I ball my fist, squeezing till my knuckles crack. Blinking hard, I glance at the pig.
He’s practically drowning in his own drool when the waitress shifts her focus to him. She places her hand on his shoulder, her fake laugh echoing through the bar at his lame-ass joke. The disgusting fuck doesn’t even notice her forced smile, too busy ogling her cleavage. Her hand lingers on his shoulder, squeezing lightly as she leans in.
“You’re so funny,” she says, her voice dripping with false sweetness.
He eats it up, the idiot, his eyes glazed and mouth hanging open. Watching the whole thing makes my skin crawl. The pig thinks he’s charming her, but she’s just playing the game.
“Don’t be a pussy wipe, D.”I hear Erik’s voice, and I bite my jaw.“Just a few fucking hours of pretending is not as hard as you think.”
Mudakhas no idea how hard it is to fuckingpretendI’m someone I’m not.
But I’ll take one for the Bratva. So, I’ll sit here, I’ll drink this piss-poor excuse for vodka, and I’ll nod along like this fucker’s the most interesting man in the world.
All for the fucking Bratva.
3
Wren
My mouth moves in a rhythmic motion as I chew on the pink bubblegum. The sugary sweetness of the gum floods my taste buds.
I check the schedule again, hardly believing the hours staring back at me.
Tonight’s shift doesn’t wrap until 3 AM, and by 7 AM, I’m due back at the Joe’s, slinging coffee for the morning rush. Four hours, that’s all I get—if I’m lucky—to crash and come back to life.
It’s going to be one fucking brutal turnaround, but what can I do?
Billsdon’tpay themselves.
I trail behind Marla and Trent, two high school dropouts still wired as fuck, while Jojo shoves open the door to the “best” VIP room—usually dead as a fucking graveyard.
“Ready to shake your asses for the big spenders, ladies?” Jojo smirks, her tone dripping with bullshit enthusiasm.
“Fuck yeah, let’s make it rain!” Trent says, practically bouncing out of her G-string with excitement.
Marla rolls her eyes, elbowing Trent in the ribs. “Jesus Christ, calm your tits, spark plug. Let’s see if these rich pricks are worth a damn first.”
I snort. These idiots have no fucking clue. “Yeah, ‘cause nothing says ‘exclusive’ like desperate losers throwing money at tits and ass.”
Jojo shoots me a look. “Hush. These ‘losers’ pay your bills.”
“Whatever,” I mutter, adjusting my thong for the millionth time. Fuck, I hate this outfit.
As we step inside, the bass hits me, and my body starts to move on its own. The room’s darker than I expected, lit up by tacky neon and the glare off sequined outfits.
All I see are spotlights on the three poles set on the stage in the middle of the room.
“Holy shit,” Trent whispers, eyes wide as saucers.
I don’t bother to look at the “audience” because it’s the same old shit, different lighting. Drunk assholes in suits, thinking they’re hot stuff because they can afford the VIP treatment.
“Alright, ladies,” Jojo claps her hands. “Spread out and work it. Remember, they’re paying extra for the personal touch.”
Marla giggles, already zeroing in on some gray-haired fuck in the corner. “No problem there.”
I roll my eyes so hard I might strain something. Christ, it’s gonna be a long night. But fuck it. Five hundred bucks is five hundred bucks, and Emily needs those damn textbooks.
So, I plaster on my fakest smile and saunter toward the pole. Time to earn my fucking keep.
