Page 3 of Never Distract a Biker

Marina’s lips curl into a sly smile. She leans back in her chair, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief. "Two choices are before you, my friend. One, you can grace the stage at DanceCheck, the club where I used to work. Those curves and that beauty of yours will make you a sensation, and the money will roll in."

My cheeks flush at her words, a mix of embarrassment and curiosity blooming within me. Stripping? I’ve never even entertained the thought, but my situation is dire. "And the other option?" I ask, my voice steady despite the unease bubbling inside me.

Her smile turns almost predatory. "Or ... you can become a sugar baby. There are wealthy, older men out there who would pay a fortune for a beauty like you to hang on their arm. A different kind of dance, but one that pays even more handsomely."

I gape at her, my mind struggling to process what she’s just suggested. "You want me to become a ... a service lady to a sugar daddy?"

Marina rolls her eyes, crinkling her nose in exaggerated disdain. "What cave did you crawl out from? No one calls them sugar daddies anymore. We call them Zaddy now."

"Zaddy?" I repeat, incredulous.

"Yes, Zaddy," she says with a smirk as if the term alone should convince me.

My mind reels at the suggestion, a storm of emotions swirling within me. I’ve never imagined myself in such a role, but the prospect of saving my mother pushes me toward considering the unthinkable. “I ... I don’t know, Marina. I’ve never done anything like that.”

Marina’s voice softens, her tone turning almost maternal. "Scarlett, listen. I know it’s not an easy choice. But sometimes, we have to do what’s necessary. You need the money, and these options can provide it. Stripping or sugar, the choice is yours."

I take a deep breath, my eyes drifting to the window. Outside, the bustling New York streets seem to mock my dilemma. Becoming a stripper or a sugar baby—two paths I never thought I’d have to choose between. But my mother’s life hangs in the balance, and there’s no time to dwell on my pride or my fear.

"I’ll do it," I hear myself say, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside. "I’ll try stripping. It’s ... I prefer it to the alternative."

Marina’s eyes light up with a mix of surprise and admiration. "That’s my girl. I knew you had the spirit for it. DanceCheck willbe thrilled to have you. You’ll be a star, Scarlett. Just wait and see."

"Yay," I mutter dryly, sarcasm dripping from the word. "I can’t wait to show my bare ass to a bunch of horny men."

Marina laughs, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "You’ll thank me later. Trust me, Scarlett, you’ve got what it takes to make serious money."

The conversation lingers in my mind long after I’ve left the coffee shop. That night, I lay awake in bed, staring at the cracked ceiling of my tiny apartment. The idea of becoming a stripper feels surreal, like something out of a bad dream. But every time I consider backing out, I think of my mom lying in that hospital bed, her life slipping away with every passing day.

The next day, Marina takes me to DanceCheck. The club's exterior is nondescript, with tinted windows and a bright neon sign that flickers slightly. Inside, the air is thick with the scent of perfume, cigars, and alcohol, and the dim lighting gives everything an otherworldly glow. Marina leads me through the main floor, where women in glittering costumes sway and twirl on stage, their movements graceful and hypnotic.

"This is where the magic happens," Marina says, gesturing to the stage. "And over there’s the VIP lounge. That’s where the real money is. You have to strive always to be sent to that section."

I nod, my throat feeling dry like the desert as I take it all in. The atmosphere is overwhelming, but there’s a strange allure toit as well. Marina introduces me to the manager, a slick, sharply dressed man named Vincent. He looks me up and down, his eyes lingering a little too long, but he’s professional enough to keep his tone neutral.

"You’ve got a good look," he says after a moment. "We’ll give you a trial run. If you do well, you’ll make good money here."

My stomach churns with a mix of nerves and determination. I know this isn’t the life I envisioned for myself, but it’s a chance to save my mother. And that’s all that matters.

The following week, after countless hours of training, I step onto the stage for the first time. The lights are blinding, and the music pulses through my body like a second heartbeat. My hands tremble as I grip the pole, but I force myself to move. The crowd’s eyes are on me, their cheers and whistles provide an odd yet fuelling soundtrack to my performance.

A strange sensation washes over me as I sway and spin, as Marina had shown me. It’s not confidence, exactly, but a sense of power. For the first time in weeks, I feel like I’m in control of something—even if it’s just the way my body moves under the spotlight.

When I step off the stage, my legs are shaky, and my heart is racing. Marina meets me backstage with a grin, handing me a stack of bills. "See? I told you you’d be amazing."

I glance down at the money in my hands and raise my head in confusion.

“It’s only two hundred.”

“Which is great for a first night,” Marina assures me. “Even I did not make that much on my first night. Give yourself a week, and I have no doubt you will be hitting five hundred.”

“At this rate it will take more than six months to raise the required amount even if I only provide the bare minimum for myself.”

“Then consider the other option.” Marina cajoles. “With the right client, you could make eighty in one go. Or maybe two to three trips.”

It took me half a second to make up my mind this time around. “Fix me with the right client. I am desperate.”

A feral smile that should scare me crosses Marina’s face. “I’ll get back to you.”

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