Chapter 2 Glancing left and right, I jog across the street, wrapping my coat tighter around my body, trying to brush off my morning. I can't shake it. That ancient, jittery, uneasy feeling as though I have to look over my shoulder, twitch. I haven't had it this bad in a while, though I suppose it's never quite gone. It's not from my boss or even that woman. It's from that guy. There was something... almost familiar about him. Those eyes. Whatever. The day is done. Perhaps I just need some sleep. Something I know I won't be getting a lot of tonight. The campus daycare looms ahead, and I race there, anxious to see my girl. Students don't get priority here, but if you work for the university and attend classes, suddenly you're in. It's why I quit my job as a CNA, or certified nursing assistant, and started at the café, which is technically on campus, because what I lose in experience, I save in paying for daycare and more regular hours. I hit the buzzer beside the glass door, and they let me in. "Hi Liora," the receptionist greets me. "Hi. How's it going?" She smiles brightly. "Good. She had a good day and is adjusting nicely to her classroom." I practically sag with relief. The daycare I had her in before was less than ideal since it was a woman in my building who basically had five other kids just hanging out in her apartment. As much as I hate having to leave Hazel, as a single mom, I have no choice, and this place is worlds better. "That's great. Thanks so much for telling me." "Sure thing. I'll go get her while you sign out." I fill out the required boxes on the sign-out sheet, and by the time I'm done, I catch the sound of Hazel's heavy stomps followed by her crying out for me. Her blonde head comes into view, and my chest clenches. I crouch down and scoop up my little girl just as she launches herself into my arms. "Mommy!" "Hi, baby." I kiss her cheeks and throw a wave to the receptionist. "Bye. See you tomorrow." We leave the building, and I walk with Hazel in my arms up the sidewalk. "How was your day?" I ask as we cross the street and get in line for the T. "Good," she singsongs. "Who did you play with?" "Bryce, Blakely, and Cecelia," she says in her toddler voice. "Fun. Are you hungry?" She nods and proceeds to tell me all about playing on the playground and coloring a Princess Peach as we ride on the T toward our neighborhood. For two and a half, my girl has a ton of words. Thirty minutes later, our building looms up ahead. Nervously, I hold tight to Hazel's hand, looking left and right and mercifully not seeing Ricky as we quicken our steps to the front door. I jiggle the key until it finally twists for me and push into the building. The dank scent of must and something chemical immediately hits me, as it always does, and we run up the four sets of dimly lit and half-broken stairs to the fourth floor and into our studio apartment. I hate living here. I hate everything about it, but until I can finish school and afford something better, this is what it is. I go to the kitchen, which is little more than a mini fridge, a two-burner stove, a counter with a toaster oven, a microwave, and a few cabinets. I get going on making us both peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with apple slices while she plays with her dolls and Bunny by the window. Yet no matter how hard I try to focus on the task at hand, I can't get that guy out of my head. I'll admit, I did think he was unhoused, and I felt bad for him. But his eyes. Those green eyes. There was something about him that both relaxed me and made me edgy. And the way he stood up for me and gave me those large tips. I twist my bracelet, my heart doing funny, ancient things I can't explain. "If our love can only end in pain, let's hurt with it tonight." I gulp, thinking about Vander. About his green eyes. Then I shake myself out of it and force it away. That was a long time ago in a different life. Hazel and I eat our dinner and play until it's time for her bath and then bed. I even manage some homework in there. But the moment she falls asleep, the quiet knock on our door sounds. "Hey," I greet Keesha. She's a senior in high school who lives with her mom and aunt a few doors down from me, and I pay her a hundred dollars a week to hang out here at night and stay with Hazel while I go to my other job. "Hey," she whispers. "Anything I should know?" "Nope," I whisper. "She's asleep. I should be home at the usual time, if not early. Tuesdays are pretty slow at the club." "Great. No worries." Keesha goes to the couch with her homework, and I head out the door, mournfully glancing back over at a sleeping Hazel. Another year of this. I can get us through another year, and then we'll move, and it'll be better. Adjusting my duffel on my shoulder, I dodge the nightly crew who maintain court on the street the moment the sun goes down. Ricky whistles at me, telling me to come over and suck him off, but thankfully he leaves it there along with high, bone-chilling laughter, and doesn't come after me, allowing me to briskly walk to The Landing Strip. Rizzo, the weeknight bouncer, is out front, and when he sees me, he hugs me. "Hey, little darlin'. I saw you were working tonight. How's my favorite girl?" "Good. Yes, I switched shifts with Harmony because I had an exam Friday morning and didn't want to work the night before it. How's it going in there?" I nod my chin toward the door where I can hear music thumping through. sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ ƒindNoᴠᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Nice crowd. Nothing too wild. A bit busier than a typical Tuesday, as there's a VIP who came in the back way, which should be good for you." I smile at that. Not working Thursday night definitely hurt my bottom line. "Cool. I'll catch ya later." I wave to him and enter the club, smiling and nodding at the bartenders and a few of the girls floating around the room. I started here as a bartender after Mattia left us destitute, and I needed fast money. Bartending didn't pay the bills, and it didn't pay tuition either after he left with my loan money, racked up thousands on our credit card, and wiped out my bank account. It didn't take long before I was on the stage with the rest of the girls. The first time I danced, I was so nervous I threw up before I went on, nearly toppled over twice during my dance, and cried in the bathroom after. Still, that wasn't the first time I've had to adjust my expectations and do whatever I had to do to survive. In this case, it's not just me I have to take care of. So I focus on my role in it and nothing else. I don't focus on the men or what happens behind the scenes. I'm dancing to make a better life for myself and my child, and there is no shame in that. The backstage area is lit with girls, and I find an empty spot in front of the mirror to get changed into my typical outfit, which consists of a white bra, white thong, white, shimmery thigh-highs, small, furry angel wings, and taller-than-tall white heels. I top it all off with shimmery makeup and a pale pink wig. "Angel, you're up," Yolanda, the stage manager, calls out. Angel. The guy from this morning pops into my head again, making me frown. I glance down at my bracelet, but Yolanda pulls me from my thoughts. "We've got a celebrity VIP out there tonight. An actor, Tommy something or other. I hear he's throwing out a lot of cash at the girls, so go earn that money." "I'll try," I tell her as I shake out the nerves from my fingers and get to my platformed feet. The DJ announces me, and I saunter onto the stage like a boss to Selena Gomez's "Good For You". It's got a slower, sexy beat that builds, and I move around the stage with it, making eyes at every guy and girl in the room, slipping off pieces of clothes with seductive prowess to rounds of cheers and whistles. I wink and smile and play the part, twisting around the pole and using it as a prop. As a sex toy. Gyrating and grinding and running my hands all over my body as I dance and tease. My thong, thigh-highs, and heels stay on, but by the time my dance is done, everything else is gone. I can tell immediately who the actor is. He has an entourage and is blatantly drunk. "Come here, honey!" he yells to me, and with a fake smile on my lips, I sashay over to him where he stands at the end of the stage. "This is for you. I'm sure you can use it and will thank me for it later." Fucking pig sticks a hundred-dollar bill into the side of my G-string. "Thanks for the tip, but I don't give extras." Before he can reply, I collect my clothes, and the stage tech sweeps the bills tossed at me backstage, where I can gather them and shove them in my locker, get dressed back into my bra and wings, and find my way to the floor. I keep away from the actor who is taking a body shot off Diamond. If he's looking for extras, she'll give it to him. I don't typically do a lot of lap dances if I can avoid it. I hate them. It's one thing to dance on stage, but another to grind on some horny guy with his hard dick pressing against your ass and pussy. Which is why I grimace when I'm barely two steps out of the back room and see my manager, Tino, heading for me. "Angel, Tommy Hardgrave is asking for a private dance. He said he gave you a hundred dollars for it. You know we get fifty percent of that." What an asshole. Both of them. "He gave me a hundred-dollar tip after I danced on the stage. He never mentioned a lap dance to me." "Well, he's demanding one now and saying he paid for it. He's a famous actor, and he and his friends are spending a lot of money in here tonight." Fuck. "I told him you'd be more than happy to accommodate his request." I don't miss the threat in his words, but I'm a good dancer, I don't do drugs, I'm always on time, and I never miss a shift, so other than the fact that I don't love doing private dances, he really has no reason to push me. I don't reply because there's nothing to say to that. Instead, I drag in a breath and exhale it slowly as I make my way over to the actor, whose eyes are all over me as I approach his table. His hand is on his dick, adjusting it, and my insides revolt. "See, I knew you'd come around for extras. You girls always do." What an absolute prick. His buddies laugh like misogyny is their favorite sport to watch, and I mentally chant Hazel in my head until I'm able to do this. I don't say anything because anything I say will be unkind and likely get me fired. Instead, I walk over to where he's sitting and stand before him. A tricked-up house version of Rihanna's "We Found Love" curls through the speakers, and blue and pink lights swirl all over the stage now that Fire is on it. But it's a good song, and the lights she uses are fun, so I go with it. I climb on his lap, using his shoulders for leverage, and start to move like I'm fucking him. I rock forward and backward while I undulate my hips, making a point to graze the top of his pants and his hard dick. I do my best not to wince. But as I reach behind my back to remove my bra, a hand on my shoulder stops me before it's gone just as quickly. He's clearly aware that touching the girls is a no-no. I stop and glance up at a tall stranger wearing all black with a baseball hat low on his head. "Don't," he says in a low tone I'm barely able to hear over the music. "You're finished with him." "What?" flies out of both mine and Tommy's mouths before Tommy adds, "She got my money, and I intend to get everything I paid for." There's no mistaking the innuendo in his voice. He laughs. His friends laugh. The man isn't amused. "Unless you enjoy having your life ruined in more ways than one, I suggest you focus your attention on someone else. I said she's done with you. That's all." I can't see much of his face. His back is to the stage, and with his hat low and the lights playing tricks with my eyes, all I can see is his smooth jaw, dimpled chin, and the hard set of his mouth. "You can climb off him now, Angel." The way he says my name sends chills racing up my spine and a tingling awareness in my head, as if I've heard him say my name like that before. I search around the room for Tino, and when I come up empty, the stranger says, "It's fine. Your boss already knows." I have no idea what's going on or who this guy is, but I don't look a gift horse in the mouth. Instead, I gratefully climb off Tommy, hearing him mouth off about it. He stands, following me, trying to get me back onto him, when the stranger grabs Tommy by his shirt and pulls him in tight. "I wasn't joking. I'm your personal nightmare, and trust me when I tell you, I'm not someone you fuck with. She's done with you." The stranger releases Tommy, who falls back into his chair in a heap. Then he turns to me and directs me toward the back room without touching me. "There's an extra five hundred in your locker. Take it and go home." Five hundred? Hell, that's a third of my rent money for the month. Without another word or even a backward glance, the guy storms out of the club. What the fuck was that, and who was that guy?