He doesn’t blink. Not a twitch of his cheek at my joke. Pretty sure he doesn’t breathe.
This dude seriously needs to unclench.
“Wouldn’t matter if you were,” he says, finally leaning back in his seat and pursing his lips. “And I can’t use you.”
All of this for a no? The insane questions. The soul-sucking glare. No! I dig deep despite the roll of my stomach and knot in my chest for every ounce of fire and confidence I possess. “Why not? You were auditioning another girl this afternoon,” I demand, not caring that I just told him I stole that girl’s spot. He probably already knows anyway.
“Let me rephrase. I don’t needyouas a dancer.”
“You think I can’t handle it? I promise you, I can not only handle it, I will be your most sought after dancer.” Arrogant? Maybe, but what do I have to lose? “Let me prove it. I’ll go out there tonight, and if I don’t attract any interest, I’ll leave and never come back.”
He looks at Will. I turn to see why, but the seemingly easygoing—or at least more so than his brother—is stone. Yet, I get the impression that some unspoken message is being exchanged.
“Do you know why my dancers make so much money, Poppy?” It’s the first time he’s acknowledged me by name. I have no idea, so I shake my head.
A cruel smirk spreads across his face. “I’ve already established that even if you were a cop, it wouldn’t matter, but just to be clear, anything you hear, see, fucking smell or taste in this place stays here. If you tell anyone, I will know. It will make me extremely unhappy, and I promise you don’t want me unhappy.”
Is this what he looks like happy?
Before I can shove my foot inmy mouth, he flips a switch and the privacy glass clears. He jerks his head toward the window. Pushing myself up, I walk toward the glass, my heart thumping in my chest.
Staring below at the club, I swallow my shock.
“The men and women who work here make the money they do because theyperformin whatever capacity the members want. Whether it’s out there in the open or in one of the private rooms, they do whatever is asked of them, and they earn every fucking penny I pay them.”
I can’t look away. Women straddle laps, doing far more than dancing. Men kneel, mouths buried between thighs. Lines of something snorted off asses and tits. The dancing? Just background noise for the real show.
It’s debauched, immoral…and so fucking hot my thighs clench together.
But could I do that? I swallow hard because the thought of being paid for sex makes me ill, but I don’t get a chance to respond.
“It doesn’t matter.” I turn around, facing him, wondering if I asked my question out loud or if he’s a fucking mind reader. I’m a little inclined to believe the latter. “The answer is the same. I don’t need you. You can’t be what I need. Our busiest nights are Friday and Saturday. I believe you have a performance starting tomorrow night.”
Not allowing defeat to slump my shoulders is difficult, but I nod my acceptance. “Thank you for your time. I suppose I’ll try somewhere else.” I spin on my heels, walking toward the door.
“It won’t do you any good. Your schedule won’t be conducive to any club. The hours won’t allow for a lot of recoup time between your rehearsals and performances, either.”
This time, fighting back the disappointment is too much. A heavy sigh passes my lips as a soft sob rattles my chest. My eyessting, but I don’t—can’t let it go. “You’re probably right, but I have to try.”
“Perhaps I could use you somewhere else, though. You won’t make a year’s salary in a week, but you’ll make it in a month. If you’re lucky, less, and it will still be more than you’d make at another club.”
A hesitant seed of hope reblooms, and I’m a little afraid to let it take root. But I’m no longer worried about concealing the desperation I feel. “I’ll do it.” The words tumble out too fast. But I mean them. I have no pride left to protect. Only a deadline closing in and a life I’m not ready to lose. “Whatever you need.”
He nods approvingly, stands, and walks around the desk. “Just one more question,” he says when he stands beside me, forcing me to look up. “Are you squeamish?”
Poppy
Dominic Lucchese offered me the job on one condition: I could stomach what happens here.
Ominous much?
He probably thinks I’ll bolt. Little does he know the extremes I will go to not become homeless—I haven’t completely ruled out human sacrifice—but for now, he’s walking me through the straightforward job. Keep the customers happy with alcohol and help them place their bets.
I walk, smile, and stroke egos for delicate, entitled assholes.So hard, right?The two scraps of fabric I was told to wear might be degrading, but they should mean stellar tips. And considering what I came here to do, the uniform is modest.
He’s shown me bets, drinks…the works. Now he’s leading me down a long hallway. “These are the locker rooms for the fighters. Before the fights, you’re to check in with them. Make sure they don’t need anything. They might ask for water, towels…simple things, but that’s it. Nothing else. It’s a testosterone cesspool, so don’t take their shit.” I snort but quickly cover it with a fake cough when he glares. I can handle cocky, entitled assholes just fine, but the man next to me is intimidating as fuck.
His head jerks ahead at a man knocking on a door. “That’s Leo. If anyone gives you trouble, you tell him.”
