Fire races upmy calves as I sink deeper into Downward-Facing Dog, pushing my body harder than usual.
If I’m going to make it as a stripper, every muscle needs to be in peak condition.
“Listen to your body. Bend your knees if you need to.”
Keshia’s voice drifts over the class, but I know she’s talking to me.
She was worried when I came home early last night, and her concern only got worse when I explained what went down at the strip club. I told her I was fine, even though I’ve got fingerprint-shaped bruises on my ass from that biker’s rough hands.
I can tell she feels guilty by the way she’s been watching me all morning like I might shatter into pieces. This job was her idea, after all, and now I’m getting manhandled by leather-wearing psychos in. It’s not her fault, neither of us could have predicted that mess, but try telling her that.
Class wraps up and I’m chugging water, watching the other students pack up their mats and drift back to their normal lives. Must be nice to live in that world.
Keshia lingers to answer student questions, so I wait and pull out my phone. This morning Starla sent a group text saying Alessio would pay everyone for full shifts despite last night’s chaos. The relief I felt was embarrassing. I’d only made tips from one dance before everything went straight to hell.
Now I’ve got two days off. The club’s closed on Sundays, and I get Mondays off while everyone works Friday and Saturday nights without exception.
I fish my phone from my gym bag and use a towel to wipe the sweat from my neck. There’s a new message from Quinn.
Sorry about the other day. I’m fine. There was just a family emergency.
Family emergency. I think about those bikers at the cafe, then showing up at the club hours later. If Paolo’s connected to whatever dark shit Alessio’s swimming in, that’s an emergency, alright.
I text back suggesting coffee. Part of me wants answers about those bikers. Who they were. What they wanted.
“Someone interesting?” Keshia appears beside me, pulling her braids back into a ponytail.
“Quinn, that woman I met at the aquarium. She claims yesterday was a family emergency.”
“Makes sense.”
I roll up my mat, mind spinning. “Maybe. But those same guys at both places? That’s not coincidence.”
“What’s the connection?”
“Hell if I know.”
We weave through the gym’s main floor, dodging sweaty muscle-heads and clanging weights. Through the childcare room’s glass door, I spot Austin at a craft table, animated and chattering to a little girl while they both attack their coloring with serious concentration.
“Maybe Paolo owns the strip club,” Keshia says.
“No, that’s Alessio. Or his family, anyway.” I drop my voice as we pass a group of guys spotting each other. “Katie, one of the other dancers, told me his family runs a bunch of businesses. Casinos, hotels, the club.”
“Legal stuff?”
“Maybe. But after watching him handle those bikers? I’m not so sure.”
Keshia doesn’t even blink. Neither did I, really. The way Alessio dealt with those thugs seven years ago, the casual authority when he said he’d erase Eric’s debt like it was pocket change? All signs pointed to someone with serious power.
“Paolo’s probably in it, too.”
Nausea rolls through my stomach as I watch Austin. If these people are criminals, what does that mean for my son? Would they expect him to follow daddy’s footsteps into hell?
“This is insane,” I mutter. “Real life isn’t supposed to be this fucked up.”
“Jesus, Nina. You really know how to pick them.”
I shove her shoulder. “I don’t ‘pick’ anything. Sleeping with him seven years ago was a mistake.”
