Chapter 1
Her
I can’t believe I'm practically naked, standing in this strange dressing room that is way classier than it should be, waiting to be called out. My hands are shaking, and my legs are about to give way, but I have to do this.
How did I get here? I inhale slowly, trying to keep my nerves in check.
Oh yeah, my pain in the arse, sister, that's how. Trouble since the day she was born. Being the big sister to my little sister comes with its challenges, but who would have thought it would come to this? I would end up naked, waiting to step out into a sex club to keep us in food, rent and anything else that will stop her from going back on drugs and back in the hands of Mateus De Cruz. My life isn’t my own.
It's hers. She owns it even though she doesn’t realise it.
I will do anything to stop her from going back down that road, even if it means putting on a show for seedy perves, wanting to get off watching the stranger in front of them touching themselves.
Cassie, the Manager, bobs her head around the door and smiles.
She’s gorgeous - blonde, shaggy bob, a little shorter than me - like the girl next door with an edge.
She is stunning. The girl next door with a foul mouth.
For the umpteenth time, I wonder why a woman would manage a club like this.
Isn't there girl code or something that would stop her? Maybe she hasn’t heard of the girl code.
Instead, she employs girls like me… desperate, and gets them to dance and more for horny men.
She has been nothing but kind to me, though.
Maybe she wants to do it because she wants us to respect ourselves and not have to deal with some seedy guy paying us cash in hand.
Only the confident apply. Full discretion needed,
Dancing experience an advantage
From the advert, it doesn't take a genius to work out that my self-respect needs to get left at the door. The trouble is, I was desperate.
She steps into the dressing room when she sees the state I'm in. Goosebumps cover my visible skin - and there's a lot of it - dressed in a red lacy bra and matching satin knickers with my highest heels. I shiver. I'm not really the kind of girl that gets nervous, but even I have my limits.
"You OK, hon?" she smiles.
I give her a shaky smile. "First time is always the worst, I'm sure."
She nods. "I promise, after doing it a few times, you will wonder what you worried about."
"But they're not allowed to touch me, right?" Something I've reassured myself with a hundred times tonight.
She shakes her head. "Absolutely not. You've seen how it is when Lauren danced for you.
The person watching you will be far from you, in a cubicle.
There is a full one-way mirror in front of you and security right outside.
You will be fine, totally safe, I promise.
I bet my job on it. Everyone that comes here knows the owner and his connections. Trust me, no one would dare touch you."
I sigh and relax my shoulders. The head girl, Lauren, performed for me yesterday, which was awkward, but she showed me what I had to do as though it was a run-of-the-mill day for her.
Boy did she own it, I think it was the sexiest thing I've ever seen.
So, I'm clear on what to expect and what is expected of me. What does she mean about the owner, though? Probably best I don’t know.
Turn up, get my pay, and then go home. God, this is only my trial run for one of the manager's business partners or something.
How bad can it be? Bad, Nadia… very, very bad.
I wince. "I'm sorry, but please can I run through it with you again? I'm terrified, and I think it will help."
She leans against the wall. Dressed in fitted jeans and a blouse, showing off her ample cleavage. She is beautiful. I need her story. "Of course. What's the first thing you do?"
I take a deep breath. "Okay, so I walk in there with balls of steel."
She nods. "Absolutely, carry on."
"Then I stand in front of the mirror and wait for the guy's chosen music to start." I swallow, "Then stand in front of a complete stranger, who I can't see, and pretend to get myself off in front of them."
Look at me, pretending this is a normal conversation.
She shrugs. "If you actually get yourself off without pretending, even better, it's more convincing… more of a turn-on for them, and to be honest, after a while, the girls say it's easier than faking it."
I huff. Is she serious? "Sexy is the last thing I feel like now."
"Well, trust me, girl, you look it. You are sex on legs. You only need to look at a guy for him to cream his pants. If I wasn't as straight as they come, I'd have a go at you."
I warm at her nice, if vulgar, words. Even so, her heart's in the right place. It doesn’t ease the panic, though.
"But I won’t need to talk?" I ask.
I have a very slight Portuguese accent. Most people wouldn’t even notice it, but seeing as it's Portuguese thugs that are hunting me, it only takes one of their acquaintances to visit somewhere like this. If I’m recognised, all this will be for nothing.
I don’t want to be on the run again. I'm sick of running.
That's why I chose London for our safe haven. It's anonymous, and anyone can blend in here… be invisible. It’s a place for runaways, hopefuls, people in business, tourists and students. It has a whole mix of different lives, and it’s the last place he would expect us to run to.
She shakes her head. "No, no talking required... a few gasps and moans here and there wouldn’t hurt, but that's it. It’s the international language of love, darling." She waves her hands around dramatically while rolling her eyes.
I roll my eyes and huff out a laugh. I can do this… I have to do it.
“Have you ever…?” I ask her.
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Me? Hell no, what I do to get myself off stays between me and the men I decide to fuck.”
Fair enough.
"Who is watching me tonight?" I don’t really need to know, but the idea that it's not an eighty-year-old wrinkly pervert with his tongue hanging out might help. Actually, no, I'm not sure if its better if he's hot or better if he's not. “Actually, it's best I don’t know.”
Something flashes in her eyes, but she quickly hides it. "It doesn't matter to you. One guy, or girl, is the same as all the rest."
"But if they have a special request, one I'm willing to do, they'll say it through the intercom?"
She nods. "Just give it a go. What have you got to lose?"
Everything.
She reads a message on her phone and looks at me. "Show-time, baby-doll."
My stomach lunges to my feet. I take a deep breath and nod.
The money is good, the money is good, the money is good. We need this. I have to do it.
It'll be worth it. How bad can it be?
I walk into the small, darkened room, feeling like each leg weighs a thousand tonnes.
It has plush red velvet-lined walls enhanced by mood lighting, and the room is warmed to the perfect temperature.
I muster the courage from somewhere to walk to the full-length mirror, waiting for the music to start, trying not to imagine someone there watching me.
Pretend it's just a mirror, Nadia, you can do this.
The high heels make me taller than my already tall five-foot-eight frame, but I'm so used to wearing them I don't even feel them anymore.
My long brown hair is as out there as possible, volumising shampoo, conditioner, you name it…
big hair means sexy. Make-up wasn't a problem.
I wear it heavy on a night out, so a little sultrier on the eye make-up and bigger false lashes, and I was done.
My naturally brown Portuguese skin looks good against the red satin.
I have never been as grateful for body confidence as I am right now.
I have curves, and I own them. I'm toned but way curvier and bigger than the average ‘it’ girl, but I know I have a good body - a body that a lot of guys want.
It took me a long time to get there with my body and liking what God gave me, but I'm on board with it now.
In my experience, men like curves and I have lots of those - but confidence will only get you so far.
Am I really going to touch myself in front of a complete stranger for cash?
Don't I have any boundaries at all? Truth is, desperation trumps boundaries.
'This way' by Khalid starts to play at a low volume.
I close my eyes and try to imagine the hottest guy standing in front of me naked, wanting to get me ready for the fucking of my life... it's been a while.
Right, what did Lauren say? Legs slightly apart. I can sit on the sofa or stand. I choose to stay standing for now. Mouth parted, eyes closed, and run my hands over my body… a lot. They like to imagine it's their hands.
I hear a voice through the intercom, a deep, gravelly voice that gives me goosebumps, "Do what you want, no instructions from me."
Okay, at least I have free rein, or is that worse? I'm not sure. At least if you're being told what to do, you don't have to think.
Right, come on, Nadia, sort yourself out. Huh, literally.
Something takes over me, something that has been with me for as long as I can remember.
Determination. Strength. Nothing will beat me, not ever.
I need to do this to live, to give us a life away from Portugal and the ghosts there.
I will do this. So, I fake getting off to a mirror, so what?
I've done it a million times at home, alone - just need to pretend I'm at home now.
I take a deep breath and slowly drag my hands along my body, starting at my stomach and sliding it over the lacy cup of my bra. Eventually, I have to get naked, but not yet. Let them wait, whoever they are.
I palm my breasts over my bra and let my head fall back, my lips parting, my nipples hardening, behaving themselves like good girls.
Slowly, I let my hands trail back down my stomach, carrying one hand to my v, where I slide it jbetween my legs, inside the top of my underwear, and then back up.
Am I getting wet? Am I hell. But I can pretend for sure.
I remain standing and turn to lean over the couch arm so that whoever it is can see me from behind in my thong. Might as well show them my best asset. I reach behind, caress my bum, then unclasp my bra. Time to turn around and show them the goods.
I unclasp it and let it slide down my arms slowly, finally letting it fall to the floor. Standing with my back to the mirror now in only a thong, I start to turn around when the intercom sounds again.
"Stop. Get dressed." The gravelly voice says in an abrupt tone.
I freeze. What did I do? Did I do something wrong?
This was supposed to be a trial run with someone who knows the standard I have to be at.
I didn’t live up to that standard. Why else would he stop me?
He didn't think I was sexy enough. That opens up an entire basket of worms for me. I thought I knew what I was doing when it came to playing men to get what I wanted - not for fun - but when I've had to. Maybe I'm not as attractive as I thought I was. I can’t exactly say I’ve been in this situation before, perhaps I wasn’t turning him on.
I need to find out so that I can fix it.
Because I do not give up. Ever. Even if it means I have to be the master at this.
Heat flooding me, I reach for my bra and head to the door. The shame. I've never been so mortified. I bite my lip. What is waiting for me when I leave this room? Can I be fired already? Panic takes over me. I need this job, so I need to fix whatever the hell it is that I did wrong.