Rubber bullets, please, let it be rubber bullets, I pray to myself as I turn on my heels and enter my office, heading straight for the power switch I keep under my desk. I press it in a hurry, and all the lights go out at once, and I know that all of the security doors I have on the main room have opened.
I won’t make it easy for Lester. I have no idea what lies he told the courts to get a SWAT team to storm my club, but it can’t be good; I want to let as many of my customers and girls escape.
I can already see the police handcuff some of the men on the floor and drag them out into the street.
I grit my teeth as I imagine what Lester has in mind; he’s probably going to take them into court and bury them in made-up charges.
But first he’s going to walk them in public and shame them.
He’s making sure that Dirty Destiny will never open its door again if I don’t play nice, and he doesn’t care about who goes down in the process.
Motherfucker!
If I could I’d choke the life out of that fucking limp dick loser right now.
“EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM,” I hear someone roar, and I recognize Lester’s voice among the confused cries and the shouts from the police. “FOCUS ON THE GIRLS,” he shouts again, and I feel a violent rage growing inside of me.
I’m grabbing at the rails so hard that there’s no blood left in my hands, and I realize that I’m shaking with fury.
Then, as if the Devil himself had set his pitch black eyes on me, there’s an opening in the smoke and my eyes meet Lester’s. He looks at me with a grin, his eyes small and evil, and he raises his arm and points at me.
“THERE!” he yells, spit coming out of his mouth. “SHE’S UP ON THE BALCONY, GET HER!”
I have to get out of here—now.
There’s nothing I can do; I sure as hell can’t face a SWAT squad by myself, so I turn on my heels and head out of the service door, a headache brewing inside my skull. I run down the cramped corridor and I push the exit door with as much strength as I can. It swings open and I step into the cold New York night, my breath pluming out of my mouth in a white cloud. I can hear heavy boots running down the corridor, and I keep running.
I go as fast as I can down the fire escape, the metallic stairs creaking and groaning as I run down.
The moment my heels hit the concrete, I look over my shoulder as two men holding revolvers look down the fire escape. They’re not wearing any uniforms, but they sure as hell seem hell bent on getting their hands on me.
Gritting my teeth, I start to run as fast as I can, my heels clicking on the floor like the maddening tick of a clock, time is running out, Destiny, that repeating sound seems to say.
I turn a corner and then I keep running, pushing my body to the limit as my lungs seem to scream inside of my body. Stopping only to take my heels off, I dash down Broadway like a madwoman, and then turn another corner, step into an alley and crouch behind a car.
My heart seems to be climbing up my throat as heavy footsteps close in on me, but then the men keep on running down the street, still cha
sing me.
“Jesus Christ,” I sigh, putting my heels back on and standing up.
Yeah, I bet I looked pretty strange, huh?
Although, this is New York City. I bet no one even batted an eye to me running around dressed the way I am with my heels. Probably just another day in Gotham, huh, babe?
I look down the street, over the top of the parked car, and a feeling of sadness and despair takes over me. Regular uniformed cops are stretching yellow lines around the Dirty Destiny’s entrance, and every single one of my customers is being hauled out in handcuffs. I recognize a few of my girls, the cops dragging them out in the street as if they were cattle, some of them wearing nothing but a thong and a bra.
Anger replaces the sadness inside of me, and I ball my hands into fists.
My club, everything I’ve worked so hard for, is fucking gone.
Taken away from me in an instant. And all because of that hideous man. That evil bastard.
But there’s something more sinister here.
Something worse.
Women are being treated like crap for liking sex.