Gemma
Everything’s dark and quiet when I creep out of my bedroom, wearing way too much makeup and the tightest, lowest-cut dress I own. It’s a little too small, but that only makes it better for what I have to do tonight.
I hope the quiet in the house means Mom and Richard are in bed and staying there since they’d probably have heart attacks if they saw me like this. I tiptoe down the stairs, shoes in hand, holding my breath the whole way. Success, at least so far. If only I knew where Odis and Denver are. So long as they aren’t hiding somewhere, waiting to jump out at me, I’ll be fine.
Something tells me they wouldn’t let me out of the house looking like this, either, and they definitely wouldn’t if they knew where I’m going.
The alert on my phone says my Uber is waiting. I take one last look behind me before opening the door, then closing it behind me as softly as I can. I slide into my shoes, then make a run for the car. It seems like I might have gotten away with it.
The driver checks me out in the rearview mirror since he knows where we’re going and probably figures I’m an employee. The fact that even his casual glance makes my skin crawl isn’t a good sign. If I’m going to get a job tonight, I need to get over my problems with being looked at. Nobody’s going to pay the girl who ducks her chin and holds her arms over her chest.
Am I really doing this? I have to, plain and simple. I’ve done the math. Even the best paying job I could get at the mall or even waiting tables someplace wouldn’t pay nearly as much as I could make dancing. I sort of fell down the rabbit hole today, scrolling through YouTube and TikTok for ideas on how to make some quick cash. There are all sorts of ideas on there—everything from freelancing to tutoring to writing essays for high school and college students. None of that will pay nearly enough. I need money, and I need it now.
Which is why the videos made by girls raking in a thousand dollars a night, dancing in strip clubs caught my attention and held it. Some of them only work a few hours at a time, once a weekend. None of them were exactly supermodels, either, which gave me hope. I figured if they could do it, I could, too.
I have to. Even if I can’t make my hands stop shaking and my stomach feels like I’m on a roller coaster. Nobody will know you. You can be anyone you want to be. That thought gives me courage as the car rolls down the dark streets, taking me closer to my destination.
The car comes to a stop in front of what looks like a nightclub at first glance. After I make sure the payment went through, I step out and look up. I kind of expected there to be an image of a naked woman, maybe even a silhouette, but the only sign they have is the large neon letters spelling out the name Vivid.
There is no line, but the door is guarded by one guy, who looks more like a tank. He has to be at least seven feet tall and weigh three hundred pounds in muscle alone. He must see my apprehension to approach because a smile ticks on his lips as he waves me over.
“Come on, girl, I won’t bite.”
“It’s not biting I’m worried about,” I murmur. I’m worried he might accidentally step on me, squishing me like a bug.
“Are you here with someone?” he asks when I get a few steps closer.
“No, I’m looking for a job,” I admit.
“Ohhh.” He nods, his eyes immediately roaming down my body, making me feel exposed all of a sudden. “You’re lucky. Myles just got in. You’re pretty. I’m sure he’ll interview you now. If you want, I’ll have someone bring you up.”
I nod and watch him open the heavy front door, and I follow him into the lobby. It’s sleek and stylish, with a small desk on one side. A pretty woman wearing a tight black shirt with the club logo on her chest greets us.
“Hey, Trish, take her up to Myles, please. She is looking for a job.”
“You got it, Tommy,” Trish chirps, stepping out from behind the desk. “Follow me.”
I follow her through the large double doors, which open into the main room. The light is dim in most of the space. Bright lights are focused on the three stages—a large one in the center and two smaller ones off to each side.
Trish leads me behind the bar and through a door that takes us to a narrow staircase. When we get to the top, she turns so quickly, I almost stumble back. “Here you are, good luck.”
And with that, she brushes past me and back downstairs.
Great. Just great.
I lift my hand and knock softly at first. The music is blasting below, and I figure he didn’t hear me knocking, so I do it again a little louder. The door suddenly opens, and a large scary-looking man appears on the other side.
“What?”
“Ah…” My mouth goes dry. He’s almost as tall as Tommy but scarier looking—dark hair, dark eyes, dark everything. Dressed in a tailored suit, he almost looks like a businessman if it wasn’t for the tattoos peeking out from the sleeves and neck. There is a skull tattoo on his hand and lettering I can’t quite make out on his knuckles.
“Speak, girl. I don’t have time for a staring contest.”
“I need a job,” I blurt out, suddenly finding my voice. He gives me the same once-over Tommy gave me at the door, and just like that, I’m uncomfortable again. Damnit, this is not a good start.
“Well, come on in then,” he offers, stepping aside so I can walk into his office. It’s just as sleek and modern as the rest of this place. He pours himself a drink at the wet bar next to his desk before sitting down in the large leather office chair. He motions for me to sit, and I quickly do so since my legs are about to give out.
“So, you want to dance here?”