Chapter 13 The Darkside of Boston – Briar
THE DARKSIDE OF BOSTON
brIAR
Now
I’m hours early for my dancing shift tonight, but Lily took Remi to the playground after dinner, and even though I got through getting thrust onto the stage last night, I would feel a lot better if I had the chance to practice before tonight’s performance.
There are a few cars in the parking lot already, probably the cleaning crew and maybe some bar or kitchen staff doing prep.
Finding the back door unlocked, I walk slowly down the long, darkened hallway that leads to the dressing rooms. The quiet here feels unnatural.
It’s weird being here during the day, while the sun’s still up.
Wonderland feels like the type of place that can only exist in the dark.
There’s no music, no shouts from the bar or kitchens, no half-naked girls racing up and down the hall to change outfits.
I’m not alone; I can hear the faint cadence of male voices coming from further down the hall.
Since the club floor is deserted, I realize it’s a lot bigger than I thought.
With the stage lights off, the room is lit solely by the red up-lighting along the walls.
The main stage is the focus of the room, but scattered around the outskirts of the floor are smaller stages.
Round platforms with their own poles and plush stools pushed in close.
To my left, a roped-off VIP section sits elevated from the rest of the floor. And back down the corridor I just came from are the private rooms. I don’t know what happens back there, and I don’t ask, though I've heard more than a few stories.
I’m not na?ve. Illegal shit goes down inside of Wonderland every night. It’s a strip club in a seedy part of town. When I first started bartending here, Celeste told me to keep my head down, mouth shut and eyes open. I’d found that to be solid advice, and following it has kept me out of trouble.
Circling back to the main stage, I drop my bag on the floor, pulling my long, dark hair up into a ponytail to get it out of my face before pulling off my sweats.
To practice, I’ve just worn tight black dance shorts and a sports bra with a lightweight cropped sweatshirt over it.
I leave my feet bare, better to get the basics down before I go adding six-inch heels.
Taking a deep breath, I climb up onto the stage, stretching and shaking out my limbs before finally reaching for the pole. It’s cool under my fingertips, and it’s the kind that spins on its own, giving the illusion that you’re spinning around it but you’re really not.
I’ve had some aerial training, just so I could put it on my resume, but this shit is harder than it looks. Bruises pepper the insides of my thighs from the bit of pole work I did last night, and my abs are sore. At least dancing here will be a good workout.
I’m glad no one’s here because my first couple of attempts at lifting my body up on the pole are pathetic, to say the least. My muscles tremble with the strain, but I don’t stop.
My near-toxic perfectionism doubles down until I’m able to do it.
Again and again I keep at it until it looks effortless, clean lines even Mr. Carr would have difficulty criticizing.
My stomach growls, and I check the time on my phone. I have just about an hour until everyone really starts showing up. I start packing up my bag to move to the dressing rooms. There, I can eat a couple of snacks I brought with me while getting ready for tonight.
Unease flutters through me as I turn down the still-dark back hallway. I’ve been here for over an hour, so it’s a little weird I still haven’t seen anyone around. As I get closer to the dancers’ dressing room, the male voices I heard earlier, grow louder.
They must be having a staff meeting or something.
The voices sound angry, so I stop. Anxiety creeps down into my chest, something about this just doesn’t feel right. Abandoning my progress down the hall, I back up, ready to retreat to the main floor and wait for some of the other girls to arrive, that is, until I hear crying.
I freeze.
“Shut. Up.” The sound of the smack reverberates in my ears, and the sobbing only grows louder. The sound of a girl’s terrified cries twists something in my gut, and I move cautiously toward the sound, tiptoeing down the hall.
The sound is coming from the next door down, which I can see is just barely cracked open. What if some guy has one of the dancers cornered in there?
I get as close as I dare, my ears straining to make out what the angry voices are saying. Trying to work out what it is I’m walking into…
“—on a flight tonight. Security will look the other way, so long as you bring cash.”
“And the others?” another voice asks.
Heart pounding, I inch closer to the door, desperately trying to steal a peek through the crack without whoever’s on the other side seeing me.
“The others,” I recognize Giovanni’s accent, “we’ll hold until the auction. They’re higher value.”
The girl sobs again, louder this time.
“Stop. You can’t hit her again! I have a standard to uphold. My buyers expect to receive their product in pristine condition.”
Buyers?
I stop trying to get closer, bringing a hand up to cover my mouth in order to silence the choking sound that escapes my throat.
I don’t know what the fuck I’ve stumbled into, but I know it’s bad. I should get the bouncers, call the cops, something… I move back rapidly, tripping over my own feet in my haste and practically crashing into someone.
My entire body stiffens at the contact, and I jolt away from them, twisting around to see who’s behind me. My initial panic lessens when I realize it’s Daniel behind me. A cop. Thank god.
I let out a breath of relief, but before I can explain the situation transpiring behind that door, Daniel reaches out, grabbing a fistful of my hair and propelling me backwards through the door before I realize what’s happening.
I barely fight him off before he releases me just as suddenly as he grabbed me.
My head smacks hard onto the concrete floor as I fall.
“You idiots can’t shut a fucking door?” Daniel huffs out, stalking back to slam the hallway door shut.
Peeling myself up off the ground, I find myself eye to eye with the girl I must have heard crying out in the hallway. Her red-rimmed eyes widen in terror as I take her in.
She’s shaking, wearing only her underwear, silver handcuffs on her wrists, linked to a thick silver collar around her neck.
I stare at the thick metal circle in shock, scrambling to get back on my feet. Every instinct in me screams, Run!
I only make it to my knees before a hand lands roughly on my shoulder, keeping me on the floor. A deep, aching sense of dread fills me, and I swallow hard, glancing up to find Marco, one of Giovanni’s guys, standing over me.
My blood chills as I take in the room. There’s far more people in here than I thought.
It’s a conference room filled entirely with men.
Most sit in plush executive chairs, circled around a large mahogany table.
I recognize a few of the guys standing around the room as Giovanni’s guys, as well as the cop Daniel.
The men sitting, however, look well-to-do.
Dressed in nice suits, puffing on what are probably expensive cigars, with drinks in hand.
Some look down at me with mild disinterest, others crane their necks to get a better look, while some look downright alarmed.
“Bella.”
My head turns toward the voice, recognizing it, finally finding Giovanni in the group. He wears a deep frown as he rises from the table, coming closer.
“I was looking for the dressing room—” I start, my eyes darting around.
All eyes are on me now, except for Lorenzo’s.
He’s lurking at the back of the room. Still not sure what’s going on, I look back at Gio.
“I didn’t—I didn’t see anything,” I say quietly, working to keep my eyes off of the trembling girl to my right.
Giovanni steps closer, bending down until he’s at eye level, taking the time to tuck a loose strand of my hair behind my ear with a level of care that doesn’t match the coldness in his eyes.
“Ah, but unfortunately you did see something, didn’t you, sweetheart?
” I follow his gaze to the blonde next to me, and he clicks his tongue.
“And now, I've gotta make sure you don’t tell anybody else.”
There’s not a second of hesitation before I lurch away from him, falling onto my ass to escape Marco’s grip, making a desperate attempt to reach the door.
Lorenzo is closing in from behind Giovanni, and a scream rises in my throat at the sight of the white cloth he’s holding outstretched in his hand.
“We-we can talk about this—I won’t say anything, I won’t.”
I claw my way to my feet, tripping over myself as I bolt for the door, but I’m wrenched backwards by my hair before I can make it.
I scream, kicking and fighting, but someone grabs hold of my hands, wrenching them behind my back.
Lorenzo smiles as he leans over me, pressing his cloth tight to my face, covering both my nose and mouth.
I hold my breath, twisting and turning, trying to wiggle out of their grip. But there’s too many of them. My wrists burn as I fight their hold, trying to get free, to wrench that cloth away from my face. My lungs burn, the need for oxygen becoming impossible to ignore, but I refuse to fill them.
Lorenzo’s grip tightens, and I’m losing ground, but my legs are still free. I kick at him, but it’s no use, and having run out of time, I’m forced to inhale.
The cloying scent of chemicals fills my lungs, and the effect is near immediate.
I falter, my knees buckling, vision tilting.
I’m losing strength. My struggling becomes more and more pathetic, and my breaths come against my will as I lose control of my body, slumping helplessly in their arms. My lungs filling up with more of that nauseating scent.
I search the room, taking in their faces, some of them grinning excitedly at the scene.
There’s a man with dark, slicked-back hair, gold rings on every finger; another one with pale skin and sunken cheekbones who looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks, he has a scar along his right jawline; the one closest to me is broad-shouldered, with salt and pepper hair and a nice suit—he winks at me; the one next to him is balding, with a sharp gaze and a sneer on his face I can never forget.
Daniel’s cold smile is the last thing I see before my vision blurs, finally tunneling out, as I free-fall into darkness.