Chapter 1
Theadora
Hesitantstepscarriedme along the shadowy alleyway, until we arrived at a pulsating purple puddle on the wet cobbled ground.
Biting a fingernail, I looked up at the purple sign Club Purr. “What is this place?”
Scratching himself as he always did, Travis inclined his head for me to enter through the metal door.
There we were in some seedy back street of Soho, smelling of rotting meat, where I’d agreed to waitress in costume.
I had no idea what I’d be expected to wear. Vague on detail, Travis, on drugs at the time, wouldn’t elaborate. But beggars couldn’t be choosers, because I was on the street, broke, and in debt to his sister.
“Just go in.” He pushed me through the door.
Taking a deep breath, I stepped into the purple-walled foyer, smelling of disinfectant and cheap perfume. The walls were covered in images of beautiful young women wearing lingerie with “come to bed” eyes.
“Is this a strip club?” My blood froze. I’d never been in a place this sleazy before.
“Just keep moving.” He twitched like ants were crawling over him. His eyes in the dim light resembled empty dark sockets.
I figured I’d be expected to wear something skimpy. I had little choice but to accept.
My heart pounded like mad. This wasn’t me.
I only knew Travis through his twin sister, my former flatmate, to whom I owed rent. She’d thrown me out after her boyfriend moved in.
Travis led me into an office, where I met an overweight man with a ruddy complexion who looked in his fifties.
“This is Jack,” Travis said.
The seated man, who I imagined was the club owner, ran his creepy eyes up and down my body, sending a shiver through me.
He looked at Travis. “Okay, you can go now.”
Travis lingered for a moment, scratching himself some more. He shot Jack a crooked grin. “Are we good?”
The older man ran his eyes over me again before returning his attention to the drug addict. “Go and see Vlad. He’s got what you want.”
Travis shuffled off, leaving me alone with this sleazy-looking man, whose gaze made me want to squeeze into a tight ball.
Stale smoke clung to the air, and the walls had images of racing cars, boxers, and beautiful women.
Here I was at twenty-four in a trashy bar about to sell my soul which had cried so much I’d turned to stone.
A woman, who looked to be in her thirties, entered. Her face was heavily made up with thick eyelashes that curled to her brows. Tied back in a ponytail, her waist-length blonde hair, without a strand out of place, resembled a sheet of satin.
Dressed in a pink corset, suspenders, and stiletto skyscraper heels, she towered over me.
“Get her ready,” he said, leaning back with his hands crossed over his fat stomach. “Bring her back so I can see her.”
In silence, we moved along a dimly lit hallway to the back of the venue.
The woman opened the door, and I stepped into a dressing room, smelling like a department store perfume counter. My attention went to the rack of lingerie and a lit-up mirror with makeup scattered on the bench.
“I’m Tania.” She sounded Russian.
“Hi. I’m Thea.” My voice trembled.