Page 1 of Dark Wolf Soul
1
LEXI
The last party remix of the night pumps through the club’s speakers, seeping through the faded dressing room walls. After this, the music will switch to sexy slow dances until we close at two a.m. Gearing up for the night ahead of me, I look at myself in the dressing room mirror, taking in my appearance.
My white-blonde hair is still in its messy bun, and my green eyes are tired from working long hours. Some of those hours are paid, and some aren’t. I spend way too much time at the teen shelter considering it’s not helping me keep a roof over my head, but I can’t help it. Those kids have no one, and I know what that’s like firsthand. Besides, the exhaustion is nothing new. I’ve been on my own my whole life, which means I’ve never had the luxury of rest.
Although, the fact that every other girl working this place is making twenty times what I am is starting to wear on what I’d once thought was an iron-clad boundary.
Every other girl in this club comes here to dance for cash plucked from the sticky, drunk fingers of anyone willing to pay to watch. Me? I managed to wedge my way into a job as a waitress at Shady Shags Dancing Palace—and nothing else. I have a feeling it’s because Shady likes the idea of me being a big tease and using that to convince customers to part with their money in exchange for the girls whoarewilling to take their clothes off. I’m just glad that girl isn’t me, although part of me knows, if I stay here long enough, someday it will be.
The truth is, my lease at the pay-weekly motel in Lakeland will end before I’ll make enough to renew it. According to the notice they stuck beneath my door this morning, I have just under twenty-four hours left to catch up on back rent, and I know damn good and well I won’t make a thousand dollars between now and then. Not waitressing anyway.
There are a number of things Icoulddo. Lie. Steal. Cheat. Commit felonies. Or dance on the pole onstage for money. All of those things are on the other side of a line I told myself I would never cross. I’m not morally against stripping or even sex-work, but I have to claim control over something, and after growing up being tossed from home to home, autonomy over my body is the last remaining sense of power I have. Offering it up to strangers is a boundary I won’t cross.
The problem is my boundaries won’t mean shit when I’m homeless. Again.
I sigh, wondering for the millionth time how my life ended up like this. But it’s a story as tired as I am of telling it. I never knew my family, and being an orphan has made my life difficult. Years spent in shitty group homes. Foster siblings who thought they had a right to my body and my belongings. Adults who took one look at me or my history and decided I was nothing but trouble.
Fuck the system; all it ever did was fail me.
I’ve been on my own my whole life and have always worked hard to make ends meet, but some lines can’t be crossed. Mostly because you can’t come back once you do. I'm grateful for this job, but it's not exactly the life I have in mind for myself.
Someday, I’m going to do something that matters. Something to make a difference in the lives of people who need it most.
“Lexi.”
The sound of my name makes me jump. Through the mirror’s reflection, I see Angel glaring at me. Her deep lines are more pronounced with the layers of makeup caked on top of her face—but don’t tell her that unless you want to get laid out flat.
“Your shift starts in five, girl,” she warns me. “Don’t be late for the one thing you’re actually good for around here.”
I don’t answer, which I know pisses her off, but I can’t help myself. According to my friend, Violet, Angel’s been here the longest of anyone. Ten years and still going. I have no idea how old she is, but she considers herself the mother hen of the roost, and she’s meaner than a horny rooster if you cross her.
I don’t play her power games, but I also don’t start shit I don’t want to finish.
Tonight, the only thing I want to finish is my shift. And maybe an extra-large burrito from Cantina. I fucking love burritos, and I don’t give a shit if they go straight to my hips.
As I change into my uniform, a tight black mini-dress that shows off my curves, I mentally prepare myself for the night ahead. Serving drinks on the main floor is a bit unpredictable considering you never know what level of shitfaced the customers will be. But it’s the VIP room clients that make me nervous, especially on weekends.
Today is Saturday, so I know exactly what to expect in the VIP room, and I'm not looking forward to it.
After stepping into my matching black heels, I take a second to put on some lipstick and mascara. It’s the only makeup I bother with under the dim lighting, and even that is something I do for myself. Lipstick has always felt like a badge of courage, so I use what I’ve got at my disposal. The shade is called Death By Kisses, which seems like as good a way to go as any.
Finally, I pull my hair out of its messy bun and fluff it around my shoulders. The waves are a bit tangled, but I don’t bother brushing them. The clients like that bedhead look, which means they’ll tip better. Hopefully.
“Lexi, move your ass,” Angel snaps.
“I’m going,” I mutter, grabbing my purse and stuffing it into the cubby I share with Violet, the only dancer here I actually consider a friend.
As if I summoned her with my thoughts, Violet shows up just in time to snag my arm as I hurry out of the dressing room.
“Whoa, Speedy,” she says with a smile.
Violet’s always smiling—something I admire but find completely fucking batshit, considering the hard life she’s lived in her twenty-four years. I’m only twenty-one, and I’ve already lost all fucking reason to summon any cheer.
“Hey,” I say, noting the jar of glitter she’s holding in one hand. Tonight is her trial run with a new routine where her naked body is covered in nothing but purple sparkles. Violet’s creative that way. “Love the glitter choice.”
“Thanks. I’m so excited,” she gushes.
