“Xander would never let me do that.” She exhaled in a rush, eyes closing as she nodded again. “It’s just an hour, and it doesn’t mean anything but a better paycheck.”
He dropped his voice and leaned in, whispering something so low I couldn’t hear. Dee shook her head. “I don’t want you to do that. Get Max to guard.”
There was more heated whispering. Grant’s walkie went off, and Xander’s voice came through.
“He wants you to stop by his office before you go on,” Grant told Dee.
“Is something wrong?”
“He wants to make sure you have everything you need.” He put his hand on her arm and led her out of the room. “You don’t have to take anything he’s offering.”
She shot one last glance at me before she rounded the corner, her fear overshadowed only by her regret.
Trixie sat at the station closest to the exit, following Dee’s departure in the mirror, her eyes the kind of blank I associated with too much chemical coping. Since that night in Xander’s office, she’d been relegated to the left stage, first set. After that she disappeared, and I doubted she was holed up in Xander’s office any more. I’d thought maybe she was working the private booths, but now I had to wonder if Dee’s special party was Trixie’s every night.
Whatever Xander’s new plans for her, they’d stolen the life right out of her. And now I was trapped here, waiting for Xander to collect his favor from me. I prayed it wasn’t going to be something that would ruin me, too.
Xander was still in his office when I came out of the dressing room. He’d given me a section in center, but it was the one closest to left stage, and that meant there’d be some bleed over. Following last night with Chris, and the way he’d shut me out, this wasn’t what I needed.
About an hour into my shift, I spotted Xander sitting at the bar with a group of six men, all in suits. They were likely the ones planning on the after party. Just because they were well dressed didn’t mean they’d behave themselves. Men in suits glossed their deviance. Formal dress didn’t mean dignity in this place. It was such a farce. Here it denoted entitlement and forthcoming degradation.
The blue-collar men, dressed in jeans and T-shirts, were often the most polite—like Chris had been, even though he was outside of blue collar and pushing fringe. His full sleeves and severe face should’ve scared me, but they never did, mostly because they made him so obviously different from the suits in the club.
Xander seated them over by left stage, close to me, but they were outside my section, so I wouldn’t have to deal with them directly.
For the most part.
One of them grabbed my wrist as I walked by. “When do you get up there, honey?”
I forced a smile, aware Xander was out and watching. “I serve the tables.”
“Why aren’t you serving my table?”
“You’re not in my section, sweetie. Maybe next time.” I winked and tried to walk away, but his grip on my wrist tightened. I met his sharp gaze. His pupils were huge, a sign that booze wasn’t the only thing these boys had been ingesting. They’d been rotating to the bathroom, which meant they were either shooting or snorting, probably the latter since needles were messy. Either way, drugs made men ballsy and stupid.
The girl serving their table rushed over. “Can I get you another Manhattan?”
“I want this one to get me a drink.” He tugged my arm, pulling me closer.
Xander stood up, crossing the room. His smile was both smooth and threatening as he spoke to Mindi. “Is there something our guest needs?”
“I want this one, but she says she’s not getting up on stage tonight. I want a private dance instead.” He let go of my wrist at Xander’s pointed look.
Xander’s smile stayed in place, but the tic below his eye gave away his irritation. He caressed my cheek with the back of his hand. “She’s rather lovely, isn’t she?” He shifted his heavy gaze from the suit to me. “I’m afraid Sarah isn’t available this evening.”
“Well, make her available.” The man’s hand went to his belt, adjusting it. Or himself.
Xander swept my hair off my shoulder, his fingers sliding across the nape of my neck. I tried to keep my expression neutral, but my panic was hard to control.
“I’m unable to accommodate that request. Sarah has tables to serve. Maybe another time, right, sweetheart?” His squeezed my neck, his thumb close to an artery.
I had to fight with my body not to jerk out of his hold. I smiled, hoping it didn’t come across as forced and afraid I was failing. I was petrified.
“Of course. Whatever you’d like.”
Xander turned his attention back to the suit. “As I said before, everything has been arranged already. I’m positive you’ll be well entertained, and if you’re not, I’m sure we’ll be able to find a way to rectify that. Now if you would be so kind as to let Sarah get back to her tables, they’re waiting for her service.” Xander slipped his hand in his pocket, eyes sharp.
The suit followed the movement. I’d wondered for some time if Xander was carrying, as his gesture was clearly intended to indicate. I couldn’t be sure if the threat was idle or real, but I didn’t want to find out.
I made my way through my section, trying to keep the tremble out of my voice and hands as I took orders and removed empty glasses.
A little while later, the smell of Xander’s cologne filled my nose as I stood at the bar, waiting for my drinks. It did nothing to calm my racing heart.
“What do you say, Sarah?”
“Thank you.” It came out a broken whisper.
“What, specifically, are you thanking me for?” His lips were right beside my ear.
“For telling him I wasn’t available.” For not cashing in the favor I owe you.
His dark chuckle left a prickle under my skin. “I think you should be thanking me for more than that.” He dropped a hand, fingertips following the lace band around my thigh-highs. “I think we’ve put off discussing the interest on your debt long enough.”
CHAPTER TEN
Sarah
Every time I passed the suit’s table, I could feel that man watching me. I didn’t make eye contact, overtly aware of the message it would send. Xander had taken up residence at the bar. His eyes were on me, too. My grace period was about to end, and I was terrified of what that would mean. What if he didn’t say I was unavailable next time, or worse, he put me in a situation like Dee’s?
Dee finished her early set at ten, and Candy took her place on the stage. As she began, the table of suits was escorted to the back of the club. Xander went with them, a slick smile plastered on his face as they passed the private booths and kept going. A sick feeling settled in the pit of my stomach.
I’d dedicated myself to getting a MBA to get away from all this, yet I’d been disappointed that so many of the men I’d encountered during my internship were just as much pigs as the ones who came to places like this. Money didn’t end up down women’s panties in the business world—at least not literally. Climbing the corporate ladder meant better pay and more power, and there were always shortcuts to getting there. One of the other female interns had already been dismissed for inappropriate conduct. She’d been caught blowing an account manager in a copy room. That was a path I would never take. I would earn every damn stripe and fight every last stereotype they threw at me. And so far I was succeeding. I’d earned respect because I worked hard and took my internship seriously.
But here things were different. Here I was the stereotype. My denying that guy meant someone else would have to deal with him. And I had a terrible feeling it was going to be Dee.
The suits passed through the area surrounding left stage, moving toward the doors leading to the private rooms. I searched the club for Grant. While I didn’t necessarily trust him, I knew he tried to protect the girls who weren’t all that keen on protecting themselves. I’d also seen how he was with Dee. He wasn’t like that with anyone else.
I found him straddling the line be
tween center and left stage, his attention focused on the private booths.
“What do you need, Sarah?” he asked at my approach.
“Who’s dealing with those suits tonight?”
His eyes narrowed, his bored expression morphing into something hard. “Tonight isn’t the night to be looking to switch roles.”
“Is it Dee?”
“Does it fucking matter?” His tone was blade sharp. For all his calm veneer, he was lethal when he needed to be. I’d seen him lay a guy out with one well-placed punch.
“One of the guys in that group was a handsy asshole.”
“Like that’s anything new. Let security do their job and get back to your tables.”
He wouldn’t look at me, which meant our conversation was over.
I returned to my section, but I kept an eye out for Dee. Five minutes later, she came out of the dressing room, escorted by Max. He delivered her to Grant, who softened as soon he saw her. He pulled her into the shadows, where he thought no one could see.
He tilted her head up, his thumbs sweeping across the hollow under her eyes. I could see his mouth moving. His tenderness made me believe he offered words of solace. And then he brushed his lips across her cheek. Whatever was going on between them, it wasn’t just about the job. There was a relationship there, and wasn’t that messed up? Because I had a feeling there was nothing innocent or sweet about what Xander had planned for Dee tonight.
When she and Grant drifted out of the shadows, he had his hand on her elbow, holding her steady as he walked her past the private booths. They disappeared through a curtain, and then he reappeared alone. He stood there for a long while after she was gone, talking on the walkie, his expression grim.
Less than half an hour later, there was a ripple in the air, a surge of electric emotion pulsing through the club. Security moved together toward the private booths, and the sick feeling in my stomach expanded.
Xander, who had been at the bar, made it back there before anyone else and pushed through the curtain. Hardly any of the patrons paid attention to what was happening off the stage. But the girls had noticed, and the energy in the room shifted, a current of fear turning the air sour.
Xander was the first to reappear several minutes later. Flanked by two security guards, he’d set his mouth in a flat line and slipped his right hand inside his suit jacket, Napoleon style.
I scanned the club for Grant, because he was usually right up Xander’s ass. I caught movement in the back corner, near a door I’d always assumed led to the storage closets. Three large bodies stepped out, keeping close together to create a tight, protective circle. The door across the hall opened and whoever or whatever was being concealed disappeared through it. Whatever was going down, it had to be bad.
The other security guards dispersed, mouths close to their walkies as they scanned the crowd.
Xander returned soon after, his long strides taking him back to the private booths, followed by more security.
Fear slithered down my spine as I stopped at my tables, taking orders for more rounds, checking to make sure customers were taken care of. Once everyone was set for a while, I waited a few minutes, then headed for Xander’s office, plagued by the feeling something bad was happening, or already had. Security wasn’t guarding the door, so I went inside the small waiting room. The black leather couch was empty, business magazines stacked neatly in the corner: a veneer of professionalism.
The doors to Xander’s actual office and the security surveillance room were both closed, as was typical. I glanced at the camera in the corner, waiting to see if someone would come out and send me back to my tables. I didn’t exactly have a plan. But I couldn’t shake the heavy feeling in my stomach, and I wanted to make sure Dee was okay. I pressed my ear against the door to Xander’s office, listening for something—an angry voice, the sound of someone being beaten, I had no idea.
I put my hand on the knob and turned, expecting it to be locked. It wasn’t. It rolled smoothly, and I opened it a crack, peeking through the tiny gap.
Dee sat huddled in the chair across from Xander’s desk, Grant’s massive suit jacket draped over her shoulders. Her knees were pulled up to her chest, her hair was a mess, and her mascara ran in black streaks down her cheeks.
Grant kneeled in front of her, one hand twined with hers, wiping away tears with the other.
He shushed her, whispering words I could barely make out. “It’s okay, Dee Dee girl. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”
She shook her head and shifted, yelping with the movement. When he smoothed a soothing hand over her hair, she turned her face into his palm, shaking and groaning. That was when I noticed her nails. Most of the diamond-studded tips had been broken off, leaving behind jagged, bleeding edges.
“I didn’t finish the hour. I don’t want to owe Xander. I can’t do that ag—” her broken sob cut off the words.
“You don’t have to worry about that. You don’t owe him anything, Dee Dee.”
“Trix made it sound like it wasn’t that bad. I didn’t think it was gonna be like that. I didn’t think—”
“It shouldn’t have been like that. I should’ve been there to keep you safe. I’m so fucking sorry. Fucking Xander. I’m gonna figure out how the feed got cut, and someone’s going to answer for this.”
She broke down, clinging to him. “I just wanna go home. Can’t I go home? I wanna get this off me. I don’t wanna look at what they did—” Grant’s arms encircled her, his huge frame dwarfing her slight one. I backed away, the sickness in my stomach turning to rot. I didn’t want to imagine what could have made Dee break like that, or leave Grant at risk of falling apart along with her. I pulled the door closed silently.
The door behind me opened as I turned to leave, Xander blocking my exit.
The outer door slammed, shutting us in together. His lip curled as he stepped toward me, chest almost touching mine. In my heels I was only a few inches shorter, but he was huge.
“What the fuck are you doing in here?” he demanded.
Anger overrode the typical fear he incited in me, anger at what I’d seen and heard and couldn’t unknow.
“You’re supposed to protect her,” I seethed.
His jaw tightened, eyes flashing with something so dark I feared I’d just gotten a glimpse at what the bottom of my grave would look like. But he had failed Dee, and in doing so, he’d put us all at risk.
“You need to get back to your tables.”
I made a disgusted sound and stepped around him.
He grabbed me by the wrist. “You’re good at keeping that pretty mouth of yours shut. I suggest you do exactly that unless you want to find out what it really looks like behind the curtain.”
I returned to the floor, and the next two hours were torturously slow. Grant never came back out. At the end of the night, when I went back to the dressing room to cash out, Dee’s bag was missing from her station.
The rest of the girls were as antsy as me, questioning each other. I stayed out of it, unwilling to share what I knew. If I did, I could very well end up in a place even darker than my current one.
Max was standing outside the door to Xander’s office as I approached. “Easy in there tonight.”
I nodded, smart enough to understand that was the only warning I’d get.
Xander didn’t even look at me as I passed over my receipts and waited for him to check. He barely scanned them before he waved me off. When I didn’t leave right away his eyes lifted, fingertips pressing into the top of the desk until they turned white.
“Destiny will be fine,” he told me.
“You mean physically?”
“Yes.”
“Isn’t that convenient for you.”
People recovered from physical trauma. Tenley was a prime example of that. Bones healed, bruises disappeared, burns turned into scars. But the loss of everyone she’d loved had left permanent stains on her soul.
I knew all about those. They were the reason I’d ended up here i
n the first place.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Chris
In the aftermath of the crap with my mom and managing the state of that house, I hadn’t dealt well with finding Sarah outside my door. I couldn’t decide if it was the unfortunate location I’d found her in, her need to make sure I was okay, or the way I’d fucked her that was the largest source of my concern and guilt.
I’d been aggressive with her, and that wasn’t my style—especially knowing most of the men she dealt with on a regular basis were exactly that way. But before that, she’d offered me more of herself, even beyond what I’d been willing to give her, which was ironic. I’d wanted to know more of her for a while now, but when she’d tried to give it to me, I’d shut it down. I couldn’t even understand myself.
When she’d messaged me later yesterday morning, I’d been in the middle of a session. By the time I was free, she was already at work. I’d started a message, but never sent it. I wanted to talk to her in person, not text her about my being a jackass.
In hindsight, anything would’ve been better than nothing.
And as if that poorly managed situation wasn’t bad enough, Ivy had messaged me yesterday mentioning the unusually clean state of the kitchen at our mom’s, and asking if I’d had anything to do with it. I played it off like I had no idea, but I worried my mom wasn’t going to be able to keep her mouth shut.
At this point, it had been more than twenty-four hours since I’d woken up alone in my apartment, wishing I’d been different with Sarah. The message I’d sent her this morning had gone unanswered. If I didn’t hear something before the end of the day, I was seeking her out, one way or another. I didn’t feel good at all about the way things had gone down the other night. And Sarah had tonight off, which I only knew because Lisa was bailing early to go for dinner with her or something.
It should’ve been me taking her out somewhere nice to eat. I’d probably only done that a handful of times thanks to our mutually crappy work schedules. The best I could typically pull off was takeout from Sarah’s favorite Italian place a couple of blocks away. Going out on dates indicated a different kind of relationship, and we’d never progressed that far. Except maybe we had. Sarah sleeping in my hallway told me this was about more than just sex and orgasms for her, like it was for me. So I couldn’t figure out why things still felt off with us. Or more off than I’d made them.
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