Page 2 of Anthem of Love and Loathing

I catch his clammy fingers and bend them down as far as they will go without snapping. “Touch me, and I will fucking break them.”

A dozen onlookers turn their curiosity in our direction.

I let go. He drops his hand.

I use my bag as a shield between us as I exit into the aisle. The groper keeps staring at me but makes no move to follow as I take my new seat. God help me if he’s a client at Scarlet. That’d be just what I need to top off the shit show that this day has been.

Across from me, a couple of young women on their way out for the night squeal and turn their music up.

Lovely. Could it get any fucking worse? I would recognize his voice anywhere. Not to mention Bronx’s skilled drumming and Golden’s talented rhythm guitar work. I wish I could reach over and turn off this godforsaken song. I wish I could erase the memories of the emotions that asshole could stir in me with nothing but his music. But mostly I’m just annoyed by the fact that no matter where I go or what I do, I can’t seem to escape him.

“Shut up and leave me alone,” I mutter as I hug my gym bag in my lap.

The girls turn up their noses at me, like I’m the problem.

By the time the bus pulls up to my stop, almost twenty minutes late for my shift, the sky has opened. The rain is bucketing down, soaking me to the bone, sticking my hair to my face and my clothes to my skin as I race inside.

I shove open the side door into Scarlet and race down the hallway to the dressing rooms.

“You look like a drowned rat.” Sapphire wrinkles her nose as she runs her gaze up and down my frame. She turns back to her mirror to check the fit on her tiny silver bra and panty set. Her mouth curves as she flattens a flyaway in her black hair. “And Gary is on the warpath.”

“Shit.” I drop down at one of the other stations and start scraping my hair back from my face as she prowls from the room. Her name is announced as her music starts.

There isn’t enough time to restyle my wet strands, but I grab a towel and squeeze as much water out of my hair as I can. Grabbing a wet wipe, I remove the smudges from around my eyes and grab my eyeliner. Once that’s done, I change out of my wet clothes into my barely there costume; cheeky cut panties and a deep V bra in cherry red.

“You’re late.” Gary fills the doorway with his paunch as I put on my heels. His beady eyes rove my tits and bare thighs. He smacks his lips.

I refuse to examine that action too closely. Even not thinking about it makes my stomach turn.

“Sorry, Gary. It won’t happen again.” I walk toward him, planning on scooting by and getting on with my shift like maybe if I keep my head down, he won’t be a dick about it.

“You’re damn right it won’t.” He grabs my upper arm, wrapping his fingers around it tight enough that they bite. He smells like cigarettes and bay rum. “I explained to you what happens when you’re late, didn’t I?”

“Yes.” I try not to wince. I’m going to have bruises by morning.

He smiles greasily. “Lucky for you, I expect several of my favorite clients who aren’t fussy about which dancer is waiting for them in their VIP room to be in attendance tonight. Go in there, keep your mouth shut, give them what they want, and you can keep your job.”

The back room means private lap dances, where the men can be handsy, but I can handle handsy. And Walt should be working as host tonight. He will watch out for me like he has since I started working here.

“Your customers better all leave satisfied,” Gary warns.

I nod.

He sneers. “And I’m docking your tips.”

Of course he is. Jackass.

“Now, say thank you, Gary.”

I swallow down the desire to ask him what I have to be thankful about. “Thank you, Gary.”

“Your first client is already situated. Get in there. Strut that moneymaker.” He slaps me on the ass hard enough my eyes sting as he shoves me out the door.

My stripper heels adhere to the whiskey-sticky floor with every step—It’s like walking on chewing gum—as I cross the main room. Passing Sapphire who is working the pole right up front. And sweet, tiny Heaven who is flirting with a couple of middle-aged suits sharing a bottle. She’s been the nicest to me, though a couple of the other girls smile when we make eye contact.

My stomach dives when I reach the entry to the VIP rooms. Walt’s not out front. I don’t spot his dark, handsome, bald head in the main room either.

None of the other hosts are out front either. That’s odd, isn’t it? But then none of the other guys are as conscientious about our protection as Walt.