Dante isn’t leaving. He’s never spoken to me other than that first day when he asked about me for the background check. Him staring at me like this is unnerving. It’s not on par with Carl, who still gives me the creeps with the way his eyes travel over me. At least his hands have stayed away since Tommy showed up. A silent protection without me even realizing it till this point. I wonder if some of the other girls already noticed it. Especially those he favorited before the change in leadership shook up the entire place.
No, the way Dante looks at me is as if he’s trying to solve a puzzle, not looking for a snack like Carl. Well, more than a snack in Carl’s case. He looks for prey like the snake he is.
Dante’s gaze is more calculating, inquisitive.
Unsettling.
“Sir?” My small question seems to finally break the spell over him, and he shakes his head.
“Boss wants to see you. Tech room. Now.” He points to the hallway, the only way in and out besides the back door, before moving away.
Not knowing if Tommy would want me for a dance right now, I don’t finish my makeup, just grab the mask and secure it behind the back of my head. Unlike the one I attempted to use the other night, this covers most of me in black lace in the shape of a butterfly, its giant wings expanding across my cheeks to cover most, if not all, the bruising. Especially in the dark. Though when I performed, we usedvery little light and kept me higher than usual, just in case. To the patron, I was mysterious. To the strippers under the bright lights in the dressing room, I was a joke at hiding things.
Steadying my breath, I walk to the new office that’s part of the renovation. It used to be Carl’s, now transformed to house the cameras that watch this place.
I knock but hear nothing. Not wanting to disobey for fear of the unknown—namely what would happen now that Tommy owns my debt—I open the door and walk in, allowing it to shut behind me as I go.
It’s an average room, bigger than my apartment, like most things, but it’s filled with equipment. There’s hardly a place to stand, let alone sit. But there’s a chair, occupied by someone I don’t know. I roll my bottom lip into my mouth and don’t nibble on it like I usually do. I learned my lesson last night as I did it time and time again and felt that sudden sting.
The door opening behind me makes me jump as I spin. Not sure if it’s the darkness or just the attack still fresh on my mind that has me so jumpy, but once I see it’s Tommy, a part of me relaxes. Though I know it shouldn’t. I hardly know the man. Heownsme. A person. Like he bought and paid for me.
I guess, in a way, he did. But I can’t think on that right now. My brain can’t function knowing I’ve fallen so far that I’m no longer my own person but belong to another.
“Leave.”
I take half a step toward the door before Tommy grabs my wrist to halt my movement, and only then do I realize he’s addressing the other person. The one who doesn’t even balk at being spoken to like a dog, just gets up easily withno fuss and exits the room. He shuts the door behind me, sealing me in here with my owner.
Tommy’s fingers leave my wrist as he moves away, and I can only stare at the place he once touched.
“Come here.”
I close my eyes for a second, just one, to remind myself that I signed up for this. I might have signed on the dotted line with the Kings, but my debt has been transferred.Thisis what’s required of me to get out of that debt. It might take me longer than I expected, but I need to do this. Not because I want to, but because there’s no choicebutto.
If I run? He could give chase. He could shoot me. So far, all he’s made me do is follow his commands. He hasn’t touched me in a way that makes my skin crawl. He hasn’t beaten or starved me.
When he dropped me back at his place with a warning to rest up, I did. I slept. When I woke up, I was alone, but there was food on the counter with a note that simply said:Eat.And I did. I ate more than I have in weeks, maybe in months.
He didn’t come by before it was time to leave, but once again, despite him not being there, he took care of me. A car was waiting to take me to the club when I stepped out of his elevator. I don’t know how long it was there, waiting on me, or if it just showed up. All I know is that the driver said Tommy told him to get me to work, so I got into the car. That was it. No protest, no questions. Honestly, he could have been anyone. But I trust Tommy, and I guess, through him, I have confidence in those associated—or at least claiming association—with him.
No idea when I started to feel that way, but if someone doesn’t show you their bad side, you just sort of fallinto trusting them. Or maybe it’s that you’ve got no reasonnotto trust them. I might not fully understand everything about Tommy, but I know he wants his money. He’s made a ton of changes at the club, each to make him more money. To bring in better clientele and more profit. Me not performing is just a waste, financially speaking. I bring in a crowd. It’s not ego talking but fact. Backed up by cold, hard cash.
Steeling what little nerve I have, I go and stand next to him. He took the seat that had been vacated and is now typing on the keyboard. There are multiple video screens and three computer screens in front of us. The computer screens seem to be filled with code, as it’s just line after line of letters and numbers, nothing making sense.
The video screens? Those show what’s going on around the club. One on the dressing room. One on two different empty hallways: one with stairs going up that I’ve never seen before, the other the hallway that led me here from the dressing room. Two on the bar, one on the front of the building, one on the back, and five covering the main stage area. And the other five? One for each private room.
I swallow hard as I scan the feeds quickly, looking away from the private rooms. Three of them are being used. And like I assumed, those in them are doing a lot more than dancing. At least it looks that way to me from the glimpses I saw. They’re all far closer to their client than I was when I danced for Tommy.
If there were cameras in the room, then no doubt Carl would have pulled me out by my hair and had someone go in and do a better job. Which isn’t that hard to do, since I’m not a stripper. I have zero idea on how to move my body to besexy. I know technique. I know straight arms and hold forms. The sensual glide of a body is foreign to me.
Some get it right away, but I’m not like that. I liked ballet from a young age because it wasn’t about what you feel but about the right move. It had to be perfect, and perfection could be practiced. Dancing with your hips and letting the rhythm guide you, like others say, seems daunting.
Tommy does something, and the next thing I know, nine of the screens have one image on them, changing them from individual small screens to a chopped-up large one. It’s showing an empty room until Trixie comes into view, followed by some random person. A client.
I stiffen and turn my head to the side.
“Watch,” he growls beside me. “Watch how she dances for him. You might not like her, but she knows how to do what you can’t. If you want to get my money back, you’ll need to learn how to do it. And we both know Trixie won’t be giving out lessons, so this is the best you’ve got.”
I hate with every fiber in my bones that he’s right. About it all. That Trixie knows how to move. That my best bet at doing well would be to ask her for help, but she’d just laugh. Hell, she might even spit in my face.
