Page 17 of Together We Burn
I bit the inside of my cheek, trying not to laugh. Angry kid.
A girl no older than seventeen sidled up beside me onto a bar stool and gave a timid smile. She had long brown hair with blonde at the ends, large blue eyes, and full, pouty lips.
“Hi, I’m Montana Sky,” she said as a blush crept across her freckle-covered nose. I smiled and held out my hand.
“Diamond Velvet,” I replied, and shook her tiny hand. The bartender reappeared, and his face broke out into a huge smile at the sight of Montana.
“The boss is busy,” he said. Code forhe isn’t here.The boy spoke in my direction but didn’t once take his eyes off the girl beside me. “But I was told you are to get ready, and he will have the pleasure of your first private dance.”
Bile rolled in my stomach at the thought of grinding against the bastard. I was about to ask the extremely rude server where the dressing rooms were when he turned his back and reached for a bottle of Don Julio.
“Hi, Abby,” he said, standing in front of Montana, pouring her a shot of tequila. She took it and threw it back, gesturing for another as she glanced nervously around the empty bar.
“Shh, Isaac, if Martinez’s men hear you use my real name, we’ll both get in trouble.” Isaac paled and looked sheepish while I frowned at Montana/Abby, and her shoulders sagged as she played with the empty shot glass in her hand.
“Martinez doesn’t let the dancers use real names, just our stripper names,” she explained.
I grit my teeth. This bastard was signing his death warrant with every new thing I learned about him.
“Come, I’ll show you where to go,” Abby said as she slid off the barstool and shot Isaac a small wave, which he returned with a wink. I observed how the young couple regarded each other as I bent down to grab the duffle bag I’d brought with my “stripper” clothes.
Cute and besotted.
Silently, I followed Abby down a thin corridor toward a “staff only” sign and finally noticed what she was wearing. A small thin-strapped crystal bikini-style top, which barely had enough material to cover her nipples, was paired with a pleated skirt which skimmed the top of her ass cheeks and fishnet tights. She wore black converse trainers, and the casual footwear would almost be comical if I didn’t remember that this girl should be at home finishing schoolwork or something and not in this overpriced hellhole.
Abby opened the door to the changing rooms, and I was met with four other girls who were in various stages of undress. One girl with long pink hair stood in front of a floor-length mirror, rubbing body glitter into her arms as another backcombed her hair behind her. A petite girl with short black hair and a full-length back tattoo shimmied a red lacy thong over her ass and ran her fingers under the waistband, ensuring it wasn’t twisted.
I glanced to the corner of the room where the last of the four girls was sitting applying makeup. A purple bruise circled her eye, and she had a partially healed cut on her bottom lip. She grimaced each time she neared the mark with her makeup brush, and my fingers tingled with the urge to punch something.
Abby looked at who I was watching and grabbed my arm, tugging me away in the direction of where she kept her things. The changing room was bare, similar to a locker room with wooden benches in the middle and small lockers for the girls to store their valuables. However, from the look of them, they didn’t appear to have much.
“What happened to that girl?” I asked as I dropped my bag on the floor and started rummaging around for my outfit.
“It’s better not to ask questions,” Abby replied in a hushed voice, glancing over her shoulder with sadness flooding her features. “She’s new and hasn’t learnt the rules yet. It’s just a formality, one I guess you won’t need to go through if you’re just a guest dancer.”
My hands stilled inside my bag, and I fisted the flimsy cotton I was meant to wear tonight in my hand. Fury threatened to erupt like a volcano bringing ruin to this place before I had even accomplished what I was here to do.
I closed my eyes, inhaling deeply and exhaling after three seconds, trying to get my emotions in check. These poor girls had been lied to, made to feel safe and protected, when in reality, no one was on their side, no one truly cared about them. Instead, they were used, had their walls broken down to expose their real selves, manipulated in the worst possible way, and then forced to watch as the person they thought they could have maybe had something real with was obliterated the moment he kissed…
Images of Jake and Emilia flooded my mind; her hands on his chest, her lips pressed to his, and her body moulded to his side.
This isn’t about you, Stevie.
My eyes snapped open, and I unclenched the scrap of underwear from my hand. Digging deeper into my bag, I felt the cool steel of the blade I’d hidden away, and my heart's hammering slowed beneath my chest.
Where children had safety blankets, I had my SOG Seal Pup Elite.
I didn’t need to be holding it in front of me to appreciate the sharp blade with its black titanium nitride finish or the feel of the nylon handle in my palm. Just brushing the tips of my fingers against it made my whole body buzz with excitement and bathe in an odd calmness simultaneously.
A heavy, seductive bass pounded around the club as girls in skimpy bikinis carried trays lined with shots, champagne, or whatever else had been ordered to their designated tables.
The ones who had been finishing up in the room with me were now on the poles, spinning, grinding, or climbing up them as their audience stayed captivated by their moves.
I watched from the corner of the main stage, ensuring I was kept out of sight, taking in the clientele as their predatory gazes swept over Abby, hungrily taking in her body as she slowly pulled at the string keeping her top fastened. Letting it flutter to the stage, she reached up the pole above her head and twirling backward to the ground.
My eyes glanced toward the bar where Isaac stood entranced by her moves until one man shoved dollar bills down her G-string. At that, his whole demeanour shifted, and his hand tightened on the bottle of vodka he held. His knuckles turned white around the neck, and his lip curled up in a snarl.
Quickly, I looked at Abby, who had just finished her routine and was gathering up her discarded clothes when she froze, noticing Isaac watching her from across the room. Reading facial expressions was something I prided myself on, and Abby’s was filled with regret. Her eyes implored him to turn away, to stop watching her while she worked.
