Chapter 6—Payton
I hate being late. Something that was drilled into me not only by my parents but my dance teachers too.
Late meant being memorable. Outside of dance, that might be okay.
For dance practice? That meant you were the teacher’s example for the day.
You were called on to show every move, even if you didn’t know it.
And even if you did and were flawless, they still found something to criticize.
It took a while, but I understood why my teachers did it. They were teaching me to be tough. That someone would always find fault in your performance, and that was their opinion. But if you did your best, held your head high, you wouldn’t see them. You would look above them.
At least that’s what I thought they meant. I was never told. I dropped out before the explanation for why it was okay to bully a student who was paying their salary.
Not that it did me any good. Look at me now. A non-stripper in a strip club, showing up late to a meeting—and wet at that.
When I got home last night, sleep didn’t come easily. Not that I’ve had a decent night’s sleep since everything changed for me. But I got even less last night.
I tried fooling myself into thinking it was the dread of having to perform in the private room that kept me up.
But it wasn’t. Well, not all of it. The fear and the nightmares had me in that room, but it was because of the person in them.
The one I saw last night in the darkness.
I never caught full glimpses of him, but I saw enough to know him in my dream.
Him and a cuff link with a lion’s head on it.
An absurd thing to remember, but once I saw it, it took up more space in my brain last night than anything else did.
It was something to focus on when I couldn’t look at him.
No name, no clue, but that lion’s head—that was the fear. The man I was dancing for in my nightmares had the lion’s head that snarled and snapped at me.
But when I got close enough to touch, the body I felt under it made my own react with anything but fear. It was confusing to wake up screaming while other parts were begging for release.
I would have slept more, but I promised a neighbor I would babysit while she went job hunting. I was fine with it until the subway stalled on her way home, which had me leaving late as well.
I sigh at my own bad luck, still unable to believe it. I couldn’t even catch a cab or Uber because of the downpour. Every car service seemed to have a thirty-minute wait in the city. Too long for someone who was already late, so I did the next best thing available. I ran.
It was several blocks, but there wasn’t any other option. I missed the bus I usually take. I don’t have a bike, which might be something to invest in if I ever get enough money to buy anything besides food.
All that work just to arrive late. And wet.
The text I received last night after I got home was a simple one from the club: Mandatory meeting tomorrow at four.
Nothing else. And since this is the only meeting notice I’ve ever been sent, I knew something must be going on.
At first I thought I was being fired, but it was a mass text, and I doubt all of us are going to be let go.
Unless that’s the big news—the place is shutting down.
I push down the butterflies as I run past a few people out front.
I look back twice. Men in suits, but none of them coming in.
I’ve never seen a line outside before, and I’m not sure if this is one just starting.
They seem spread out along the alley, more interested in everything but the building.
And none of them look like the regular clientele we get around here.
They don’t seem desperate like the usuals.
I pull open the door and am not surprised that no one greets me, not even a bouncer.
We don’t open for a few more hours anyhow.
I dart down the hall, squeezing the water out of my hair as I go, and hope my costume dries enough before I go on tonight.
I wore it under my sweats, but those are drenched, as is everything else on me.
I look around at the slightly packed main room filled with workers and a few more people in suits who I don’t know.
I feel eyes on me, but I don’t seek them out as I find the closest empty table and take a seat.
“What’s this about? Why call us in hours before we open?” one of the bouncers I’ve seen around asks after some time has passed and a few others filter in. I should feel bad that I was late, but a small part is just happy I wasn’t the last to arrive.
Carl is sitting on the stage, a place that I suspect never gets cleaned. They say there’s a cleaning staff, but I’ve seen more dust on things than not. And don’t get me started on the sticky spots on the floor.
Before Carl can answer, a voice behind us has all of us turning.
“Because I asked you to.”
That voice. The one I shivered over last night in my dreams, from lust or fear, I’m not sure.
“And who the hell are you?” the same bouncer asks as I suck in a breath.
I thought I saw him outside, but it was a quick glance, and it was pouring. I chalked it up to the strange desire to see him again to make sure he didn’t have a lion’s head.
He takes off his jacket and hands it to the man beside him before walking toward the front. Out of the shadows and into the light.
My breath stalls in my throat, and I swear I hear gasps as everyone else takes him in as well. Thick dark hair that he sweeps off his face with a flick of his wrist. Strong jawline and pointed nose, and those piercing eyes. I still can’t tell the color from this distance.
I don’t think I see a single drop of water on him as I watch him make his way to the front of the room. I knew he was big when I sat on him last night, but seeing him like this, in suit pants and a button-up black shirt, makes him appear bigger than his swimmer’s frame might allude to.
He walks to the stage, but unlike Carl, he stands, and far away from him too.
“Tommy Leone. The owner.”
“The fuck you are. Carl, who the fuck is this?”
But Carl is at a loss for words, his face draining of color as his mouth hangs open. Kind of like mine, but that’s where the similarity ends. While relief passes through me, I swear I see rage pass through him.
Carl always said he was the owner. The one in charge. I never liked the way he looked at me, or any girl here for that matter. Maybe I should feel a sense of loyalty to the man who got me the job, but I can’t. He made me afraid. Every time.
But with this man—Tommy? Well, last night I was scared. It didn’t go away, but it dissipated enough that I felt my body relax a bit. Might have been a stupid mistake, but it worked in the end. I came out of the private room unharmed. Not sure many other girls can say the same.
“Tommy.” Carl jumps off the stage and staggers a bit, as his feet weren’t touching the ground when he was seated, and the small jump had him nearly eating shit. “Perhaps you and I can have a chat in my office.”
“Of course.” Tommy’s smile is almost blinding. Carl nods before turning to walk that way, only to stop as Tommy keeps talking. “After we have this meeting.”
I look around the room and see I’m not the only one.
I don’t know much about a lot of things, but the name Leone is a rumored whisper in the streets.
People talk about them but also don’t talk, for fear that someone will hear.
I try not to listen to gossip, but with the way the Leone name is spread, it should be a point of alarm, not to gossip about.
My slight relief at getting a new boss is short-lived now that it sinks in.
“For those who aren’t aware, this club is owned by the Leone family.” Tommy waits as that trickles down the spines of us all. “And we have been lenient on how this place has been run. The family prefers to take a step back and allow businesses to run themselves at the hands of our trusted people.”
“And why aren’t you now?”
I swear this bouncer has a death wish. I think his name is Jimmy or Johnny or something with a J.
He must be new to town, even though I know I’ve seen him here as long as I’ve been working here.
That means he should know when to shut up, but apparently not since he keeps asking dumb questions.
I mean, I want to know the answers, too, but I’m not stupid enough to voice them.
Better to let the man talk and see if things are said.
It’s like a person who asks questions during a movie.
Maybe if they just watched with their mouths closed, they might get the answers they want without asking.
I lean in close, fascinated by the small tic in Tommy’s jaw that I doubt the bouncer can see from his angle on the opposite side of the room.
“What’s your name?” Tommy asks.
“Joel.”
Ha! Knew it started with a J. Ten points to Hufflepuff. My inner victory about getting it right, at least halfway, sends a thrill through me and brings a smile to my face. One I quickly drop when I see Tommy’s man who walked in with him glance my way.
I look away and sit back in my chair as if I can put more space between us.
“Do I tell you how to do your job, Joel?”
“No, but—”
Tommy cuts him off before he can finish.
“That’s going to change. You don’t need to know why I’m here or why anyone from the famiglia comes in.
What you need to know is that I’m going to be making changes.
And if you don’t like them, you can leave.
And….” He pauses and looks around the room at everyone, stopping here and there on some and overlooking others.
I catch his eye for a second before it’s gone. “If I don’t like you, you’re gone.”
“You can’t do that.” Joel stands quickly, knocking his chair back.
“But I just did.” Tommy grins.
“Oh yeah? Want to see how tough you are after I knock your teeth out?” Joel moves through the tables but doesn’t get close.