Off Limits

Chapter One

Serenity

My mother’s chosen name for me is of Latin origin. It means peaceful.

Lately, it seems like my life is anything but.

‘Ren! Ren! Where are you? You’re up!’

The shrill voice cuts through to my consciousness. I’m lost in my own thoughts again. I look at my reflection in the mirror in the communal dressing room, my fingertip drawing invisible letters on the surface of the vanity: a C, followed by an M and finally, another C.

The Canyon Mutineers Cheerleaders. And as of today, I get to say I’m one of them. I’m an official cheerleader for the NFL.

Today was decision day. The day I made the squad.

I should be out celebrating with my new teammates. Only, I’m here, at Surly’s Tavern, Canyon’s finest strip club. Preparing to go back out onstage.

I study my heavy, smoky eye makeup, my gaze trailing lower to my sequinned corset, the cut way too revealing for most folk in this city.

But I guess that’s the point. That’s my look.

It’s what the patrons of Surly’s have come to expect.

What makes them slip dollar bills into my matching panties and the rim of my high-heeled boots.

I guess the disappointment in myself will always be there.

I’ve just been here long enough to know that somehow, I gotta ignore it.

‘Ren? Seriously. Now, sweetheart!’

‘Coming!’ I holler sweetly, getting to my feet.

Misty’s coming off the stage and I’m due on as her replacement.

She’s older than me, with two young kids, but, boy, can that sister move.

Her stage name is Kitty Thighs. The music kicks up a notch.

She blows me a kiss as she finishes her routine.

I give her a big smile, one that the patrons can’t see.

‘Good luck out there,’ she hums in her southern drawl, coming down the stairs, giving me a high-five as she passes. ‘Slow crowd tonight.’

Somewhere over by the bar, the bar’s manager, Jaxon, introduces me in his gravelly tone over the mic. He changes the lights so there are more neon reds and pinks to match my wig for tonight.

Brandy Velvet is my stage name and has been for the last five years I’ve been dancing here. Not my choice, but some of the newer girls have worse, like Montana Cream, Mimi Whips and Candy Chains.

The whistles are a little louder than an hour ago.

In the shadows, I snatch a breath, wait for the beat.

Under the corset, my obliques are killing me: the result of twelve weeks of rigorous and gruelling auditions for the CMC.

Last thing I need is to dance on stage, using only a chair for the second time tonight.

Kathleen Lafferty is the CMC head coach. Today, she gave all of us rookie cheerleaders a lecture about how to take proper care of our bodies.

Ice. Stretches. Hydration. A healthy diet. Plenty of rest.

Little did she know, there was a stripper on her team. So, I’ll be doing double the work, whether my body likes it or not.

‘Fellas, she’s back for more…’ Jax announces over the mic. ‘From Dallas to Austin, Frisco to San Antone, y’all know she’s Texas’ finest. Show a little love for… Brandy Velvet!’

Cheers go up. Guys straight up hollerin’ for me.

I step up to the stage. The backdrop shimmers and glitters, the music strikes up.

Gimme More by Britney Spears. It’s my signature number, and the crowd knows it.

There’s a whole heap o’ thrustin’ involved.

Not what my NFL cheerleader hips could do with right now either.

But as I head for the chair that’s positioned at the front of the stage, my movements deliberately provocative, I shut down.

In my mind, I fly far, far away.

Because this is not what I planned for my life.

And I’m not here by choice.

Twenty minutes later, I’m with Jaxon in the back office, counting out my cash tips. One hundred and twenty bucks. We all have to do this. The other girls get a fifty per cent share of whatever they make.

All the girls, that is, except me.

‘That all of it?’ Jax says with a single eyebrow raised, looking down at the pile of dollar bills piled up in his outstretched palm.

I give him a look like a helpless kitten. ‘Please, Jax? I gotta drive to my first official squad practice tomorrow. I need money for gas.’

Jax sighs a heavy sigh. He used to work in a club uptown until somebody planted illegal narcotics on him and he’d gotten fired. ‘You know the rules, honey.’

I push out my bottom lip.

‘How much you got left?’

I pull out a fifty from my corset and hold it out to him between my fingers. ‘This is the last of it, I promise.’

His eyes flit over my shoulder to the closed door. ‘Take it,’ he mumbles, with a wave of his hand. ‘I didn’t see nothing.’

‘Thank you,’ I say with a grin, tucking the bill back inside my corset. ‘You’re an angel.’

‘So… I hear congratulations are in order. You’re really doing this cheerleading thing, huh?’

I roll forward onto the balls of my feet, stretching out the backs of my calves, proud of myself. ‘Sure am. Got the news today. I’m a CMC now.’

‘Well, that’s just swell, Ren. What happens when they find out about this joint? Don’t imagine the boss man is gonna let you quit this place.’

I feel my cheeks warm. ‘Figure no one has to know. I’ll head here straight from practice on work nights.’

Jax cocks his head to one side and gives me a half-smile. ‘And when are you meant to sleep, Serenity Harper? That’s three jobs you’re working now.’

It’s sweet that he cares. ‘Come on, Jax. You know I’ve always dreamed of being a Mutineers cheerleader,’ I say quietly. ‘And this job, it’s…’

He nods his head once. He knows my situation. That I’m not here for the fun of it.

There’s a knock at the door. Hurley – one of our security guards – puts his head inside the office. He’s tall and broad and there ain’t a man in the whole of Canyon he can’t handle.

‘Serenity,’ he says in a low tone. ‘Customer’s asking for a private dance.’

My chest starts to flutter. ‘Can’t somebody else do it?’

He sniffs. ‘Asked for you personally,’ he responds in a gruff tone.

I look at Jax, my eyes pleading again. ‘Not tonight. Please?’

Jax has been busy putting the pile of cash I handed him into the safe. There’s a ledger dedicated to my tips only, which he’s supposed to fill out. I have the same at home, so I can keep track, and my records are precise, down to every last goddamn cent.

‘I’m sorry, Serenity,’ he says as he spins the dial. ‘You know I think the world of you, but… not my problem.’

He turns, holds up his palms as if in surrender, looking guilty before he adjusts his cap. Given the boss is away tonight, I figured he might go easy on me.

I follow Hurley from the office, a weight in my stomach.

Mila – aka Candy Chains – is back on stage.

She’s getting a lot of attention. There are four of us on rotation tonight.

I keep my head down. It’s dark in here, and despite me wearing a wig, I’m conscious that now I’m a cheerleader for the local NFL team, some of our regulars are bound to be hardcore Mutineers fans.

I hadn’t figured I’d have this feeling of panic in my chest.

Everybody knows the rules here: customers who want a topless lap dance must pay up front.

Surly’s has private rooms with double-door entry.

Hurley, or one of the other security guards, remain outside the inner door throughout, and the club has a strict no-touching policy.

There’s a panic button for us girls if we need it.

Lap dances last a total of seven minutes and it’s not possible to pay for double time.

Inside, the customer is already seated on the large, rounded leather couch, as per club rules.

He’s not a regular, and I note that he’s wearing a wedding band.

He probably has kids waiting on him at home.

He wears a cap and a baseball shirt over baggy denim shorts, and in this light, it looks like his hair is strawberry blond. A layer of stubble covers his face.

No matter how many times I do this, it’s never easy.

The first few minutes I face away from him, dancing, rolling and swinging my hips, stroking my thighs.

I turn and lower myself into his lap around the three-minute mark.

Usually they’re aroused at this point, and this guy is no different.

I can feel the length of him pressing up into my ass as I grind into his jeans.

I think about my good news today, to take my mind off what I’m doing.

I always wanted to be a dancer, only I never pictured it would be like this.

I was born and raised in Canyon, on the west side, and growing up, the CMC were like something in a dream.

Elegant, poised and beautiful, I wanted to be like them, from the first time I saw them perform at a local fashion show.

Even before I became a high school cheerleader, I knew I wanted to dance for the crowds in the real-life NFL.

To have all that positive energy and use it for good, like they did.

To represent my city and be a future role model for all the little girls like me, who didn’t grow up all fancy with nice, shiny things.

The guy between my thighs lets out a low grunt, bringing me sharply back to reality. When I glance down, I think of his poor wife, and it makes me wanna puke.

‘Oh yeah, baby,’ I hear him growl as he leans back, into the grooves of the couch, pushing his groin against me. Unpleasant though it might be, the guy’s not breaking any rules. His hands remain by his sides.

The last two minutes are my least favorite.

Leaning back, I unclasp my corset and let it fall away from my breasts.

The hair from my wig falls across my face as I shift my hips atop him.

I feel his arousal strain against his pants, my nipples tantalizingly close to his face and lips as I grind in his lap.

My expression is indifferent. I don’t look at him. I can’t.

At least dancing topless on stage, you don’t feel like you’re being violated.

‘Ride me, baby,’ he says huskily on an exhale. Underneath me, his dick pulses, but apparently, only his hands are part of the no-touching rule.

The music fades. Seven minutes are up. I slide off his lap, get to my feet, thankful it’s over. I pick up my corset and stand facing the wall, as is policy. It’s always at this moment that I blink back tears, because it reminds me how powerless I am, and how I’d leave Surly’s tomorrow if I could.

‘For the lady,’ I hear the man say as he leaves the room.

Hurley escorts the customer out, then comes back to pass me my tip.

I glance down. It’s a lousy ten bucks. Rolling my eyes before I wipe them, I fix my corset back in place and hope that his friends don’t get any ideas. Private dances are expensive.

Yet I don’t see a dime of that fee.

The neighborhood’s deathly quiet when I roll up in my beat-up Ford C-Max, pulling up into the driveway.

Temptation Heights is not exactly known for its deluxe vehicles.

It’s three a.m. and the outside porch light still flickers.

I ease the screen door open, so it doesn’t clatter or squeak – which it always does – and slide my key inside the lock. I can hear the TV on the inside.

In the living area, to the left, Dad’s fast asleep, still on the couch, fully dressed, in the same clothes he was wearing when I left him this morning.

I sigh and reach for the remote, switch off the commercials on TV and cover him with a blanket.

I creep toward the kitchen. When I open the refrigerator, I expect to see it half-full of groceries, only all that’s left is some cheese slices and an open can of soda.

My second sigh is more pronounced. I straighten, check the freezer and retrieve the tub of Ben & Jerry’s that I stashed right at the back.

I sit outside on the porch in a butterfly stretch, scooping ice cream straight from the tub.

In her lecture, Kathleen warned us rookies to avoid dairy.

I keep telling myself, just one more spoonful.

I sit, heels pressed together. I feel the pull in my adductors as I listen to the cicadas.

The neighbor’s dog sleeps tethered to the fence, whining in his dreams. I gotta be up in five hours to get to the diner.

Alongside working at Surly’s, bussing tables is not exactly how I saw myself making a living.

You were supposed to order groceries today, Dad.

I remember the day, five years ago, when they came after him.

They wanted their money, and for my father, Glenn Harper, to pay it back, when they knew darn well he wasn’t good for it.

He’d gambled it all away, every last dime.

Momma stuck out the year ’til I was seventeen, but left when she couldn’t take it no more.

She encouraged me to leave too, saying that he wasn’t worth it, that he was a drunk and a deadbeat and didn’t the whole neighborhood know it.

I thought about leaving.

Then he got sick.

The men who came for him… all they saw was Dad’s pretty little girl – so they said – with the long blonde hair and bright green eyes, and their minds were already racking up dollar signs. And just like that, the day I turned eighteen, I became a pawn in a no-good man’s game.

The message to Dad was clear. Either pay the money back or suffer the consequences.

That’s how I got started dancing. Five, sometimes six nights a week for the last five years. I don’t get paid, and any tips that I make belong to Kale McCoy. Local crime lord in Canyon and owner of Surly’s Tavern.

He owns me now. Until the debt is paid off.

I knew when I sent in my video audition for the CMC that there was a risk. That if I qualified, somebody might recognize me from dancing late at night.

It’s why I’m gonna work damn hard to make sure that doesn’t happen.

My two lives need to remain separate. In the daylight hours, I’m Serenity Harper, diner waitress and clean-cut Mutineers cheerleader. At night, I’m Brandy Velvet. Private dancer.

I look down at the ice cream tub and bite my lip. It’s empty.

I look behind me at the house, knowing Dad is sleeping soundly inside.

They would have killed him if I hadn’t agreed to the terms.

I blow out my cheeks. I need to get some shut eye.

Recently, there’s been this question lingering in my mind. Is it possible to do this, and not get found out?

Because right now, it feels like I’m about to play with fire.