1. Chapter 1

1

Wren

" S how us what you got, Lola!"

The DJ's voice booms over the pulsing music. "Let's give a warm welcome to the sultry vixen of the night!"

I strut onto the stage, flicking a nasty wink at the regular sleazebag who's shouting my stage name like it's a prayer.

The bright light shines down on me, exposing my bare skin. Sweat drips down my arms and back, making my sequined bikini cling to every curve, leaving little to the imagination.

It's Thursday night at The Gentleman's Club, but the crowd is wild, a sea of hungry eyes and grasping hands. The place is a fucking den of iniquity, a neon-lit palace of sin.

It's a step up from the seedy joints I used to work at, but the men here are just as sleazy, only with fatter wallets.

The main stage is a glittering altar where girls like me dance for the almighty dollar. It's surrounded by plush velvet seats where the high rollers sit, sipping on overpriced liquor and leering at the merchandise.

Off to the sides are the private rooms, where the real money is made. That's where the big spenders go to get their rocks off, paying premium prices for a little one-on-one time with their favorite girls.

The walls are supposed to be soundproof, but who are they kidding? You can still hear the moans and grunts filtering through, a whole fucking orchestra of sleaze. It's like a peep show back there, but instead of porn stars, it's just us desperate hustlers shaking our asses for a few bucks from these losers who think they're king shit because they've got a little cash to throw around.

But you know what? I'll take their money and their filthy fantasies as long as it means I can keep Em and Lenny fed and off the streets. It's a dirty job, but someone's gotta do it, and I'm not about to let my family down like dear old Dad does every damn day.

Speaking of disappointing men, here comes one now. A burly dude in a cheap suit, waving a stack of bills like it's a golden ticket to my panties. I plaster on my best fake smile and saunter over, putting a little extra swing in my hips.

"Hey there, handsome," I purr, even though he looks like he crawled out of a dumpster behind a strip mall. "Looking for a little company tonight?"

He leers at me, his eyes practically glued to my tits. "You know it, baby. How about a private dance?"

I lean in close, letting my breath tickle his ear. "Sorry, sugar, but I don't do private dances. I'm strictly a look-but-don't-touch kind of girl."

He grumbles something under his breath, but he still shoves a few bills into my G-string. I give him a wink and blow a kiss before sashaying away, my ass shaking like a damn metronome.

"Hey, baby, come closer," slurs a voice from the shadows below.

A sweaty, bloated asshole, one hand jerking his dick, is trying to catch my eye from the side of the stage. "Get your fine ass over here. I've got a special treat for you."

Still no cash in sight, so I stick to the pole, wrapping my body around it like a snake, a tease of what he can't have. As I move, his hungry eyes follow me until he finally gets the hint and flashes his dough.

With a slick twirl, I unhook my lace top, letting it sink to the stage like a discarded skin, revealing my perky tits under the spotlight. The beat pounds harder, and I embrace the pole with my entire being, drawing cheers and groans from the crowd.

"Fuck, yeah! Take it off, baby!" a group of college boys chants, their eyes glued to my every move.

Some dickhead once told me my body was a fucking playground for pleasure.

He was dead wrong.

The thought of good sex being a release for pent-up anger only fueled my rage toward the men who had let me down time and time again. Every cock, every man who had touched me, had ultimately revealed their true colors, and they'll eventually leave.

Fuck'em all!

At my work, I do not sell my body. Not for sex. Because sex is only for pleasure—no money can buy that.

Work is work. I just need to suck it up for a few more months to save enough for Em's college and Lenny's tuition fees.

"Enough teasing. Come get your fix," the bloated asshole hollers, throwing some cash my way and stroking his pathetic excuse for a dick. "I've got what you need, and I'm willing to pay top dollar for it." He leers at me, licking his lips like he's about to devour me.

"You like what you see?" I sneer, grinding against the pole like it's my last hope of salvation. His beady eyes follow every move, lapping it up like a thirsty dog.

I slither toward him, moving my body with the seductive grace of a viper. My eyes lock onto his, daring him to look away as I slowly and teasingly spread my legs in front of him.

Running my hands over my thong, I slowly trace the tiny scrap of fabric covering my pussy.

By now, he's gripping his cock like it's his last breath.

"Hmmm," he grunts, gulping hard as he frantically fans the cash.

Fifty bucks?

I don't move.

You don't get to peek at this pussy for fifty bucks, asshole.

From his pocket, he pulls out another fifty, and I smirk, turning around to present my ass to him.

"Yes, baby." As he slides the cash into the side of my G-string, I roll my hips in front of his face, tantalizingly close but always just out of reach. I turn back and blow him a flirty kiss before sauntering away, leaving him panting and needy for more.

Yeah, I'll take his money and then some.

One down, a whole club full of horny bastards to go. It's going to be a long night, but the money's good and that's all that matters. I've got mouths to feed and bills to pay, and I'll shake my moneymaker all damn night if that's what it takes.

But first, I need a fucking break. My feet are killing me in these stilettos, and I can feel the sweat trickling down my back. I head toward the dressing room, dodging wandering hands and catcalls as I go.

I'm halfway to the dressing room, ready to get the fuck off my aching feet when I hear Jojo's raspy smoker's voice. "Hey, bitch, want to make some real money tonight?"

I turn to see her sauntering over, her fake tits practically bursting out of her leopard-print top. Her makeup's so thick it looks like she applied it with a putty knife, and her eyelashes are longer than my fucking patience for this place.

"The fuck you want, Jojo?" I snap, not in the mood for her bullshit.

She takes a long drag from her bejeweled vape, blowing the sickly sweet smoke right in my face. "Got a high roller in the VIP room. Wants a private dance from the hottest piece of ass in this joint. That's you, sweet cheeks."

I scoff.

Private dances are a one-way ticket to Gropesville; population: handsy fucking assholes who think their wallet gives them a VIP pass to Pussy Paradise.

"Hard pass," I say, turning on my heel. But Jojo's next words stop me cold.

" Five hundred for two hours, bitch. That's some serious fucking cash," Jojo says, blowing out another puff of smoke. The sweet stench of fake strawberries hits me in my face, but I don't flinch. "That's just for shaking your ass. You want more? Suck a dick, fuck ‘em, whatever. Your call. Just remember, the house gets a cut."

Five hundred?

Motherfuck. That's rent and then some . My mind's already spending it. Em's tuition, Lenny's new laptop…

I sigh, my mind drifting to Lenny.

At fourteen years old, the kid's been through so much already, growing up in this shitstorm of a family. Just last week, he came home from school, his head hung low, that secondhand laptop I scraped and saved for clutched to his chest like a fucking lifeline.

"What's wrong, kiddo?" I'd asked, ruffling his mop of curls.

He'd looked up at me with those big, sad eyes. "It's my laptop, Wren. It died on me in the middle of class. Again. Everyone was laughing, calling me ‘broke boy' and shit. I couldn't even finish my project."

My heart had fucking shattered. Poor kid, so smart, so full of potential. He deserves better than hand-me-downs and ghetto tech.

"Don't sweat it, Len," I'd said, pulling him into a hug. "We'll figure it out. I'll pick up some extra shifts, maybe do some overtime. We'll get you a new laptop, one that actually works."

He'd buried his face in my shoulder, his skinny arms squeezing me tight. "You're the best, Wren. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"I got you, kiddo," I'd told him. "Always. That's what big sisters are for."

But fuck, if it doesn't kill me, knowing I can't give him everything he needs, everything he deserves.

I bite down on my inner lip, tasting the coppery tang of blood where some dickhead's wedding ring caught me earlier. The money's so fucking tempting, but the thought of being alone with one of these cum-stains makes my skin crawl.

"Alright, fine," I hiss through clenched teeth. "But if this prick tries any funny business, I'm out. No amount of dough is worth that shit."

Jojo just smirks, her nicotine-stained teeth glinting in the neon light. "Room 3, baby girl. Don't keep the daddies waiting."

Jojo doesn't give a fuck as long as she gets her money. And neither do I, as long as I get mine.

She wobbles off on her six-inch lucite heels, leaving me in a cloud of cotton candy vape. I take a deep breath, my lungs burning from the cheap perfume and cheaper liquor that permeates this place.

Five hundred bucks. That's a game-changer. I can do this. I've swallowed my pride and spread my legs for less.