2
Sable
Shit.
I was running late again. Not that it ever really mattered. As long as I made it in at all, shook my ass for the thirsty patrons, and brought the club a ton of money, most times, Gloria didn’t care when I got there.
However, tonight was not the night to be late. I was one of the first acts to go on shortly after opening, and once I burst through the back staff entrance, I had a total of ten minutes to get my ass into gear and get on stage.
“Where’s the fire?” Justine asked as I pulled my hoodie over my head and thanked the high heavens that this job didn’t require much of a wardrobe.
I laughed as I pulled my jeans down and shimmied out of my briefs.
It wasn’t odd for all of us to see each other naked.
It wasn’t like we didn’t do the same thing on stage night after night for random, faceless strangers.
She tossed me a pair of tight, black go-go shorts with buckles and slits up the sides, and I pulled them up my legs before making my way over to the vanity to apply a little makeup to make my features really pop.
“My alarm didn’t go off. I swear to fuck, if Anthony wasn’t such a creature of habit and didn’t leave at the same time every single day, I’d be fucked. And not in the fun way.”
As I applied a small amount of liner around my eyes, Justine leaned over my shoulder, picking up a tube of gloss, opening it to begin helping me get ready.
“Oh, boo. You need to get out of that apartment. Anthony is so damn toxic for you.”
He was.
He was my ex. Even though he’d known I was a stripper when we started dating and swore that it wasn’t a problem, the ugly flare of jealousy ended up rearing its head.
There was no way I’d ever be able to give up my source of income without a guarantee of something else.
But that was the other issue. No one wanted to hire a twenty-two-year-old high school dropout whose only work experience was taking his clothes off.
“Jazz? Where do you expect me to go?” I called Justine by her stage name, as most of us did while we were in the club.
Everyone but me. I was always Sable. Allowing anyone a deeper part of myself was out of the question.
But the name fit me. From my reddish-brown hair to my curious nature, I was like both the animal and the color.
She handed me the tube of gloss. I rolled the sticky substance over my lips while she crossed her arms over her chest. Her lips pursed as she tucked some of her pretty, long blonde hair behind her ear.
“I’ve told you repeatedly that you can stay with me.”
I huffed a laugh as I closed the gloss and set it back on the vanity. While I wasn’t as put together as I normally was, I was out of time and it would have to do—at least for the first performance.
“And have to listen to you and your boy toy fuck like little horny rabbits? No thanks.”
Justine’s face reddened as I brushed past her to grab a can of mousse to style my hair a little.
When I went on stage, I hated it being in my face—the mousse allowed me to slick it back a little.
My hair was in desperate need of a trim again.
The long, dark strands fell into my eyes, and I constantly had to push them out of my face.
It was another reason I wanted it back while I performed.
Though the fringe of bangs added a sexy edge of mystery... I liked being able to see.
“It’s not that bad,” she defended as I quickly sprayed some glitter spray over my chest before turning and giving her a mock glare.
“Sure it isn’t, honey. You’ve only had how many noise complaints from your neighbors about it?” I couldn’t wait for her to respond, but the answer was at least six.
The moment I hit the backstage area, the first notes of my song were starting up.
I cursed under my breath, but I could figure out how to pick up from the cues I’d already missed.
It wasn’t like most of my dances were choreographed, but there were some numbers that I liked to do over and over again because they were crowd-pleasers.
They also earned me the biggest tips because your boy knew how to work his ass.
I slid to the center of the stage as the words started up for I Feel Like I’m Drowning by Two Feet.
The song was so damn sultry even though it had a darker edge.
I can be a moody bitch sometimes. The tone of the song fit my current mood.
All it ever made me want to do was sway my hips to the flow of the music.
My hands trailed up my chest, over my face, and into my hair as I rolled my head to the bridge of the song. I leaned over, placing both hands on the stage, ass high in the air as the chorus picked back up, then slid into a split as the song finished.
It was the first time I actually looked up at the crowd. A frown forced its way onto my face because there were only a handful of patrons there to watch. They clapped, but it wasn’t as if I’d been overly impressive.
One overly enthusiastic man stood at the edge of the stage, holding up a stack of bills. I made my way to him to collect them. When I reached for them, he pulled back, almost making me fall into him.
“What do you say, pretty little thing? Want to give me a private show?”
The guy was sort of skeezy. His hair was overly gelled back—he smelled thickly of cigarette smoke.
But that was what this job was. I’d given plenty of private performances to worse people, and as much as it sometimes made my stomach squirm, I needed the money.
Especially if I ever wanted to move out of Anthony’s place.
Instead of giving him a direct answer, I gave him a smirk, and that seemed to be enough because he released the bills.
I made my way backstage because I needed to be a little more prepared for my next time on stage.
The small amount of glitter spray I’d applied had already sweated off, and people loved it when I glimmered.
It was as if I were a pretty little show pony.
I grabbed a bottle of water, chugging it back. Justine was already up doing her set. That left me to reapply some of my makeup in peace before I sprayed on more glitter to go out on the floor, making my rounds.
It was by far my least favorite part of the job..
While I’d come to terms with selling my body, I still wanted it to be on my terms. When we walked the floor, customers could get overly handsy, and we had to remind them that they were only allowed to touch when they were invited to.
Thankfully, it wasn’t an overly busy night—it wouldn’t be something I had to worry too much about. I wanted to keep an eye out for the guy who’d asked for a private show. I just wasn’t feeling it tonight. We had the right to say no, even when I probably shouldn’t have.
There were women filling one table, two men at the bar, and another group of men that were encompassing the stage.
What I liked about Faded Sins was that it was an inclusive club.
While most of the clientele were still male, women felt safe here because we had male performers like me and patrons were never allowed to harass other patrons.
If there ever was a problem, Butch, one of our bouncers, would show them the door faster than they’d know what was happening.
I ventured to the bar and leaned over it to wave down Victor. He smiled, grabbing a bottle of vodka on his way over, knowing what my favorite drink was.
“Your usual?” he asked, shaking the bottle at me. I nodded as he set to work making me a lemon drop martini.
Victor was a nice guy. Good-looking as well.
He was tall with broad shoulders, muscles for days, and brown hair that was almost long enough for him to pull into a ponytail.
When I first started working at the club, I’d latched onto him right away.
It wasn’t unheard of for us to still hook up from time to time.
The guy had an amazing dick, and he knew how to use it, but friends were all we were, all we would ever be.
Justine teased me about it being more at one point, but we’d both shut her down quickly.
A frosty martini glass with a bright yellow drink slid in my direction, and I smiled at Victor before picking it up and taking a long sip, letting the tangy beverage calm my nerves. I was nervous. I always was when I was on the floor. There weren’t as many places for me to escape or hide.
When I looked down the bar, two men seated there were watching me. I tossed them a wink before sauntering around the room, my drink held daintily out to my side.
It didn’t take me long to make a full loop since it was so empty. My heart sank a little because if this kept up through the evening, I’d have to find that slimy guy after all. I wouldn’t make enough tips to make up for not taking him up on his proposition.
As I made it back to the bar, I could feel eyes on the back of my head.
I turned to see that one of the men from earlier was still watching me.
He was breathtaking with his dark blond hair and dark eyes.
It was too dim in the club to tell what color they were, but I wanted to get closer and figure it out.
A hand landed on my hip, making me jump.
“There you are, pretty little thing.” The voice made my skin crawl, and I wanted to peel each of those fingers off my hip because this man shouldn’t be touching me. He never received my permission. Taking his money was not giving consent.
“Let me go,” was all I said, moving away from his hold.
He laughed—the fresh smell of cigarette smoke told me that he had just come inside from smoking.
While I’d been with people who smoked before, the smell was always something that bothered me.
Maybe because it took me back to my childhood, and it made me think about being stuck in the back of my mom’s car when she refused to open the windows.
I felt like I was dying when she’d smoke as she drove around town.
"Come on," he drug out the last word like it was a plea, but his voice gave away his real intention. "I passed you some good money, the least you could do is give me a private show."
I screwed up my face because that was the equivalent to someone saying you owed them sex just because they bought you dinner. Sorry, buddy, that was a tip, and I didn’t owe him shit.
That was when I made a huge mistake turning away from him. He grabbed hold of my other arm, making me drop my drink, the glass shattering against the already sticky floor. It was enough to draw the attention of the people around us.
“I said, Let me go,” putting emphasis on the word “go”, without raising my voice. All that earned me was another humorless laugh. The music cut off, and when I looked at the stage, Justine was standing there with her arms crossed over her exposed breasts.
The man who had been watching me from the other end of the bar was out of his seat, and the person he was with had a hand on his arm, as if he was stopping him from getting involved.
Did I want all this attention? Fuck no. It was the worst, but I was also thankful that the club had enough security that if any of us had attracted unwanted attention, they’d step in like this every single time.
“Listen here, you little bitch. I gave you money and now you need to put out or give it back.”
I rolled my eyes before turning back to the greasy man. “I don’t owe you anything. You gave me a tip. The money is now mine. If you have a problem with that, you’re welcome to leave.”
Turning my back on him a second time was a huge mistake.
Hands landed on my back, shoving me forward, making me crash into one of the stools in front of the bar.
I opened my eyes wide because I’d never had someone lay their hands on me in such a way before.
At least, not since I left home when I was sixteen.
Butch and Victor came to the rescue, grabbing both of the man’s arms, escorting him to the exit, but the damage was already done.
I couldn’t catch my breath and my heart beat a million miles a minute.
Sweat formed on my back, rolling off me in waves—I couldn’t stop shaking.
It brought back too many memories of the beatings my mother put me through when I’d done something she didn’t like.
Sometimes, that was something as small as breathing.
Justine was off the stage wrapping me in her arms in the blink of an eye.
It should have been awkward with her being naked, but you learned to get past some of that working in our industry.
She took me backstage. I couldn’t be any more grateful to be away from prying eyes.
I’d be lucky if I could make it back on stage tonight.