Chapter One
Natalie
I know I said I would do it, and Iwasall set to go through with it, but when I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I lost my nerve.
Ilookedgood and had, by chance, put on a costume that wasn’t as trashy as the usual garb around here. Maybe that was the problem: I saw my long limbs, my lithe body, my pale skin, and my pretty blonde hair, and I thought: what the hell am Idoing?
I swore I would never dothis.
When I started working at Kitty Bang Bang, I was a waitressonly.Absolutely firm about that. I knew I had a killer body—and Chris, the old owner, and all of his skeezy friends and ‘associates’ pointed that out whenever they got the chance, in the sleaziest way possible—but stripping wasnotfor me. It was a bridge too far. I needed money, but I’d seen where stripping leads: straight to turning tricks, being a mule, or just getting whacked because you were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Guys sometimes just flipped out and beat girls up for no reason.
No, thanks.
The problem, of course, was that I needed money, and I needed it fast. Suffice it to say I’d chosen to love the wrong people and had the wrong friends.
So waitressing at Kitty Bang Bang seemed like a good deal, and Chris said no problem, with a smirk on his face that indicated he thought the allure of the money the girls were making would suck me in.
He doesn’t know me, I figured.
And I was doing just what I’d said I’d do: waiting tables, keeping out of the way, andnot stripping.
Until we got this new owner.
Russians. These guys just didn’t give a shit. Not about rules, not about people’s problems, not about feelings, and definitely not about any previous arrangement I’d had with Chris. So Andrej—he’s a big meathead, with a thick neck and a thick accent and some scary-ass tattoos—made it pretty clear as soon as he took over: no stripping, no job.
I walked out, of course, because no one tellsmewhat to do.
I’d find another job, right? I’m a hard worker and I have a pretty face, and most of the girls don’t evenwantto wait on tables when they aren’t dancing, because it isn’t where the big money is and it’s a lot of work.
I hit the pavement and figured I’d have a job in no time.
Now, when I say job, the only problem was that I needed a job that paid about fifteen hundred dollars a week, required no degree, background check, or training, and didn’t happen during the day. My choices were pretty limited.
But I thought whatever. I’m a good-looking, blonde, nineteen-year-old girl. I figured, after Andrej gave me the ax, I could find a job at The Den or Diamond Studs or any of the other craptastic strip joints along Brighton Avenue, because frankly, being attractiveandnot having track marks makes you the Brighton Avenue equivalent of a Harvard Business School graduate.
But fuck me if anyone would hire me on.
Not as a waitress.
Not as a stripper.
And finally I got the message. That prick Andrej had gone around telling everyone not to hire me.
So I marched back into his shithole establishment, and I told him to go to hell. He laughed at me.
To be honest, I didn’t believe for a minute that Andrej was anything but some Russian prick who liked to pretend he had mob connections so that everyone was afraid of him. I really gave him an earful.
Ishouldhave looked a little closer at his tattoos.
So long story short, Andrej had me over a barrel: no one on Brighton Avenue or anywhere else was going to hire me, and if I ever talked to Andrej like that again, I was going to end up somewhere dark. Like the inside of a carpet in a dumpster.
Okay... no, thanks to that either.
“All I want you to do, Natalie, is put on a nice show for my guests,” Andrej told me. “You’re a nice, pretty little girl, good as Russian doll. And I know I can count on you to keep quiet. You’re smart, and you need some money. So I pay for your little friend to stay at rehab place, and you take off clothes and keep mouth shut. Simple deal. No complication.”
“No sex,” I snarled.
Because no matter how desperate I was, I wasnotgoing downthatroad.
