as if he was ambushed, by who knows how many guys.
"What the hell is that, Corrado? What the fuck is that?"
My eyes snap to his and follow his pointing finger to a note taped to a shelf right above Franco's pale-faced corpse. Scribbled on a piece of yellow legal pad paper are the words:
And now there's nine.
Ripping it out of its place, Tony crumples it in his fist, giving me a faint troubled glance. "Somebody wants to play a game? Sending this stupid message. Call everyone for a meeting in thirty."
“Yeah, boss. No problem.” Quickly, I thumb out a text to the crew about an emergency meeting, ending it with a line of triple nines. They all know the code and what it means. One of us is down, get here now.
"Fucking stupid guinea. What the fuck did he do?" Tony growls. “Who the fuck would…you think it was anything to do with—”
A shuffling sound comes from behind us, killing Tony’s words dead. It’s Felony walking back in with a bucket of water in one hand, a bottle of bleach under her arm, and a mop in her other hand.
"You get her to shut up?" Tony asks, looking up at her.
"No. She's still crying in the lounge," she answers, low.
"Fucking stupid goomah," he growls.
"I think she loved him, Tony. She’s going to be upset for a little while, let her grieve," Felony says, placing the bucket on the floor. Water sloshes over the side and mixes with the dark red of the floor.
"Eh. She's a stupid puttana. She loved sucking his dick for money. And I don't pay you to think, sweetheart."
Her eyes turn cold, and for the briefest of moments I think she may slap him. Instead she unscrews the bleach bottle and splashes the choking stench of disinfectant into the air.
Tony points down to the bleach and the mop. "What the fuck is that for?"
Her eyes narrow.
He turns to me and laughs, “This one never had to clean up blood before, huh? She must be a good girl.”
With my hand against the small of her back, I escort her into the back room, “You don’t have to clean up the mess. It’s not yours to clean. And trust me. The bleach won’t cut it.”
"What's going on, Corrado? Do you know anyone who would do something like that?" Her eyes are wide, looking up at me.
I know everyone who would do things like that. This place is full of them, how does she not see?
"Whoever did this is a fool. It was a message job. Somebody’s trying to tell Tony something. Nobody kills one of Tony's guys and gets away with it though,” I say.
“But that’s not true, is it? Someone killed a whole mess of the family a few years ago, right? It was the biggest mob hit in history.”
She’s right. That whole mess of a family was my family. My father. My uncles and aunts. My best friend, and Giana—the girl I swore I was going to marry one day. My little mafia princess.
Those days were different. In the old days you had to ask permission to get rid of someone. It was respectful. But no one asked for permission for the execution of my family and now there's n
o more rules. Now it’s an open game where no one is safe.
Her blue eyes stare into mine, waiting, watching, as if I have the answers to all the universe’s questions. There’s something about this girl, just something about her. Why the hell is she here in a place like this?
"Go home, gorgeous," I say, leaning in close to her. "Pick up a paper on the way home, look for another job. A decent one."
She picks up her purse from off the table and slips the strap over her shoulder. “But this is where I belong. On that stage.”
“No, love. You deserve better.”
She walks out the back door without another word and I watch her from the open door until she’s safe inside her car. I don’t think whoever popped Franco would go after one of the girls, but I don’t want Felony to be a part of this. I want her home safe, working as some secretary behind a desk and keeping her legs open only for me.
"Hey, Cassanova,” Tony calls from behind me. “The boys are here. We’re closing the club tonight. Let's clean this up.” He gestures his finger around. “Corey, I’m going to break the news to Franco’s wife. He was like a brother to me. We have to find out who did this, then I'm going to kill everyone involved."
I spend the next few hours washing blood off the walls and repainting.
I’m a zombie as I drive Candy home and tuck her into bed still crying. I feel nothing until I’m home, collapsing into my bed, and polishing off half a bottle of whiskey to drown away the images.
But they’re not images of Franco I see as my eyelids close.
It’s the same nightmare I’ve had since I was fifteen.
Bright warm daylight.
An explosion of sound, rattatatatatatat.
A moment of utter silence, then a chorus of devils screeching out bullets. A blur of suits and men and sweat. Giana's face drained of color. Her always-beautiful baby blues grew large, then glassy and glazed. I held her as the bullets zipped past us. I held her until they came and whisked who they could to the hospital. Then I sat and watched body bag after body bag devour all of the people I loved.
Vendetta Page 4