7. Molly
Chapter seven
Molly
I’m on stage at the Crystal Palace, working through my routine, but in my mind, I’m trying to transport myself anyplace but here. I want out so badly I can taste it.
Two of my regulars are in the house, so I know I’ll rake in the money on lap dances later.
The repetition in my life is grinding me down, but I push through. If I’m one thing, it’s determined.
Tonight is just another Friday night until my eyes catch a glint at the back of the room. The light flashes off the silver rings on the man’s hands. He’s in the shadows, but I know who he is immediately.
My stomach sinks. One thing I know for sure: if he’s here, it’s for me.
Although this man isn’t wearing his cut—he wouldn’t dare, not here—I know he’s with the Depraved Sinners. This isn’t their territory, but he’s emboldened, and I know why.
My song ends, and I exit the stage, my heart pounding.
I return to the floor to work the crowd and sell lap dances. The big money is in the private rooms, and either of my regulars could easily be talked into buying time with me, but I know I need to take care of Duck first.
Dread fills me.
He’s against the back wall, and as I approach, his eyes lock with mine. I can’t read him tonight. The dark depths of his soulless eyes are cold.
I slip onto his lap and make small talk like he’s any other customer.
“What brings you in tonight, handsome?”
He knows the routine, and although he’s not supposed to touch, his palm glides along my thigh. Revulsion flickers through my body, prickling my skin.
“C’mere,” he murmurs.
I lean closer, because to disobey him is unthinkable. He’d make me pay with pain.
“When’s your shift over?”
The Crystal Palace is open until three a.m., but tonight I’m off at one.
Clyde’s been giving more stage time to the younger dancers, and I know that trend will continue and my earnings will continue to slide.
My days as a dancer are numbered. No one wants a thirty-year-old stripper when a nineteen-year-old can take her place.
“One,” I say.
“I’ll be waiting across the street.”
I know where he means. There’s a truck stop plaza across the highway.
Nodding, I slip off him and move to one of my regulars. I convince him to take me to a private room and make four-hundred dollars before his time is up. He orders a bottle of over-priced champagne, and I drink with him, trying to forget the rendezvous with Duck that hangs over my head.
When one a.m. rolls around, I escape to the dressing room and change. Gathering my purse, I hit the bathroom and pull the pregnancy test out of my bag.
I was going to take it in the morning, but I need to know before I see Duck, because whether it's positive or negative will definitely affect how I handle him.
Ripping the box open, I pee on the stick, then wait for the results. I know the chances are small, but there was one night Player was drunk, and I distracted him enough to get him to forget to slip on a condom.
This could change my life, and I say a prayer and cross my fingers.
It’s negative, and all my hopes are crushed.
Why is my life so cursed? Why can’t anything ever go in my favor?
Just once I need something to go my way.
A friend told me I could buy a positive test online.
I’m tempted, but faking a pregnancy wouldn’t get me very far.
And when the truth comes out, it won’t go well.
I bite my lip. Perhaps it would buy me time.
I could get Player to abandon the condoms and give me a chance to truly get knocked up. It could work, but it’s a big gamble.
There’s a bang on the door.
“Hurry up,” one of the girls nags.
I wash my hands, toss the box and test in the trash, and slam out of the door, shoving past the waiting dancer. “Get out of my way.”
“Bitch.”
I flip her off and move into the hall and out the rear exit.
I make a beeline for my car and spot a regular in a pickup truck parked in the corner. He’s probably going to try to follow me. If he does, he’s going to have a rude awakening.
I peel out, ride along the frontage road, take the overpass across the highway, and pull into the truck stop. Glancing in my rearview, I see the green pickup following at a distance.
Turning into the lot, I find Duck parked on the side, sitting sideways on the seat of his Harley, smoking a cigarette. We’re near enough to the interstate and the state line that he feels comfortable in his leather cut with his Depraved Sinners rocker and patch.
He’s about six-foot-two of solid muscle with big arms and a broad chest. His head is shaved and his beard comes to a point.
I’ve seen photos of him up on the wall of the Depraved Sinners’ clubhouse.
One was a mugshot from about ten years ago.
He had gorgeous blond hair. Why he shaves it off is fucking crazy to me.
I climb out next to him. As I do, the green pickup rolls past.
Duck’s eyes flick to it, and he stands, turning toward it.
That’s all he has to do, and the truck speeds off, pulling out of the lot.
“He follow you?” Duck asks me.
“He’s a regular. Sometimes they try to find out where I live.”
“Need me to take care of that?”
I shake my head. “He pays my rent every month with the amount he tips me. He’s just been overstepping.”
“He know where you live?”
“I’m not that stupid.”
Duck drops his cigarette and grinds it under his boot. “Things aren’t going the way we’d hoped.”
“No shit,” I whisper. “I heard they found Jimmy Jacks beat to death.”
“We want that property. He wasn’t helping. Kept taking the money and stringing us along.”
“That’s surprising.”
Duck folds his arms. “The club’s ready to take another avenue.”
I blow out a breath. It’s not the first time they’ve pushed me to assist them. “I don’t know what I can do.”
“Sure you do. He’s got a daughter. Get close to her. Make her trust you.”
“And?”
“And we’ll let you know when we’re ready to make our move.”
“You’re going to take her?”
He steps forward, slips a hand around my throat, and backs me to the side of my car, his grip tight. I can feel the cold metal against my spine as my breath is slowly being cut off.
Duck’s eyes are empty, and I know he’d snap my neck without a second thought. He’d drop me on the pavement, climb on his bike, and ride away with no regret.
“Don’t ask questions and don’t fuck this up like you did the last time. Only thing that saved you then was the fact Prez liked you. Been years now, and he’s moved on. You fuck up again I’ll make you pay, and he won’t care.”
It doesn’t matter that I didn’t actually fuck up. It wasn’t my fault they missed their target. But I don’t dare point that out to Duck.
“Understand?” he shakes me.
I nod.
He releases me, and I slump against my car, sucking in air.
Duck climbs on his Harley. “I’ll be in touch. Have something to report by next weekend.”
He fires his bike up and roars off.
My heart pounds in my chest as I slip behind the wheel of my car and lock the doors.
I think about leaving the state; maybe Vegas would work out for me. But Duck knows where my sister lives, and I can’t put her in danger.
My forehead presses to the steering wheel.
I’m so screwed.