Chapter 4 Natasha
NATASHA
“Here you go.”
“Be careful, I’m setting this by your elbow.”
“I can get you another one, sure!”
I dished out drinks as quickly as they came out of the kitchen.
I placed them down, making my rounds around the roulette tables I was in charge of for the night.
I didn’t like some of the looks the men gave me, though.
The tips kept growing. The chips got tossed at me in droves.
And a couple of the men winked at me before nodding upstairs. Up to the second floor.
Where our designated “whore rooms” were.
“Look at that body.”
“Why don’t you come here and sit next to me?”
“You got a number to go with that drink?”
The men who didn’t order drinks and food by the pound were cat-calling me.
Whistling and trying to sneak a touch of my ass.
There wasn’t a damn part of this job I enjoyed, except for the financial security.
The safety of it all. I wanted to punch a few of them in their face, though.
Break their nose for even insinuating I’d make my way into one of those rooms.
I swore to fuck on high, I didn’t know how those second-floor women kept coming into work. Night in, and night out.
The chips kept piling onto my silver tray, and I smiled.
Every once in a while, I cashed them in.
Rolling up the wad of cash before tucking it into my bra.
Tonight, had definitely been my best tip night.
I’d already cashed out chips on three separate occasions.
I’d have to be careful walking home. Possibly take one of the guards up on their offer to escort me.
Because it wasn’t safe to walk these back alleys with a bra full of almost two thousand dollars’ worth of tips.
That’s my rent and bills combined for the month.
Back and forth from the kitchen I went. Dealing with four tables of men trying to grope me and their women staring at me as if it were my fault. I’d been working this job for well over a year. And I figured, at some point in time, I’d get used to it. That was what I figured.
Only, I never did.
I made my way over to the one roulette table away from the rest of them.
It was one of the elite tables. Where the minimal entry fee was more than the money stuffed down into my bra.
These were the high rollers. The men I needed to please.
Because they were the customers that easily paid my rent for the rest of the year. If I played my cards right.
“A whiskey on the rocks, please.”
I whipped my head over at the sound of the voice. Low. Full. It shook my ribcage and sent electricity surging down my spine. And I realized why the second our eyes connected.
Him.
The man with the swept-back hair and the dark green eyes.
“Anything else?” I asked.
“Your favorite appetizer. But only if you share it with me,” he said.
Before I could turn him down, he placed a stack of chips onto my silver tray. Way more than was necessary to cover his food. I nodded and walked away, ready to put in his order. But, clearly, he didn’t understand how these chips worked.
Because I had one thousand dollars left in his chips alone after the order had been placed.
I stood there and waited for his drink. And all the while, I saw him stealing glances at me.
Most customers did that anyway. But I didn't mind him doing it.
He was young. Handsome. Easily as tall as me.
Which was hard to find in a man when you stood at five-foot-eleven.
My mother had been tall. The taller of my parents, actually.
People always found that comical. But it never bothered my parents.
I miss my parents.
I gathered his drink and quickly made my way back to him. I set it down, sliding my arm over his shoulder. He peeked up at me, giving me the cheekiest grin I’d ever seen. But when he turned his head back to meet my eyes again, I could have sworn his nose brushed against my arm.
Which sent goosebumps rushing along my skin.
“You smell phenomenal,” he said.
I paused. “Well, uh, thank—thank you.”
“And yes, I meant to give you that many chips. Before you ask.”
I furrowed my brow. “How did you know what I was going to ask?”
“The way you have those chips stacked neatly on your tray. They’d be easy for you to grab and give back. No reason for that, though. I meant the tip I left you.”
“Oh.”
“Something the matter?”
I peeked at the worker behind the roulette table, but all she did was shrug.
“No, no. Nothing’s wrong. Just—thank you. That’s an incredibly generous tip,” I said.
He grinned. “No need to thank me. Though, your presence might help a bit. Makes me feel lucky, having you around.”
Well, he’s a refreshing change. “I can’t do that tonight, sir. Got many other tables that need my attention.”
“Shame. Though, the offer stands. Should you need a place to sit and breathe for a second.”
It took all I had to simply smile and pull away from him. Because I saw the guards already hovering. I knew they’d have their eye on the new guy. They always did shit like that whenever someone new came in. But I had to wave them off. Let them know he wasn’t bothering me in any way.
If anything, he was tempting me with things I wanted to do.
For some reason, drink and food orders ticked up.
They always did around one thirty in the morning.
The first round of drunken alcoholic escapades wore off, and people got hungry.
Greedy for more alcohol. I rushed around, trying my best to keep the sweat at bay as my feet cried out for mercy.
The blisters hurt. My blisters had blisters, and my shoes rubbed them raw.
I rushed around so quickly I didn’t even stop to look at whose faces belonged to which orders.
And I should have the second I heard his voice.
“I suppose I’m lucky tonight. Because I could’ve sworn you were avoiding me.”
It was Mr. Williams. A man who stopped at nothing to try and get me upstairs.
“Good evening, Mr. Williams. What can I get you to drink?” I asked.
“It hurts that you don’t know my order. Since I only place it with you,” he said.
“I take a lot of orders during my evening shifts, sir. But I can discount your drink, if that’ll make you happy.”
“What will make me happy, beautiful, is knowing your rate.”
The second his hand fell against my leg, I pulled away.
“Would you care to put in an order? Or would you like me to come back to you?” I asked.
He rolled his eyes. “Rum and Coke, Natasha.”
“Right away, sir.”
I put a rush on his drink and quickly got it back to him.
Then, I walked away without answering any other questions he had for me.
I’d been avoiding Mr. Williams for damn near a month now.
The only reason why he hadn’t been banned was because he hadn’t touched me.
Until tonight. I needed to inform one of the guards.
I was sure one of the multitudes of cameras in this place caught that man feeling the outside of my leg.
“Natasha, off the floor. You’re limping, and it doesn’t look attractive.”
“Go back into the back room and stock a bit.”
“And buy some damn shoes that don’t eat your feet up. You look like a wounded bird.”
I sighed as the overseer of the casino barked orders at me.
I never could remember his name. And I knew I never would.
I was simply thankful for the break. Especially now that I knew Mr. Williams was here.
That drunken businessman didn’t know up from down whenever he drank.
And the more he drank, the more belligerent he became.
But in the stock room, I wouldn’t have to put up with it.
I cashed out the rest of my chips and placed the last wad of cash in my bra.
Because if I played my cards right, I wouldn’t be back out on that damn floor.
Not tonight. Not with the way my feet screamed at me.
The second I got into the back room, I slipped out of them.
I grimaced at the open sores on my feet as the cool air hit them.
My feet were scarred up from walking around in these damn things for hours at a time.
Six-inch heels, with no socks or protection of any sort allowed.
For what reason, I had no fucking clue. But it was part of the dress code for the waitresses.
So, I put up with it in order to pull money the way I could doing what I did.
I sighed as I tossed my heels off to the side. I limped around on my legs as I made my way for the stacks of boxes. I started ripping them open, then found places for them on the shelves. The stockroom shelves were practically bare, and it made me smile.
Because even if I hustled, this would keep me busy for the rest of the night.
“I want to know why you won’t give me a chance.”
I whipped around, shocked at the sound of Mr. Williams’ voice.
“Sir, you aren’t allowed to be back here,” I said.
He took a step toward me. “I’ll go once you answer my question. Why won’t you give me a chance?”
“It’s within the rules that waitresses cannot fraternize with customers. That’s what the second floor is for.”
“I don’t want any of those women, though. I want you.”
“Well, I’m sorry about that, Mr. Williams. But I won’t lose my job over you.”
He huffed. “I could take care of you for life.
You wouldn't have to work anymore. You wouldn't have to ruin those beautiful little feet for an unforgiving job. We could travel. I could feed you the finest foods. And the only thing I ask for is your presence. Your heart. Why’s that so fucking hard for you?”
I stood my ground. “Because I don’t want you.”
I tried searching for a way out, but there wasn’t any.
Mr. Williams had the only exit in this place blocked off.
The closer he came to me, the more he backed me toward the boxes.
Cardboard boxes filled with everything from booze to bar flavors to ingredients the kitchen needed in excess.
I slipped away from the boxes and tried to get away. But I felt the businessman grip my arm.
“You aren’t leaving until you give me a fucking answer,” he growled.
“Try this on for size.”
I groaned as he gripped me harder. My hand came down on his wrist and I dug my nails into his tendons.
He grunted as his grip released, and I slipped away long enough to turn myself toward him.
I jammed my naked heel into his foot. I brought my knee into his groin.
I pushed him away, watching him stumble back before he lunged at me again.
Only this time, I thrusted my hand out.
I cracked the heel of my hand against his face. I watched blood trickle down his nose. I called out for help as I scrambled for the only door this damn stockroom had. But I still wasn’t quick enough. Not on my blistered feet that hurt like the fucking dickens.
“Now, you don’t get the courtesy of my money.”
Something reached around and gripped my neck.
I struggled to breathe as he spun me around.
His hand connected with my cheek, and I saw fuzzy images again.
I saw Ivan again. I saw that man hovering over me as he peeled off my clothes.
My voice, screaming. My legs, kicking. And as Ivan wrapped his hand around my throat, telling me to stop struggling, I smelled alcohol on his breath.
No, the alcohol on Mr. Williams’ breath.
“You’re coming with me,” he murmured.
“Please. Don’t do this,” I whimpered.
“You had your chance. Maybe this’ll teach you a lesson.”
“Help! Someone hel—”
He fisted my hair and started dragging me across the floor.
I struggled against him as I wrapped my hands around his wrist. I tried pressing down again.
I tried conjuring anything and everything Phillip taught me about self-defense.
But as the door to the stockroom ripped open, something connected with my stomach.
Robbing me of my voice, my breath, and my sight.
“Shut. The fuck. Up,” he growled.