by Sadie Grubor
"It's fine," I choke out, pushing down the nausea caused by the memory.
Fucking hell, in the two years I've worked here, I've never had one, let alone two, fellow dancers decide it was time for a stripper heart to heart.
"She does have a point, though," she continues.
Snapping my eyes to her, I furrow my brow. So much for understanding.
"Look, I know people around here talk. I'm well aware my arrangement with Joey is public knowledge." She lifts one shoulder. "I have an end game, and in this life, the cards I was dealt were shit. So, I'm now stacking the deck in my favor."
"So, you sleep with him for money?" I ask, maybe a bit too much snark in my voice.
"Look, call it what you want, but my arrangement with him has already paid for my first year of college. The rest, I'm banking, ‘cause I know it won't last forever with a man like him," she confesses. "But Tricia's right, you gotta be smarter and play the game better."
"And what happens when the game cashes you out?"
This time, she lifts both shoulders.
"At least I tried to make my life my own. I didn't fucking sit around waiting for shit to happen or not happen to me," she states, smirking. "Look, I just wanted to make sure she didn't upset you, but I also know what it's like to be stuck in a place you desperately want outta. If I've learned anything in my short time here, it's that there are far more dark kings than white knights. It's up to you to save yourself, and sometimes, that's by any means necessary."
A sharp twinge of another memory, a necessary means, whispers in the back of my mind, wanting me to remember things I try not to.
After touching up her lipstick, she leaves me to myself.
Finding the strangers eyes in the mirror once more, I take in her face.
Can I really put my trust in a criminal? Is my only saving grace in those who lie, cheat, steal, and kill?
Hell, are you really any better than them?
Closing my eyes, I inhale deeply. Opening my eyes on a slow exhale, I silently answer my own question.
No. You're worse. You're a monster born from the darkest evil and shaped by sin.
But what if my past is dead? It's a possibility, though I can’t be sure. It's not like I can go looking into it or risk exposing myself. The moment I do, the instant I give anything away, he'll be here covered in red, or they'll be here in blue with their badges and handcuffs.
Unable to put Tricia's comments out of my head and tempted by the idea of choosing my sins rather than them choosing me, I decide to observe the club guests and Joey's special VIPs a bit closer.
In the following weeks, hidden in the dark corners of the club, behind curtains and through two-way mirrors, I watch these men, professional criminals, in some of their baser moments. The sex is usually rough. Like when one guy grabbed a girl by the throat, pinned her to a table, and fucked her hard enough to move the table a good couple feet. And then there are the drugs. Plentiful and readily available for any purpose they desire. Afterward, the girls are carried out of the private rooms, either heavily drugged or exhausted from use.
The darker part of me, the one I try to lock deep down, relishes in the voyeuristic moments. And when my hand is between my legs, it's these dirty, depraved instances I recall with clarity to ease the throb.
Having spent so many nights observing the behaviors that take place behind the velvet curtain within VIP rooms, my curiosity about the mistresses has grown exceptionally. And tonight I finally get the chance to see what occurs with these kept women. Vicky, the very one Tricia worships, has returned to the club covered head to toe in designer clothing on the arm of an important man. His expensive suit is tailored perfectly to meet his height and broad shoulders. Dark blond hair is brushed smooth against his head, highlighting the defined bone structure of his face. A strong square jaw, high cheekbones, and defined brow.
A cigar held firmly between his full lips, he speaks to the large entourage of men surrounding him. Some have their own Vicky counterpart, other's partaking in the women readily available at the club. The moment this group arrived, it was evident they were different. There's a dangerous power vibrating around them the groups from previous weeks didn't have. The dangerous aura they create is why I avoided them in the past, putting my head down and remaining unnoticed.
From shadowed corners and previous hiding spots, I watch the interactions. There's a certain hierarchy, a pecking order in the group. The men seated are definitely the ones in charge, though Vicky's suit is unquestionably the nucleus. Joey looks like a lap dog, running at the center man's command and doing his bidding.
I don't watch the group too long, fearing they’ll discover my inspection. Having learned enough of what can happen to those seen as a threat from previous observations, which I'm sure my spying would be considered, I slip away from the hidden corner, and rub the back of my neck, the feeling of being watched overwhelming. Refusing to glance over my shoulder, I walk toward the dressing room.
"No more," Natasha's soft plea in heavily accented English rings out, and I slow at a private room, leaning toward the door.
"Be a good girl," a man grunts, followed by Natasha’s whimpers.
A dull ache forms between my fishnet-covered thighs, and I shake my head, disgusted with myself. Though, it doesn't stop me from moving closer. The door inches open, and I clench my eyes shut, fighting back my darkness as her seductive whispers swirl in my head, telling me to watch, to listen.
"Please," Natasha cries.
"You're going to take it like the whore you are," another voice growls, and my eyes snap open, taking in the man pounding into her ass, his fist wrapped in her hair. He reaches around, placing his other hand over her mouth.
"Fuck, easy, Don," a man commands, and my eyes dart to the sound, finding the other voice naked from the waist down lying beneath Natasha.
Pumping up into her, he collars her neck with his hand and his fingers flex.
The skin on my neck tingles with craving.
"Don't be a pussy," Don barks, thrusting into her harder, pulling me out of my sick desire.
Her muffled scream pours from between Don's fingers as the other guy releases her neck to grab her hips and slams up into her harder, groaning before lying still beneath her. Releasing her, he delivers a heavy slap to the side of her thigh.
I clench my thighs, my clit pulsing, battling between disgust and a sick fucking desire to be her—to be punished.
On a grunt, Don releases her mouth and hair, then slides from her body, stumbling back a couple steps. Natasha climbs off the man beneath her, and he croons, grabbing her by the arm. “Tash, come here.”
She turns, a large smile on her face.
"I clean you," she states, running her fingers down his wrinkled dress shirt.
The broken English is clearly an act, exaggerating her Russian accent to play a part.
At his dangling legs, she leans forward. Face to now soft cock, she licks and sucks.
"Such a good girl." His fingers move through her hair.
"Christ, she does that every time?" Don asks.
"Natasha enjoys the clean-up," he states, pulling her off his dick by her hair. "Take care of our friend, babe."
At his command, she crawls on her hands and knees to Don, licking her lips. Removing the condom, she performs the same “clean-up.”
Pushing away from the door, I step back until my back presses against the wall and clench my eyes shut, trying to calm the wicked desire running through my body.
The rattle of the doorknob snaps me into movement, the sound of a slap, and then the two men laughing follows me as I make my way back down the hall.
When I reach the curtain leading out to the main floor, I realize I've walked in the wrong direction.
It opens in a swoosh of thick velvet and I come face to face with Joey, feeling the presence of the group behind him.
His eyes widen in surprise.
"Turn around, Mei," he orders.
Still trying to
come down from the lust-induced high, I only blink at his command.
"Move," he barks, and I fumble back, trying to make myself as unnoticeable as possible.
"Who's this?" a deep voice inquires, and my eyes dart to the group leader.
The bad guy nucleus.
Vicky's suit.
And his attention is solely focused on me.
"Felix, she doesn't—" Joey starts to explain my lack of private dance participation, among other things.
"I don't believe we've seen her. Have we, Joey?" Felix steps closer, taking my chin in his soft hand, and my stomach knots as I seek out Vicky, or any of the designer-clad arm candy from earlier.
"She's not on the VIP menu," Joey explains, sounding defeated.
VIP Menu? Is that what the other girls are?
"Exceptions shall be made," Felix states, releasing my chin. "Won't they, Gio?"
"Of course," an unseen man chuckles.
Felix offers me his arm, and I just stare, unblinking.
"Mei," Joey prompts, and my eyes move to him, though I'm frozen. "Take the fucking arm."
"Joey," Felix scolds, "is that how you talk to my precious girls?"
"Meissa," Joey growls, spurring me into action.
Sliding my satin-glove-covered hand over his arm, I reign in the desire still burning my inner thighs and my panic at this turn of events, and channel it all into the deceitful armor I wear.
Saint
I watched her skulk in the shadows of this dilapidated shithole where my cousin insisted we conduct his business tonight. Felix was unimpressed with this place from the moment Gio convinced him to visit two and a half years ago, and if it weren't for his obsession with Vicky, he would've never returned. Now, we're back in this cesspool of junkies, drunks, and whores to deal with Gio.
Not that he's aware of this fact. He only thinks Felix wants to visit the very place Gio's deceptions started.
So, when I locate the little spy, my own observations begin.
Her curious eyes roam over each person in Felix and Gio's party, her relaxed stance portraying how inconspicuous she thinks she's being. When her gaze lingers on Felix in great length, my suspicions escalate. Pushing away from my own dark corner, I begin my journey across the dirty red carpet.
Her body stiffens, and I pause, watching her eyes dart around the room before she takes off. Swirling lights illuminate her long blonde hair, fair skin, and barely covered ass as she steps farther and farther away from me. It's enough to identify her as a performer, but not one I remember seeing on stage since our arrival tonight.
Now, she's latched onto the very man she'd spent so much time examining.
Stepping inside the VIP room, Felix guides her to a high-back leather chair, then sits, looking up at her and patting his leg.
The shy, shock-filled girl from the hallway gone, she steps between his legs, sliding her curvy little body against his before planting her heart-shaped ass on his leg. Felix, always the man whore, grins wide, eating up her act.
And it's definitely an act. Her previous body language was anything but the seductress before me now. Panic and fear flashed in those pretty green eyes before she put her mask into place. Scanning over her, I look for anything that could be a wire or recording device. She doesn't have the smell of Fed about her, but you never know who they've recruited or blackmailed into doing their dirty work.
"You've been holding out, Joey," Felix scolds, running his hand along her fishnet-covered thigh.
"Sorry, sir, you know the girls have to agree to the VIP menu," Joey says, trying once more to let Felix know this girl hasn't consented to the things Felix surely wants.
Sliding his hand between her legs, Felix takes her chin in his other hand.
"Mei? That's your name?"
She nods.
"Such a shame, Mei." His thumb runs over her chin. "The things I could give you."
"Would you like me to bring in the girls?" Joey asks, drawing Felix's attention away from the girl.
"Not yet." He releases her chin and thigh. "There's something I want from pretty little Mei here."
It's a slight movement, but her spine straightens, and he slaps the side of her ass, gesturing for her to stand.
"Dance for me, Mei," Felix requests, motioning to the pole at the center of the room.
Her lips part, but close when Joey steps forward and whispers into her ear.
Determination sets her face and she gives him a nod before strutting to the pole located on a raised section at the center of the room.
The rest of the group settles into the chairs and couches lining the room, their eyes fixated on the little blonde, waiting for a show.
Stepping over to my cousin, I lean into his ear.
"You need to be careful, Felix. This one is hiding something," I inform him.
He meets my eyes as I straighten back to my full height and raises one brow.
"It's just a dance, Dante. Relax and enjoy the show," he says, waving off my warning, his eyes focused on his current distraction.
The blonde grips the golden pole, walking the circumference of the small stage, and I sigh, walking away and leaning against the wall behind Felix. He may not be concerned, but every instinct has me on high alert. There's something different about this girl. Something not right.
As uninterested as I am in whores, the moment soft music fills the room, I find my gaze drawn to her. Instead of the typical stripper anthems, the words “You don't own me,” float in the air, and the moment the classic song turns into a heavier, newer beat, I'm caught.
The sway of her hips, curve of her leg, and her hands moving over her body has every man in the room riveted. The moves are graceful, her face serene, and her eyes…fuck, her eyes blaze. But not with an act of innocence. No, there's a darkness deep within them—a contrast to her fair complexion. Her satin-covered fingertips dig into her skin, clawing their way up to remove the scraps of material she wears. She's sin wrapped in porcelain flesh.
My urges scratch their way up from the black pit deep inside me—the place where every sin, every terrible act I've done, resides. It's drawn to her. Every muscle tenses as she finishes the song with the arch of her back and slow slide to the floor. One hand on the pole, head tossed back, the ends of her hair brushing the spikes of her heels, and the soft, rounded flesh of her breast on display, my fingers twitch against my thigh. The need to dirty her, mark her, to break her surges through my veins in a rush of need.
The music lowers to make conversation possible again, and in a practiced move, she lifts and spins her body from the floor. Joey appears, handing her the dark red satin top and skirt she discarded moments ago before taking her arm and leading her toward the door.
"She stays," Felix says in a way no one would question or argue.
Joey stops, turning to Mei so only she can see his face. Speaking too low for me to hear, he releases her arm before continuing to the door.
"Come here," he orders.
Her eyes stay on Joey's back for a moment, before turning them on Felix.
In the briefest of seconds, panic flashes across her face before the seductress is back in place. Holding the scraps of satin against her chest, she struts toward us.
Felix stands before she reaches him.
"Allow me," he says, motioning for her clothes.
Hesitating just a moment, she places them in his outstretched hand.
Clenching my fist, I find it filled with leather and glance down. At some point, I'd pushed away from the wall and grabbed the back of Felix's chair.
Furrowing my brow, I release the chair on a shake of my head, and watch as he wraps the top around her body, securing the ties at the front before tossing the skirt away.
"Come." He takes her hand, pulling her back to his seat and placing her on the arm of the chair opposite where I stand.
Reclaiming the chair, he settles in, and calls out, "Joey, please bring them in."
Moments later, the room falls silent as Vicky is led int
o the room with the other whores and mistresses.
In my peripheral, I notice Mei tense.
The women gravitate toward their male counterpart. All except Vicky.
She stands across the room, a small smile on her red lips.
"Are you trying to make me jealous again?" she asks, her question teasing.
When Felix doesn't respond, Vicky struts around the room, running her fingers over shoulders, backs of chairs, and even stepping up to the pole.
"You forget I know your preferences," she continues, starting to move against the pole.
"My preferences?" Felix finally acknowledges her remarks.
Grinding against the pole, she nods, licking her bottom lip.
"She's too young." She gives him her back and glances over her shoulder. "And far too skinny."
Clasping the zipper at the back of her dress, she lowers it, allowing the material to fall away from her left shoulder.
"You prefer a woman's body," she continues, letting the dress fall completely.
In only a black thong and stilettos, Vicky returns to her dance, her ample breasts and full, round ass swaying and rolling. My fingers don't twitch to touch her, nor do my dark urges swirl to possess me.
Pushing out of the chair, he pulls his gun from inside his jacket and holds it to her eye level.
Fear flashes across her face before her eyes widen and a smirk forms. Opening her mouth and closing her eyes, she takes the barrel into her mouth and sucks.
"Mirage Hotel."
Vicky's eyes snap open and fade to black as her head jerks back, blood spraying the wall behind her as he pulls the trigger.
Feminine screams drown out the shouts of surprise from half the men. The other half, Felix's half, are aware of tonight's purpose. We have a traitor, and they are dealt with swiftly.
Not missing a beat, Felix turns the gun on Gio. The visible swallow and rounded eyes give away Felix's plans for the evening. A curvy blonde scrambles off his lap, backing away to the nearest wall.
My eyes flicker to Mei, and lock on. She stares at Vicky's body, but there is no hysteria or shock. In fact, there is absolutely no fucking expression on her face, and not a peep left her lips.