Chapter 21

Jenica

Between my classes, the store, and night's at the club, my ass is dragging. The only thing I really look forward to each day is talking to Jake. I love talking to Ellery, of course. She is my best friend, and I love her wholly. But I am beginning to understand how vital Cruz is to her because I am starting to feel that way about Jake.

We've always had a connection, but it's stronger now. Intense, and at the same time, natural. He may be hundreds of miles away, but hearing his voice every morning and night reminds me of what's real and gives me strength to get through my nights at the club.

Hearing his voice also reminds me of the sheer carnality we have for one another. I don't just like him. I want and need him. He's vital to my existence. Jake is beyond special. In fact, it's possible he might be the one.

We now know everything there is to know about each other, and yet he still wants me. He doesn't care that I kept a secret from him. He understands and accepts me exactly as I am.

That's why I pitched for him. Why I showed him that part of me I'd lost. I needed him to see that I was more than who I am now. That beneath my snark and bite was a girl who once had a dream that was so intrinsic to who I was, letting go of it meant letting go of a part of myself.

That's why I hate lying to him about the club. Jake trusts me to be the keeper of his deepest secret, and I know I can trust him with what I had to agreed to. If anyone understood what Langston Richardson had on me and what it could do to not only my future, but the futures of all those I care about, it was Jake. But I can't tell him because I know if I do, he will want to help, and I can't have that. I would never forgive myself if he got tangled up in this and risked his future. And Ellery and Cruz, they're finally happy. They don't deserve to have their lives ripped apart now.

But if I can get something on Richardson then I won't have to lie to Jake much longer. I can put all of this behind me, and never mention it again. And I will…mark my words. With each day that passes I grow more and more determined to find something that will not only get me out of my agreement but nail his ass to the wall because I am more motivated than ever now.

Jake's got an offer on the table. I don't know the specifics or even which team—he's going to tell me when I see him in Charleston because he wants to talk about it in person—but he says it could be good for both of us, and I am all ears.

Wherever he lands I will be happy for him. It will take a bit of work to see each other, but I will make the effort because he is worth it. Seeing him achieve his dream will make me happy, and if I am done with this bullshit club and working here at nights no longer hangs over my head, then I will have more freedom to see him do so. I would even be willing to let him buy me a plane ticket now and then because that is what relationships were—give and take, pride be damned.

"Well, evening sugar," Mamma Louise greets me with a wink as I stroll into the dressing room on Monday night. "Is tonight the night?"

"Hmm?" I ask absentmindedly. There are only five days until I see Jake in Charleston and my mind is on that and nothing else.

"That smile on your face," she laughs that hearty laugh that makes her boobs shake. "What else could it be? Money and men, the two that do it for me every time. And you haven't mentioned a guy, so I assume it's the ones that make the girls here flip— Hamilton, Jackson and Franklin."

I shake my head and laugh. "The only President a man would throw at me is Washington, maybe Lincoln, if I'm lucky."

"I don't know, doll," she clicks her tongue. "With your face, not to mention that shape of yours, I see nothing but big bills in your future."

Mamma's been trying to teach me all she knows about dancing, but I've been doing a good job of pretending to be horrible. During my break when we step outside on the back deck and show her what I've learned, she looks at me sadly.

"What shape?" I laugh. "I've got no boobs, and from what I can tell, the customers like their waists tiny, and breasts ample."

Ellery always laughs when I compare our two bodies. She has curves in all the right places, and her rack is unreal. My body, on the other hand, has remnants of the athlete I used to be. Sure I've got a trim torso, but my thighs are thicker than any of the girls here, and my ass is full. My boobs barely fill a B-cup, but Jake loves them, so I guess that's a win.

"Honey," Mamma smiles. "It's not what you have, but how you use it. That inner light does the rest."

I don't know what kind of inner light I have, but some of the girls here do shine on that stage. Cherry, for example, has a halo around her when she dances. An aura of ethereality that makes the guys drool.

It's not like I care or have ever cared about beauty standards. My mother was a pageant queen and I'd run as far as I could in the opposite direction for as long as I could remember. I don't care how I stack up against those who are, well, stacked because I've always been comfortable in my own skin. But this place was all about beauty and I didn't want any part of it. I'd play the timid card as long as possible to make sure I stayed off that stage.

"Now Mamma," Cherry saunters in, wearing a white silk bathrobe and platform heels. "Everyone knows the only thing that can light up a woman's face that way is a man. So spill it, Delta. Who's the guy?"

Out of all the dancers, Cherry is the one I've talked to the most. Not because she wants to braid my hair and have sleepovers, but because Mamma is always telling me to watch her routines and ask her questions.

"No guy," I shrug. "Mamma is right. I'm just anxious to start making some cash."

"Maybe you can stand on stage in your itty bitty black bikini and twirl that tray of yours." She looks me up and down and grins. "Boss seems to like it. Maybe the other men will, too."

Mamma flicks her eyes from Cherry to me, brows pinching. Cherry's right. Richardson does seem to keep a close eye on me. I always assumed it was because he was making sure I wasn't doing or saying something that would reveal to anyone the real reason I was here. But even I can't deny it doesn't seem to be that anymore, and clearly, others are noticing too.

The idea of Richardson having any ideas about me makes my skin crawl because I know he not only has a wandering eye but satisfies it. I've seen the way he disappears from time to time, walking through a side door with his arm around the girl that cleaned up my vomit that first day, only to return a short while later, adjusting his sleeves, and running a hand through his hair.

I wonder if that's part of the business Richardson conducts behind that black door. Was the club some kind of high-end whore house? He did say something about all the staff being tested. In fact, I recall the words he used were "clean" because the clients were "family men," and "respected."

Holy shit! Was that why there were bungalows on the back of the property? Weekends were for families, after all, which would explain why the club was closed on those days. It would certainly explain the animosity between the staff and dancers, as well. One group was about selling fantasy through art, while the other did so with their bodies.

I can't believe I hadn't thought of it before. The painfully obvious was usually not true, but in this case, it had to be. None of the clients were referred to by name, there was no sign on the gate, nor any discernible markings anywhere to indicate it was a business. Hell, even its location implied secrecy. One didn't have to be Jessica Fletcher to figure out what was going on, which means Mamma and the dancers know, clearly. I mean, the disdain for the staff in front is clear.

Shit, is that why the dancers gave me the cold shoulder when I first arrived? They thought I was one of Richardson's girls that he brought in to serve his clients, so why was I taking up space in their dressing room?

Omigod! The more I think about it, the more I know I am onto the truth about this place. Richardson was a part of Elmhurst, after all. Everything they did had a secret agenda, which means this club does, too. That's the answer to getting my life back. Find out who Richardson's clients are and blackmail him for my release.

I need to get into his office. I need to find his membership list. "Mamma," I turn, wondering if there is any way in there, when Richardson stalks into the dressing room.

"Everyone out!" he shouts. "Now!"

Mamma's head spins around and she looks at him in stunned silence. There is a no men allowed policy back here. No one, not the bouncers, nor Richardson, have ever set foot in this space, appearing to honor the rule. And yet, there is he, eyes boring into me, as girls reach for their robes and seek cover.

The way he's staring at me sends bile bubbling up in my throat, and I don't think I am the only one that's anxious. I can tell by the way Mamma pats her head, she too, is alarmed by his presence.

Mamma makes her way to Richardson and the two exchange heated words. When finished, she turns to me with a sad look in her eyes. "Alright girls," she calls out, the smile that appears, doing little to hide the tension in her voice. "Everyone out. Boss needs to have a conversation with Delta."

Cherry looks at me, eyes narrow, as if the request has just confirmed everything she and the other girls believed about me in the beginning.

One by one the dancers make their way out of the dressing room. When Cherry is the last one, she stops and leans in, whispering in my ear. "A little tip, I hear if you close your eyes, it goes by faster."

My stomach plummets and the blood in my veins turns to ice as she turns and makes her way to the door. Once she leaves, Mamma closes it behind her and Richardson storms toward me, tossing a folder down on my vanity.

"Do you want to tell me what the hell this is?" he asks accusingly.

"What the hell, what is?" I fire back.

"Take a look," he sneers.

I reach for the folder and open it, and when I see pictures inside, my stomach drops. They're of Jake and me at Nana's when he was leaving, and of him at the airport.

"Are you spying on me?" I look up, eyes watering in anger. If he had someone watching me that day, what else did they see? How far did that camera lens extend?

"I prefer to call it an insurance policy," he corrects.

I shove the folder at his chest, disgusted. "Call it whatever you want, but it's a violation of my privacy."

He grabs the folder and tosses it back down, then reaches for my arm, yanking me toward him. Slamming my chest against his, my stomach roils at the contact. "I have every right, Dawn."

"That's not my name," I bite back, as I try to yank my arm from his grasp.

"Your name," he snaps his teeth as his fingers dig into my skin with bruising force, "is whatever I want it to be."

"Fine." I lock my eyes on his, not backing down. "Call me whatever the fuck you want, I don't care. But I do care about my privacy. You have no right to my life outside this club."

His eyes flick back and forth, studying me, as a slow menacing smile tugs at his lips. "You really should have read the fine print on that contract, Ms. Miller. If you had, you would have learned that your life inside this club, and out, belongs to me for the duration of our agreement."

A chill works its way down my spine as he lets go of my arm and steps back. "What are you talking about?"

"Mr. Chambers is off limits to you. Him, and any other guy you think about fucking. I cannot risk you bringing harm to the clients. That is why there is a no fraternization clause."

"Harm to the clients?" I repeat. "Why would I—"

"You are a smart girl," he cuts me off. "You can't possibly think I was going to keep you standing out there forever. Surely you understand why you are here by now."

"To dance," I say stoically, dread seeping in.

"There it is." He reaches out and touches my cheek. "That naivety that is in contrast to your cunning nature." My mind screams to pull away, but I have grown frozen, unable to move as his finger slithers down my skin like a snake. "The men are going to love you."

"I don't want to dance," I swallow and pull back. "I will make a fool of you and this club."

"Oh, Ms. Miller. You are not going to dance. You are going to serve. On your knees and your back. Whatever, and however the highest bidder desires."

"You can't do this," I croak.

"I can do whatever I want. You signed the contract."

Fear, anger, despair…all of it crashes into me, shaking my body violently. The idea of sharing any part of me with anyone besides Jake makes me sick. "I hate you."

"The feeling is mutual," he grins.

I want to scratch his eyes out. Worse, I want to dig my nails into his neck and rip out his jugular. But something tells me he may like it so I do something else instead. I hit him where it hurts.

"Do you want to know what your son looked like when he died?" I ask coldly. "What he sounded like as he choked on his own blood? He sounded like a pathetic, little bitch. A piece of shit, just like his father."

Richardson reaches out and grabs my shoulders, lifting me off the ground, staring into my eyes like I am nothing more than a rag doll. "No you listen to me, you little bitch. Your days with Mr. Chambers are over. If I find out you have seen him, I will end his career before it even begins."

"No," I gasp, pain shooting down my arms from his vice-like grip.

"Oh yes," he sneers, "I will make sure of it. A bat to the kneecaps should do the trick. And your friend, Ms. Butler, she will wish Royce had taken her that night on the beach because the fate you will have sealed her too, will be far worse than anything he planned."

My body grows cold at the very thought of anyone hurting two people who mean the world to me. "If you touch either of them I will kill you."

He dips his head back and laughs, bringing it back up, slowly. "Listen to me because I am only going to say this once. End it now, or I will."

He lets go of my shoulders and I stumble backward, gripping the chair of my vanity for balance as he turns on his heels, and storms toward the door.

"Louise!" He yanks the door open. "Make sure she is ready for the party on Thursday."

"I can't dance," I say again numbly as he stands with his back to me.

"I don't care if you just stand there and take off your clothes for a couple of minutes," he says coldly, not bothering to turn around. "You will get your fucking ass on that stage."

"No!" I ball my hands into fists, holding them at my side. "I said I'm not fucking dancing!"

He turns to look at me now, eyes cold and calculating. "You will be on that stage, or the men I have watching Mr. Chambers start swinging their bats. Do you hear me?"

My throat tightens and fear floods me. "You can't do that."

"Oh, I can, and I will. Make no mistake, you fuck this up for me, I will fuck up your life, too."

And with that, he's gone.

Mamma rushes in, eyes sweeping over my face as she grips both of my hands and holds them in hers. She says something, but I don't hear her. All I see is her lips moving. What I'm feeling is not fear or even desperation. It's rage. The kind that blocks out all senses and emotion but one—revenge.

I'm not giving up Jake. Not for anything. He is not just important to me, but vital. I need him the way I need air. He is my future, no matter what. Richardson, his agreement, and this disgusting club are not.

I have four days to get out of this agreement. Four days to find what I need to secure my freedom and protect my friends. If I don't…if I get up on that stage, or am forced to do worse, it will be game over. I will not only lose Jake, but myself, and I can't let that happen. I would rather kill another Richardson, before I ever let that happen.