Anthem of Love and Loathing (Riot of Broken Dreams #1)

Kelsey

Heavy gym bag slung over my shoulder, I run for the bus stop. The bag bumps against my hip. I’m going to be late for my shift at The Scarlet Club, and Gary is going to send me packing.

Gary ‘The Sleaze’ can suck balls, but unfortunately, I need this job since my dwindling savings hit the point of no return months ago and my landlord who was understanding when I couldn’t afford my rent the first couple times posted an eviction notice on the door of my apartment while I was sleeping.

The bus starts to pull out.

“No!” I shout, waving an arm in the air in the hopes the bus driver will notice and be kind. I run faster. “Wait for me!”

The bus merges with the traffic.

My steps slow. There really is no point running. It’ll be fifteen minutes until the next one on my route. Let’s hope Gary’s in a good mood tonight. This job really is the only thing between me and the streets at this point.

If I can just make enough money to get out of L.A. and far enough away from the crap that keeps following me... I can start fresh.

I dump my bag on the bench inside the bus shelter and try to catch my breath.

It’s time, isn’t it? This is the point where I finally admit being stubborn isn’t going to change anything.

It’s not the giant screw you my anger made me want it to be.

There is no keeping the life I used to have.

I’m only hurting myself by fighting the inevitable.

But my sense of self... my attitude is all I have left now.

My eyes burn at the utter bleakness of my position. I had hoped tonight I could make enough in tips to book that bus ticket. But Gary won’t be in a good mood when I show up late. I haven’t seen that old grouch wear even half a smile in the weeks I’ve been working at the club.

So I’ll hitch-hike. And hope I don’t end up in some serial killer’s truck.

My gaze catches on the posters that have been plastered within the shelter.

Lethal gray eyes, a near perfect jawline, and an annoyingly arrogant smirk stare back at me.

Of course, his face is the first thing that catches my attention.

Of course, posters of his band are here.

They are everywhere. L.A. Riot is all anyone is talking about.

Of course he would witness this moment of total hopelessness. How fitting.

The burning behind my eyes disappears. My blood turns to lava instead. He’s been behind every single event that’s happened in the last two years.

If I ever see him again, I’ll punch him in his pretty face. No, I’ll... kick him in the balls. Smash his beloved guitar. Make him hurt the way he made me hurt. The way I still do whenever L.A. Riot is on the radio.

I unzip my gym bag and go through it until I find a thick black permanent marker.

I uncap it and give the frontman a short black mustache just under his nose, and when that doesn’t cool me off, I draw a giant schlong with the head at his lips.

Dot lines where it’s ejected its contents onto his face.

It’s immature of me, but after what he did... drawing on his stupid jerk face in his stupid L.A. Riot World Tour posters whenever I run across them can hardly be considered payback.

Blacklisted from every major record label in the country. And outside of it. Not even the smaller labels who hired me in the beginning would keep me on for longer than a couple of weeks. Once they got the phone call, that was it... I’d be packing up my desk and searching the job sites again.

The rage starts to fade, my emotions turning far bleaker. Riot is toxic, but a part of me still misses when we were friends. And the fact that I miss him makes me want to punch him in the face.

Things went from bad to much worse after him.

And they’re not getting better any time soon. It’s all I can do to keep my chin up and put one foot in front of the other most of the time.

Eventually the next bus comes and I climb on it. A man sits down next to me as soon as I’m situated. He smells like dirty sweat, Axe body spray, and creep. He certainly stares at my legs like a creep.

I shift to the far edge of my seat, press up against the window. He better not try anything. Gary doesn’t worry too much about his girls, as long as the clientele pays, but I’m not at work yet.

The man grunts.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch him pressing a hand to his crotch. Fucking gross. The whole time he’s staring at me.

The bus stops and people get off. Others get on. Seats become vacant. But moving means getting past him, and that’s its own problem.

It starts to rain.

He keeps staring at me. It’s too much. Fuck this creep.

Grabbing my bag, I leap to my feet.

He leers at me as I push past him. Thrusting out his empty hand, he tries to grab me.

I catch his clammy fingers and bend them down as far as they will go without snapping. “Touch me, and I will fucking break them.”

A dozen onlookers turn their curiosity in our direction.

I let go. He drops his hand.

I use my bag as a shield between us as I exit into the aisle. The groper keeps staring at me but makes no move to follow as I take my new seat. God help me if he’s a client at Scarlet. That’d be just what I need to top off the shit show that this day has been.

Across from me, a couple of young women on their way out for the night squeal and turn their music up.

Lovely. Could it get any fucking worse? I would recognize his voice anywhere.

Not to mention Bronx’s skilled drumming and Golden’s talented rhythm guitar work.

I wish I could reach over and turn off this godforsaken song.

I wish I could erase the memories of the emotions that asshole could stir in me with nothing but his music.

But mostly I’m just annoyed by the fact that no matter where I go or what I do, I can’t seem to escape him.

“Shut up and leave me alone,” I mutter as I hug my gym bag in my lap.

The girls turn up their noses at me, like I’m the problem.

By the time the bus pulls up to my stop, almost twenty minutes late for my shift, the sky has opened. The rain is bucketing down, soaking me to the bone, sticking my hair to my face and my clothes to my skin as I race inside.

I shove open the side door into Scarlet and race down the hallway to the dressing rooms.

“You look like a drowned rat.” Sapphire wrinkles her nose as she runs her gaze up and down my frame. She turns back to her mirror to check the fit on her tiny silver bra and panty set. Her mouth curves as she flattens a flyaway in her black hair. “And Gary is on the warpath.”

“Shit.” I drop down at one of the other stations and start scraping my hair back from my face as she prowls from the room. Her name is announced as her music starts.

There isn’t enough time to restyle my wet strands, but I grab a towel and squeeze as much water out of my hair as I can.

Grabbing a wet wipe, I remove the smudges from around my eyes and grab my eyeliner.

Once that’s done, I change out of my wet clothes into my barely there costume; cheeky cut panties and a deep V bra in cherry red.

“You’re late.” Gary fills the doorway with his paunch as I put on my heels. His beady eyes rove my tits and bare thighs. He smacks his lips.

I refuse to examine that action too closely. Even not thinking about it makes my stomach turn.

“Sorry, Gary. It won’t happen again.” I walk toward him, planning on scooting by and getting on with my shift like maybe if I keep my head down, he won’t be a dick about it.

“You’re damn right it won’t.” He grabs my upper arm, wrapping his fingers around it tight enough that they bite. He smells like cigarettes and bay rum. “I explained to you what happens when you’re late, didn’t I?”

“Yes.” I try not to wince. I’m going to have bruises by morning.

He smiles greasily. “Lucky for you, I expect several of my favorite clients who aren’t fussy about which dancer is waiting for them in their VIP room to be in attendance tonight. Go in there, keep your mouth shut, give them what they want, and you can keep your job.”

The back room means private lap dances, where the men can be handsy, but I can handle handsy. And Walt should be working as host tonight. He will watch out for me like he has since I started working here.

“Your customers better all leave satisfied,” Gary warns.

I nod.

He sneers. “And I’m docking your tips.”

Of course he is. Jackass.

“Now, say thank you, Gary.”

I swallow down the desire to ask him what I have to be thankful about. “Thank you, Gary.”

“Your first client is already situated. Get in there. Strut that moneymaker.” He slaps me on the ass hard enough my eyes sting as he shoves me out the door.

My stripper heels adhere to the whiskey-sticky floor with every step—It’s like walking on chewing gum—as I cross the main room.

Passing Sapphire who is working the pole right up front.

And sweet, tiny Heaven who is flirting with a couple of middle-aged suits sharing a bottle.

She’s been the nicest to me, though a couple of the other girls smile when we make eye contact.

My stomach dives when I reach the entry to the VIP rooms. Walt’s not out front. I don’t spot his dark, handsome, bald head in the main room either.

None of the other hosts are out front either. That’s odd, isn’t it? But then none of the other guys are as conscientious about our protection as Walt.

Gary catches me loitering in the entry. His gaze narrows and he makes a walking gesture with his fingers.

He’s going to tell me I can’t come back if I don’t get my ass in there. Then what? I spend the next however many months hunting for whatever menial job will hire me? The need for shelter and food is more immediate than that.

A deep breath as I twist the handle and step inside the darkened room. Strips of neon lighting provide an ambient glow.

There’s a dais with a pole on one side of the room. A sound system that is already pumping music into the soundproofed room when I shut the door. Whiskey in a bottle sits on the low table in front of the leather couches.