Page 20 of Undeniably Corrupt
I glower. “I still don’t trust you.”
He smiles. “Angel, I don’t trust you either. So do we have a deal?”
The song ends, and I climb off his lip. “I’ll think about it. Until then, enjoy your blue balls.”
I head out the door, needing a minute away from him. Because we both know I’m going to say yes. I’m just not sure yet what that will mean for me.
7
“Yo, bitch.” A harsh male voice rings out through the black night, and I wince as I quicken my steps, hating that I’m wrapped in only a coat and not a whole lot beneath it since Saturday night at the club ran late and I was anxious to get home to Hazel. “You sent your fucking pimp to break my nose and tell me to stay away from you? Wrong fucking guy to mess with, honey.”
Pimp?What?
That moment of confusion has my steps faltering and allows him to catch up to me. Roughly, he grabs my arm and spins me around to face him. He’s sporting twin black eyes and has a nice bruise and cut on the bridge of his nose. Holy shit. Someone got him good.
“Let go of me,” I yell loudly, hoping other people will see. I know they won’t stop to help. Not in this neighborhood and not with him, but I’d at least like some witnesses to hopefully hold him back.
He tugs me like he’s going to push me into the alley, and I spit in his face.
“Fuck you, whore,” he seethes, wiping his face and shaking me violently. “What your pimp broke in my face I’m going to take out in your body.”
Why do men always assume strippers are prostitutes? More than that, why do they feel they can just take and not ask? Like we’re a twenty-four-hour buffet. Always open, and they can help themselves to as much as they’d like.
“I’m not a whore, and you’re done touching me.”
His grip tightens, turning bruising, and I whimper. He laughs, his rancid meth breath and decaying teeth right in my face. He moves in closer to me, his other hand trying to palm my tits, and panic sets in. I knee him in the balls, and the pain and shock of it are enough that he releases me, and I bolt as fast as my legs will carry me.
“You’re not getting away from me for long, honey,” he threatens angrily, and I bite my lip, knowing he’s probably right.
I make it inside, sprinting up the steps two at a time and holding in my tears. This is why I hate men. All men. Without exception. They all have an agenda. Something they want and don’t care whether or not they step on me to get it.
I close the door softly behind me and thank Keesha, sending her on her way fast because I need a minute, and I need to be alone to have that minute. My coat and clothes hit the bathroom floor, and I climb under the shower, silently gasping and cursing and fighting so I don’t cry.
I need to get out of here.
Out of this city and away from all men I can’t seem to escape.
I’ll move to the country with Hazel and work in a clinic, and we’ll be safe and live in a cute little apartment, and she’ll go to school and be happy. She won’t remember what this life has been like for us. She’ll never know that her father stoleeverything we had and never cared about her, or that her mother stripped, or that I’ve been forced into a deal with the devil to get us out of this mess.
But that’s what I did. Yesterday morning, I called HR at Monroe Securities and told them that I’d accept Vander Moore’s job offer. The mountain of paperwork they emailed to my school account was enough to make me second-guess it, already hating how I was desperate enough to barely make it to the next morning after he showed up in the club.
But now, I’m glad I took it.
I’ll deal with Vander.
He’s the least of my troubles.
As with everything else in my life, I have to do this. I have no choice anymore. My child will have what every child should have. I’ll make damn sure of it. And whatever I have to do to get us there, I will.
Mom: Can you send me another picture of Hazel?
Me: *Photo attached* She’s getting so big.
Mom: She is. She’s so beautiful.
I enterthe glass lobby of Monroe Securities and give my name and ID to the security guard. He hands me a badge in return that already has my photo on it. A photo of me from when Champagne brought me here to first meet with Vander.
How on earth did they get that?
