by Lee Savino
“Time’s up, that’s what,” a voice barked.
“Just finishing up,” I called.
Joel picked my tutu up off the floor and handed it to me.
I took it, but my hands were shaking so much I could hardly get it on. My face was burning. How the hell had that happened? How had I gone from not wanting to see him again, to… orgasm?
He pulled out a business card from his pocketbook. “Put this number in your phone, and call me, anytime. If you’re in trouble. Or if—you just need to talk.”
His voice went soft, almost broken, and I stared at him, startled.
I put my hands behind my back, refusing to take the card. “Joel, I can’t—”
The door burst open, and meathead number one was gawking at us. He looked almost disappointed that he didn’t get to catch us doing anything.
“How was she?” He leered at Joel.
“Good,” Joel muttered as he groped for his hat. Then he gave me a long look as he left the room.
I watched his broad back retreating, my ass stinging from his hand, my clit throbbing, and my heart calling out to him.
I longed to go after him, to beg him to take me away and keep me safe.
But I cared for him too much to put him in that position. I couldn’t ever see Joel Hudson again.
Chapter 6
Isabelle
For the rest of that shift, I didn’t care about anything. Didn’t care that Anton had groped my bare ass three times tonight. Didn’t care that every time I went into the changing room, the bitch waitress who’d sold me out was in there, gossiping with the strippers and racking up lines on the counter.
All I was thinking about was Joel. His thick, skillful fingers inside me, working an orgasm out of me. His heavy hand spanking my ass. I loved it, and I had no idea why.
And that freaked me out, big time.
With every slap he’d given me, I’d gotten more turned on. Hungrier for the next one. I’d deserved the punishment. I’d never thought of him as just a cowhand. I’d looked up to him. He was the sexiest, smartest, coolest guy I’d ever seen. But I’d hurt him with my insults and my childish lies, I knew that. And I wished more than anything I could go back and undo it all.
I’d probably thought about that night a thousand times. If I hadn’t lied about Joel kissing me, then my parents wouldn’t have left the vacation early. Then they wouldn’t have been in such a rush to buy the horse, to make it up to Christina and Bobby. Then they wouldn’t have been on the road at the same moment that the semi was blowing through…
It was my fault they were all dead. How could I still be alive, when all the people I loved were gone—because of me?
The thought had eaten me up me over the years. Dragged me through one shitty situation after another.
As I spun around the pole in front of a brainless bunch of losers, I recalled the sound of Joel’s hand on my ass. Spanking all the shame and guilt out of me. Converting it to a bone-deep arousal.
I needed to be punished.
I knew it as sure as I knew how to plié. Deep down, and as subconsciously as an instinct.
For a while, the pain gave me some peace in my soul. The sting cut through the noise in my head, grounded me. Made me feel alive.
In a brief meeting, Joel had uncovered a secret I’d hidden from myself, and given me hope, hope that there might be some redemption for me in this screwed-up mess of a life. He was gone forever, but he’d given me a gift. And maybe, just maybe, I could find my way back to being whole.
The following afternoon, I stopped by the auto mechanic before work to pick up my car, aka the junk monster. I’d bought it for a thousand bucks, and spent the same again on new parts. They’d fixed a couple of things, but apparently, it was pretty much done. “The alternator could go anytime, and if that happens, it’s not worth fixing. You might as well buy a new car,” the mechanic told me cheerfully.
FML. Now I ‘owed’ the club a bunch of money, there was no way I’d be able to buy another car. I’d be taking the bus long term. It wasn’t so bad in summer, but I dreaded those dark winter nights. The icy pavements and freezing winds.
I drove to Hope and parked up in the lot around the corner from the club. Before I climbed out, I reached behind me and picked up a brand-new dress from the back seat. At the end of yesterday’s shift, Elio had shoved a wad of money at me.
“Go buy yourself a new dress,” he’d said. “Something nice. White. Virginal. And some of those lady shoes. I don’t mean stripper shoes. The kind you wear at a nice party.”
I groaned as I hauled my stripper bag out of the trunk of the car. Who knew what they were cooking up now? Probably some kind of ‘corrupting the virgin’ show.
As if corrupting the ballerina wasn’t humiliating enough.
My gut wound tight as I got ready for my first show. Tonight, I was supposed to be down to the nipple covers and a G-string. Ninety-percent naked. One more week until absolutely nothing was left to the imagination.
I glanced at my rear view in the mirror, wanting to know how much I was revealing to the audience. I grimaced. My entire back and ass were bare, except for a couple of pieces of string.
But what was that? A light, purplish mark in the middle of my right cheek. I prodded it experimentally. It was a little tender. A shudder went through me.
An imprint from Joel’s hand.
The mafia goons might think they owned me, but no one could possess me like he had. Could make me come around his fingers.
I liked the thought that the bruise was there. That the audience might see it, but not realize what it was. The thought cheered me up a little.
The first show was easy. Since it was early, there were only three guys in the room, sitting at individual tables, looking awkward, as lone guys usually did. They didn’t try to tip me, and I was glad I didn’t have to get close to them so they could slip those tacky paper dollars into my garter and try to grope me at the same time.
The second show was fine, too, but I felt edgy and distracted, wondering what those thugs wanted from me tonight.
When I was walking off stage after my third show, Elio stuck his head out of his office and beckoned to me.
My gut tightened. Jesus, why does he want to speak to me now, when I’m literally just wearing the thong and pasties?
Instinct told me to rush to the changing room and grab some clothes. Sense told me to do exactly what I was told.
Biting down on my nerves, I trudged into his office. Four of the goons were piled into the cramped, smoke-filled room, along with a skinny guy in a gray suit. I froze, fear clutching at me.
Alone and just about naked in a room with five guys? I backed up against the door, scrabbling for the handle while my eyes darted toward the small, high window. Do I have a chance of escaping if it comes to it?
Not in hell.
Elio was lounging in his leather swivel chair, grinning broadly, while Anton perched on the edge of the desk, dressed, bizarrely, in a three-piece suit. I looked from one to the other, knowing I wasn’t going to like what was coming next.
I fought the urge to cover my boobs with my hands. I knew it would just draw attention to how vulnerable I felt and, like a pack of wolves, they’d scent my fear and start closing in.
“Don’t look so scared, my dear.” Elio’s avuncular smile failed to reach his dead-fish eyes. He leaned forward and clasped his hands on the desk. “I have good news for you…” He paused dramatically. When I didn’t ask what it was, he gave an irritated cough and continued, “We’ve decided to forgive your debt.”
I stared at him wordlessly while my brain struggled to catch up. Why the hell would they do a thing like that?
I swallowed hard. Unless they have something even worse planned for me?
“Don’t you want to know why?” Anton piped up when I still hadn’t said anything. My attention darted between them; I felt like a trapped animal. They were looking at me with barely suppressed excitement.
“Go on then, tell me,” I said
with the nonchalance that I always affected to hide my continual blind terror.
Anton stood up, his dark eyes dancing. He would have been handsome if he wasn’t an evil buffoon. “Because we’re getting married.”
The ground lurched beneath my feet. “What?”
“You and me.” He gesticulated, as if I might have been confused about which people he was referring to. “We’re going to be husband and wife.”
I blinked. “You’re proposing to me?”
He gave a solemn nod, and pressed his palms together as if he was praying. “We can call it that.”
The blood drained from my head, and I staggered against the door as I began to understand that he was serious. They weren’t toying with me. “Well, thank you for the offer. But I’m not in the market to get married right now.”
Anton turned around and grinned at the others, and they burst into raucous laughter.
“You hear this one? She’s funny, ain’t she? Got a little spirit. I like that in a woman.” His face turned serious again as he looked at me. “Mostly because I like to beat it out of them.”
My legs were trembling, and it was all I could do to stay on my feet.
“We’re getting married. It’s decided. And I think you’ll be happy with the arrangement. Do you want to know why?”
I jutted my chin out. “Enlighten me,” I said carelessly, but the words almost stuck in my throat. My heart was beating so hard, I could feel a pulse pounding in my skull.
“We’ve done a little digging around about that famous ballerina history of yours.” He paused momentarily, and my stomach turned to lead. I had no idea what was coming next, but I knew it was something.
“It turns out that those parents of yours—and I was truly sorry to hear of their tragic deaths…” he laid one of his meaty hands on his chest, “created a trust fund for you. And the money is to be released to you when you get married.” He turned his head. “Show her, Ricky.”
The skinny man in the suit stood up and prowled over to me, lean and gray as a wolf. He handed me a document.
I took it with trembling fingers. It was a photocopy of a certificate, bearing the names of my parents, and mine. At the sight of their signatures, my eyes prickled. I recognized my dad’s easy scrawl, and my mom’s mad loops. There was a little over $600,000—I guessed from my earnings and probably their life savings, as well—to be paid to me either when I turned twenty-five, or got married.
“So there it is,” Anton said. “You and I are going to get married, to enable you to receive what is due to you. And in the old Albanian custom, upon marriage, everything that belongs to the wife is given to her husband. From her body, to—in some cases—her fortune.” He treated me to a long, slow smile, his eyes raking up and down my almost-nude body.
My throat convulsed.
This could not be happening. They were going to take everything from me. Every last thing. I’d known nothing about this trust fund. Hadn’t expected my parents to have left me anything. I thought how much comfort it would’ve brought me to have known there was something out there for me.
My legs couldn’t hold me any longer. I crumpled to the floor and hid my head in my hands, willing myself not to cry in front of them.
They let me sit for a good few seconds while I absorbed the news. Then, two rough hands grabbed my upper arms and hauled me to my feet. Anton was looking at me more gently than usual. “You bring that dress with you?” he demanded.
I was too beaten to do anything except nod.
“Go get it,” he told me. “And clean up your face.”
I grabbed the door handle and burst out of the room. Then I scurried along the corridor, hoping I could somehow get to the exit before they caught up with me.
“Don’t be long,” a voice boomed behind me. My heart sank. Of course they hadn’t let me go alone; one of the bouncers was following me down the corridor.
The changing room mirror revealed that I had been crying, quite a lot, and my heavy black mascara streaked my cheeks in spider trails. I took out my make-up bag and fixed it as best I could.
The thug burst into the room. “Why aren’t you wearing the dress?” he demanded.
Sighing, I pulled off my stupid heels, dragged the dress on, and stepped into the new shoes. They were dainty, with little ankle straps. My hands were shaking so much, it took three attempts to fasten them.
“Good.” The goon looked me up and down approvingly. I snatched up my purse as he grabbed my arm and dragged me back to the office.
Anton was peering into a hand mirror and grooming his beard with a tiny comb.
He also looked me up and down. “Much better. Less slutty now,” he said, as if walking around nude had been my idea.
I opened my mouth and closed it again.
He clapped his hands together. “Let’s go.” The others got to their feet, and a strange look of pride crossed Elio’s craggy features.
“Where are we going?” I demanded.
“To the church,” Anton said, as it if was obvious.
I frowned. Why would they go to the trouble for a sham wedding like this? “Why?”
“I want some nice photos for my mëma. Back in Albania,” Anton said, and his eyes turned tender.
His mother?
I looked from him to Elio and back again in disbelief. Somehow these gangsters’ sick, depraved minds were converting this into something real.
I didn’t know what was worse.
Anton swung the office door wide open. “Come on.”
They herded me through the back door and around the side of the building where a stretch limo was waiting. I climbed in on legs that felt like Jell-O. The doors closed and the car pulled off.
This was really happening. Panic surged in my chest.
Anton opened a door to a mini bar and handed around a bunch of glasses. Then he grabbed a bottle of liquor and started filling them.
“You want one, my darling?” He inclined his head to me. “Eastern courage.”
“Yeah,” I said, stalling for time, all the while staring wildly out of the limo’s windows.
I took my glass, toasted my upcoming wedding to a monster, and pretended to knock it back.
The car stopped at a traffic light. They went in for another round of cheers. I grabbed the door handle. It opened.
I jumped out and ran like hell through the heavy traffic, darting between cars. A minivan braked hard, its tires screeching as the driver leaned on the horn.
“Tinkerbell! Get back here!” a voice bellowed behind me.
I ran flat out. They had guns, I knew that. But I also knew that becoming an Albanian mob wife would be a fate worse than death. I kept going. The lights changed. Horns blared, and brakes squealed. There was shouting and swerving.
“Let me through,” a familiar, deep voice yelled.
I’d made it to the opposite side of the road. A mud-spattered pickup truck pulled up beside me. The passenger door was open. “Get in!”
I was dreaming, that was it. Because there was no way on earth that Joel was staring at me from the driver’s seat. “Get in and get down,” he said.
I didn’t need to be told twice. I leaped through the door, closed it behind me, and hunkered down in the footwell.
He began to drive. “Don’t think they saw you getting in,” he muttered. “Better make sure we lose them anyway.”
I curled into a ball as the truck began to turn corners, accelerating hard on the straight stretches. I was getting thrown from side to side, but I didn’t care.
All I cared about was that Joel had rescued me from the mob. From the worst fate imaginable.
I could hear him breathing hard and muttering to himself, but I stayed quiet, not wanting to distract him.
Time passed—I didn’t know how long. But at last, the truck pulled to a stop.
“You can come out now,” he said in a calmer tone.
I crawled out of the footwell and pulled myself up onto the seat, looking around anxiously. We w
ere parked in front of a modern-looking building. Brookmere Police Department said the sign above the entrance. I huffed in relief.
“Are you okay, little one?”
I turned my head. Joel was looking at me with such concern.
I’m no longer alone, I thought.
And I burst into tears.
“Oh, Isabelle,” he said softly, and held his arms out.
I clambered out of my seat and into his embrace. Somehow it felt natural to be in his lap, my head pressed against his chest and his big arms around me, keeping me safe.
Tears rolled down my cheeks, and I cried and cried. For what had just happened; for all my fear and distress. But also for everything I’d lost in the years since we’d last known each other. My heart had been shut tight, like a nut, and now it cracked wide open.
And Joel held me. He didn’t try to shush me, just rubbed my back and let it happen.
“It’s okay,” he said, over and over. “Everything’s going to be fine.”
When I finally lifted my hot, tear-stained face, he was ready with a tissue. Tenderly, he dabbed at my eyes, then he held it over my nose.
“Blow,” he said, and I was so dazed that I let it happen. Let this stupidly handsome guy collect my snot for me.
“I’m sorry,” I said weakly.
His eyes glowed with sympathy. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. I’m just glad you’re safe.”
I frowned. “B-but what were you doing outside the club?”
“I’ve been stalking you,” he said seriously, and shoved his hat back on his forehead—that adorably familiar gesture of his. He looked so little like a weirdo stalker and so much like every girl’s dream that I burst out laughing in a dry, choked voice.
He shrugged. “I’m not proud of it, but it’s true. Ever since that first night, I knew there was no way I could leave you to deal with that place alone. I followed you home, and I’ve been following you to work. If that freaks you out, you can probably get them to arrest me.” He tilted his head in the direction of the police station.
I bit my lip, thoughts swimming. He cares about me that much? The thought was too big for my brain to contain. “It doesn’t,” I said. “I know you were doing it because you care.”