Chapter 2

Grace

"Mommy has to go to work, remember, Sophie?" I was happy to find work when we landed in Steel City, and even though the tips were great and the hours let me spend a lot of time with my daughter, I hated the job. Absolutely fucking hated it.

"I remember," she answered in a soft voice.

"Good. You'll stay with Mrs. Peterson until I'm done. You'll be good and listen to her, right?"

Mrs. Peterson was the elderly neighbor who lived in the second unit of the duplex we rented. I had to pay three months' rent up front to get it, but my job allowed me to do it while living on nothing but rice and beans. Mrs. Peterson's mobility was limited, which made getting around difficult, but otherwise she was as sharp as a tack and loved spending time with Sophie.

"I'll be good. Mrs. P said we would make cookies tonight." She smiled happily, and that was the reminder I needed about why I was doing all of this. Why I put up with leering stares, derogatory comments, and lewd offers each night, Tuesday through Saturday. The money was too good to pass up and we needed it to stay one step ahead of Trent.

"Save two for me, would you?"

Sophie nodded. "I will, Mommy. Promise."

I hugged her tight, hating to leave, but if I didn't leave in the next ten minutes, I would miss the bus. "Come on." I dropped Sophie off with Mrs. Peterson and rushed out with my head down, ignoring everyone and everything around me as I hauled ass to the bus stop, where I made it just in time.

The bus dropped me off right in front of my workplace. The Den was what they called a gentleman's club, but I'd yet to see a gentleman inside the walls. It was a strip club and it attracted men who had little to no respect for women beyond their bodies. It wasn't my ideal job by a mile. It wasn't even the job I wanted when I met with the owner, Marco, almost three months ago. I wanted to wait tables in a skimpy outfit, but Marco had used my lack of identification against me, assuring me I'd be safer as a contract employee.

Safer. Like he knew I was on the run from someone or something. I hated that he knew something, even if he didn't know any specifics, but he was right, and the money was good.

Damn good.

And even better, it was the last place on earth Trent would think to look for me. After I'd worked at the club for a few days, I'd also realized that no one looked at my face. As long as I shook my tits and ass, that was all the customers focused on.

I arrived at the club just before ten and the place was already full. Unlike many of the other dancers, I didn't like to mingle with the men out front, so I kept my gaze on the floor and rushed to the locker room where I got ready for my first dance of the night.

"Boys, men, and everyone in between, put your hands together and direct your gaze to the stage as we welcome the redhead with the red slippers." I could hear the smile in Tyrone's voice. He was an excellent DJ and about the only nice guy in the whole building. "The buxom babe in search of a way home. The one, the only, Ruby!"

My chest rose and fell quickly—too quickly—as I gathered my nerves backstage. My eyes slammed shut as the first beats of the hip hop song began, and I exhaled deeply.

You can do this. Ruby can do this.

I have to do this, I told myself. This was my job, nothing more. I didn't have to love it, I just had to look like I loved it, which I was well-versed in after many years spent married to Trent.

The curtains swished open, and the spotlight hit my face. One eye opened and then the other before a slow smile spread across my face. Dressed up like a sexy Dorothy, I rolled my hips, slid across the floor, and twirled on the pole, then made my way down the yellow brick road, paved with lights.

It was just two minutes, but I hated every fucking second of it. Each time I swung on the pole or bent over and smacked my ass for the rowdy drunks on either side of the stage, I hated myself a little bit more. The worst offenders were the ones who waved twenty, fifty, or hundred dollar bills in my direction. As soon as I came close, they took their sweet time to tuck the money into my G-string, getting a good long touch in the process.

As if I was nothing more than a sex object for hire.

But as much as I hated it, my tips averaged over three hundred bucks a night, more than I made back when Trent allowed me to work. More than Trent made in a day too, and that was a thought that kept a smile on my face for every two-minute show I put on for the drunk, horny masses. The masses, however deplorable I found them, allowed me to pay rent, keep Sophie happy, and save money for the future, whatever it might bring.

I knew I needed a better plan for the future. Long-term, I couldn't spend nights taking off my clothes for drunk men. Eventually, life would change, and I would need to attend parent-teacher conferences, soccer games, or whatever other interests took hold of Sophie as she grew up. This wasn't a long-term solution. It was a plan that worked for now.

At some point I would have to enroll Sophie in school, which would require more than a few excuses, batted eyelashes, and a boss with a gray moral compass.

For now, I was happy to retreat to the locker room for a bottle of water, and the sandwich I packed to eat between the first half of my shift and the second half. If I didn't think about it too much, The Den was no different than the waitressing job I did in college. Slinging pizza and beer for horny college guys was as close to preparation as one could get for stripping for a living.

"Ruby, you've got a private dance to do. One grand," Marco shouted, wiggling his eyebrows. He knew I needed the money, but he also knew how much it terrified me to be alone with these guys. "Think of how far that money will get you."

I hated him with the passion of one thousand suns, but he was right. One thousand dollars into the piggy bank meant I was one step closer to new IDs for Sophie and me, a bigger place in a better neighborhood.

It meant I was one step closer to leaving Trent in the rearview.

Forever.