Chapter 6
Laurie
Last night I sat in a booth at a diner that’s open twenty-four hours. I could only afford one cup of coffee, but luckily for me, the staff didn’t ask me to leave.
I caught them giving me pity glances several times, and the waitress even refilled my coffee for free and brought me a slice of pie.
As much as I appreciate it, I feel miserable and hopeless.
Yesterday, I went to see the owner of the room I wanted to rent. I asked her if she would let me stay there for a week while I figured things out, but she got angry and told me to stop wasting her time and take a hike.
The wheels of my suitcase aren’t going to last much longer as I drag the bag behind me while I walk from business to business in the hopes of getting a job.
When I get shown the door for the umpteenth time today, my heart sinks to my feet and desperation claws at my throat.
I’m screwed! God, this can’t be happening to me.
How am I homeless and jobless?
I dig my phone out of my handbag and contemplate begging my family for help. Or even Elise.
As I stare at the black screen, I can’t bring myself to type the desperate messages.
“We’re going to be late for the audition!” someone suddenly says near me, her voice filled with excitement.
I glance at the two women as they rush past me. They’re dressed like they’re ready for a night out on the town.
“I heard you can make up to ten thousand on a Friday or Saturday from tips alone, and if there’s a private party, that can easily jump to twenty grand. That’s how Charlene paid for law school.”
Holy shit, that’s a lot.
The mention of money has my ears perking up, and when I see them heading toward the club on the corner, I realize I’m not far from Mitchell’s Construction.
“Girl, I’d fuck the wrinkliest old man alive for that kind of money,” the other woman says.
Yeah, I don’t know about that, but I’m exhausted and desperate enough to try stripping.
Once the thought crosses my mind, my feet start moving, and I follow the women to a side entrance.
When they stop to talk with an old man, my heartbeat speeds up, but then I take in their sexy dresses and high heels.
Shit!
Glancing down at my jeans, T-shirt, and sneakers, my heart sinks again.
Ugh, I look like something the cat dragged in.
The old man lets the two women enter before looking at me with an arched eyebrow. When I say nothing, he grumbles, “Are you here to audition?”
“Ah…” My tongue darts out to wet my dry lips. “Yes.” It comes out sounding more like a question rather than an answer.
His eyes flick up and down my body, and when it looks like he’s going to tell me to take a hike, I beg, “Please, I just want a chance. I need the money.”
“I don’t run a charity,” he mutters. “Name?”
“Ah…Laurie.” I pause to clear my throat. “Laurie Barnes.”
“ID,” he grumbles.
I quickly dig the card out of my wallet and show it to him.
After he glances at it, he thankfully jerks his chin, indicating for me to enter.
When I step into the dimly lit hallway, I swallow hard on the nerves spinning in my stomach.
Am I really going to do this?
What choice do I have? It’s either this or sleeping on the streets. If I get a regular job, I’ll have to wait a month before I get paid, whereas I’ll get tips as soon as I strip.
When I picture myself taking my clothes off in a room full of men, an anxious snort escapes me, quickly followed by the urge to ugly cry.
I’m still trying to come to terms with the absolute horrific turn my life has taken and don’t know if I can deal with stripping for money.
Jesus. I have no choice.
My anxiety keeps increasing as I follow the old man to a backstage area where easily twenty women are getting ready to bare it all.
One of the first things I notice is that most of them have killer bodies and curves in all the right places with tiny waists and long legs that seem to go on forever. Their breasts look way too perfect to be natural.
I watch as they slip into skin-tight dresses, lace bodysuits, and scraps of fabric that barely qualify as clothing. Cleavage spills over necklines, heels add inches to already endless legs, and every one of them looks confident enough to own the room.
Sweet Jesus, I stick out like a sore thumb.
“Get ready and wait your turn,” the old man grumbles before walking away.
Ready?
I don’t own anything seductive enough for a strip show.
Well, besides underwear, but I don’t think plain cotton bras and panties are going to cut it.
My heart keeps thundering in my chest as I slowly make my way to an open spot at the dressing table framed by big bright bulbs.
I open my suitcase and pull out the plastic bag containing my makeup and toiletries.
When I saw how haphazardly Amanda packed my belongings like they were nothing but trash, it made me see red, but I had bigger worries than going over to Austin’s place and smacking the shit out of her.
I sneak a glance at the other women, trying to gauge how they applied their makeup before I get to work.
A man comes in with a clipboard and starts taking down everyone’s names. When I’m last to give mine, I say a little prayer that it means I’ll also be last to strip. “First five are up,” he calls out while pointing at five women.
Shit!
I hurry with my makeup, but instead of turning myself into a sultry stripper, I keep looking more and more clownish.
My hands begin to tremble as my nerves spiral out of control, and when a tear escapes, I swipe it away with my fingers, smearing the powder and foundation.
Get a hold of yourself, Laurie.
Trying to turn myself into a carbon copy of the other women only makes me look like a kid who got into her mother’s makeup bag.
With a frustrated groan, I grab a handful of tissues and start wiping everything off. Foundation disappears first, then the heavy eye shadow and too-bright lipstick.
Once my face is clean again, I put on makeup the way I always do, a little foundation, mascara, some blush, and lip gloss.
My eyes drift to the tiny scraps of fabric scattered around the room, and my stomach twists.
Nope. I can’t walk out there in my bra and panties.
My pulse races faster and faster as I glance down at my jeans and plain white T-shirt.
While the other women all look sexy and confident, I look like I took a wrong turn on the way to the grocery store.
“Final six, you’re up,” the man suddenly calls out, and I startle because where the hell did all the time go?
I stand up on shaky legs, and it feels like I’m trudging through thick mud as I follow the other five women onto a brightly lit stage. My trembling hands are ice cold, and my thoughts turn to complete mush.
The closer I get to the front of the stage where a pole is mounted, the faster my breaths come.
Sweet Jesus, what the hell am I doing?
Adriano
“Purgatory brought in almost a million more than any other month this year,” Remo says as we look at the bank statements. “Seems the more people stress about the state of the world, the more they spend.”
Years before I was born, Dad built Fallen Angels and named the original three sections of the club. Heaven, where customers can only watch the girls strip, Hell, where the more taboo side of things takes place, and Purgatory, the gambling room.
I added a dance floor and called it Limbo so it fit with the rest.
Even though my brother is my underboss, numbers have always been his thing, so I leave the finances and taxes to him while I deal with everything else, especially if it involves anything dangerous.
My phone rings, drawing my attention, and when I dig it out and see Rosie’s name on the screen, I answer, “What’s wrong?”
She never calls me unless she needs help.
“Hurry to Heaven! Laurie is about to strip on stage.”
“What?” I bark as I shoot to my feet.
“I was doing my usual checks on everyone when I spotted Laurie on stage… Oh my God, that woman has huge boobs.”
“Rosie,” I snap angrily so she’ll focus.
“What? My job is done. Go get your woman before she takes off her clothes.”
The call ends, and as I run down the hallway, I’m convinced Rosie must’ve made a mistake. There’s no way Laurie is up on stage.
As I storm into Heaven, my eyes dart over the women, and when I see Laurie looking very uncomfortable and like she’s about to puke, I lose my shit.
Fucking enraged, I shout, “Laurie!” She jumps as she startles, and her wide eyes dart to me.
The music comes to a screeching stop, and all the staff stares at me.
“Adriano?” Jerrie asks with a cautious tone.
With my gaze locked on Laurie, I growl, “Get off that fucking stage.”
Like the butterfly she is, she flits to the side and jumps down to the floor. Her face visibly pales as she watches me with caution, like I’m some demon from her nightmares.
When I notice how badly she’s shaking, I bark, “Leave. Right now.”
I turn around and walk away before I do something I’ll regret. Going straight to my office so I don’t kill any of my staff, I slam the door shut and breathe through the rage pulsing inside me like a second heartbeat.
What the fucking…fuck.
I shake my head and suck in lungfuls of air, my chest rising and falling as if I just ran ten miles.
There’s a soft knock at my door, and before I can tell whoever it is to fuck off, it opens and Laurie peeks inside.
“Uhm…I’m so sorry,” she practically whispers, her voice quivering too much for anything louder to come out. “Can I talk to you real quick?” Her eyebrows pull together, and she looks seconds away from crying. “Please.”
I wave a hand, indicating for her to come in, then watch as she cautiously creeps into my office. She hesitates over shutting the door, but then decides not to and leaves it open a crack.
I lean back against my desk and cross my arms over my chest, waiting to hear what she has to say.
“So… uhm…” Her tongue darts out to wet her lips before she continues, “I need work.”
Not saying anything, I slowly shake my head while another wave of rage crashes through me.
When a tear rolls over her cheek, she glances at the shelves behind me, quickly wiping it away with her fingertips.
“I’m desperate. I just lost my job, and I’m broke.
I spent last night in a diner, and I don’t think they’ll tolerate me again tonight.
” Her voice cracks over the words, taking a swing at my heart.
Tilting my head, I ask, “You spent the night where?”
“At a diner.” Laurie wraps her arms around herself. “This isn’t easy for me, but I’m broke and homeless. I’ll do anything.”
“You’re living on the streets?” I ask because I can’t believe what I’m hearing.
“Yes…” A pleading expression tightens her ashen features. “I just need to work. Please give me the job.”
“I’m not letting you take your clothes off in my club,” I reply, my tone so harsh and unforgiving she takes a step backward.
My mind races to put all the puzzle pieces together, but there are gaping holes. How did Laurie lose her job and house in two days?
Suddenly she darts forward and throws herself at my feet.
The sight of her on her knees does something unexplainable to me.
A sob bursts from her as she holds her hands in a praying gesture, and her voice is thick with shame and desperation. “Please, I’m begging you.”
An idea pops into my mind, and when I take too long to reply, she cries, “Then how am I supposed to survive?” Kneeling in front of me, sobs begin to shudder from her.
I crouch down, and as I take in the tears wetting her cheeks and how they make her light blue eyes shine, I say, “I’ll make you a deal.”
Hope sparks to life in her stunning irises. “What kind of deal?”
Knowing she won’t be able to resist, the corner of my mouth lifts. “You will get twenty thousand dollars right now and ten thousand per month for as long as the deal lasts. You come when I call.”
A frown forms on her forehead, and when she stares at me with parted lips, I wonder how they’ll taste.
“And what do you expect me to do whenever you call?”
A grin forms on my face as my eyes devour every inch of her. “Anything I want.”
Laurie gasps, and a myriad of emotions play out over her very expressive features. Everything from terror to embarrassment to hopelessness.
Finally, with a defeated expression in her baby blues, she whispers, “Okay.”
The longer I stare at Laurie, the more my obsession grows, and knowing I’ve just caught my little butterfly makes satisfaction creep through me like a dark shadow.
Mine.
All fucking mine to do with whatever I want. I could tell her to marry me right now, and she’d probably agree.
I’m bombarded with all the things I’m going to do to her, but they’ll all have to wait.
First things first. I want to know why she’s on the fucking streets.