“You have any issues abut the other night?”
I blink up at him and smile. “I wasn’t here the other night, Tone. I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, not breaking eye contact.
“You remind me of someone. I can’t put my finger on it.”
“I hope it’s a pretty bad-ass dancer.”
“I like you, kid. Come to the next card game. I’d love to see how talented of a dancer you are—up close.”
That wasn’t so much an invitation as a demand.
Oh, punch me in the twat until my great grandmother feels it. I’d rather die a thousand times over than have this man lay one single finger on me.
“Will Corrado be there?” I ask sweetly.
His eyes drop down my neck and linger on the low scoop of my collar and the cleavage that lay just behind it. He purses his lips in thought and shrugs. “He doesn’t always show up, my Corrado. He’s got a lotta work he does for me.”
He stands there a little while longer as I try my best to hold my smile. Inside every part of my body trembles with disgust that turns quickly into hate.
When Tony finally walks away, I realize the club is filling up and I’ve been handing out drinks and ringing them up on autopilot.
Within another hour, the place is jam-packed and an entire drunk bachelor party is on the other side of the bar shoving twenties at me to dance for them.
My eyes shoot up to Tony’s VIP section up on the balcony that looks out over the crowd. He’s standing there with his arms folded across his chest, just nodding to me.He wants me to dance at the bar for them. My face flushes hot with humiliation.
Tony thinks this will break me.
He thinks he has control over all of us. That all he has to do is say jump and we ask how high.
God, I wish I didn’t have to do any of this.
The group of guys in front of me is harmless, but Michael, one of the bouncers is next to me instantly whispering in my ear, “You having any trouble over here? Tony says to dance for them. If you’re willing.”
I squeeze his arm and smile as I hand out beer after beer to the men. “I’m fine. Hey, can you call Corrado out, so I could dance?”
“Why would I—”
“Michael, we’re short-staffed and someone needs to run the bar while I shove my ass in these gentlemen’s faces.”
“You sure you’re okay with this?” he asks pulling out his phone.
“Sure,” I smile up at him. “Tony wants me to dance, and that’s my job so…”
The bachelor party shouts my name, chanting it over and over until I climb up onto the bar. Thank God I had the good sense to wipe that shit dry.
From the corner of my eye I see Corrado move through the crowd and pull up a stool at the end of the bar. I lied to Michael. I don’t need anyone to run the bar while I dance. There are three girls back here with me. What I need is a focal point to dance to—because the rage that is burning inside me is so great I’m afraid I’ll do something I’ll regret.
I’ve done a lot of things I’m not so proud of in my life, but regrets—I have none.
I smile to myself when the music changes and the first few punching beats of “Tonight I’m Loving You” by Enrique Iglesias comes on. I breathe in deep and feel the music pulse and thump through me. And my body moves—like ribbons in a breeze.
There’s no pole to lean on here, but there’s men and stools and a bar top, that when I crawl across, my ass is in all their faces. I feel the music in my bones and the eyes of my audience heavy like a weight—like hundreds of hands caressing me, hundreds of mouths brushing against me, hundreds of tongues sliding over me.
I close my eyes when I slip off the bar in front of Corrado. I can hear his heavy breathing. I could feel it fan hot over my skin. I think about his hands and how they moved up and down his shaft as he watched me when we were in the lounge.
Slowly I reach down and lift the hem of my shirt up and over my head. Underneath is just a small demi-cup bra made purely of lace.
“Jesus, Felony,” I hear him swear.
