“Sounds like a full house tonight,” I sing-song with excitement before biting the scissors between my front teeth and fisting my fishnet tights, tugging gaping holes into each slit.
Violet's hand wraps around the metal at my mouth, snatching the scissors from between my lips. Placing her purple pointe shoe next to my red, she begins to cut through her tights the same way I had mine. I step back, sliding on my double paneled leather garters, straightening them at my thighs.
Violet scoffs under her breath, then follows with a slight chuckle. Her dark brown gaze captures mine when the sound of ripping fishnets dances from her legs. “Hopefully, we won’t have any assholes like last night.”
The smile blooming at my lips falls instantly, shriveling away, the petals closing back in on themselves. I swallow the lump in my throat, keeping my eyes on her when I reply firmly, “If we do, you break their nose exactly like you did.”
Yep, true story.
She painted the stage with that seedy fuck’s blood, and I was all too proud of her.
He had snatched her around the waist when she was at the edge of the stage and, with no shame, slipped his filthy fingers right through her fishnets and into her pants.
I couldn’t sleep thinking about what had happened to her,in my fucking club,and when I called her early this morning for the fifth time to make sure that she was okay, I could still taste the drip of sour revenge on the tip of my tongue. I wanted him,and the men who hurt meto suffer.
And I wanted to be the one to make them scream.
She insisted she was okay, that it was simply no big deal, that she’s handled much worse in her past. However, no form of sexual assault is greater than the other, and I needed her to know that she could talk to me—that she was never alone.
She laughs, and it makes the erratic beating of my heart settle a little in my chest, though it still hurts. A piece of my safety was taken from me, and my space last night, and I don’t fucking like that.
“I fucking love you, Cherry. You’re the best boss I’ve ever had,” she reminds me with a slight grin, twirling a piece of my bright hair around her index finger. I try to ignore the chill that crawls across the back of my neck when I remember what she told me about the last place she worked at.
“If a man wants to touch you, you let them, do you understand me? You throw your head back and pretend like you’re enjoying it. You makememoney.”
Fucking disgusting.
I lick my dry lips. “I mean it, okay?” My words crack when I squeeze my eyelids closed, doing my best to shake the thought away. I’m so glad she’s here,with me.
Violet smiles, her dimples deepening when the expression reaches her haunted, dark-lined, inky eyes. She’s gorgeous, in a gothic way. She nods and sucks on her bottom lip. When I keep my eyes on her, it’s like she knows what I’m thinking, the thought silently passing between us, drifting on unspoken words. “I promise I’m okay.”
As much as I’ve created The Barbed Cherry to be a safe place for all patrons, staff, and dancers, that doesn’t mean that we don’t get dickheads. It’s inevitable when alcohol is involved, but I made sure from day one that my girls knew they could react however they see fit, without any repercussions from me. If a fist to the face is required, then fucking do it. They asked for it,deserve it.
I will never put up with any bullshit here.
Not after what I’ve been through.
The thought makes me think of Laney. It’s been just over nine months. Her social media is still inactive. I check it every day, and the same echoed whispers pass my ears. Is she stillthere?Is she alive? Or has she crossed over? Is she happier now? Or is she dying alone?
I live every day in anticipation, hoping I will see a notification from her when I stare at my lock screen. And every day, another shred of hope dissipates. I become irrationally mad that I wasn’t able to assist the police more, and then I want to call and scream at them and ask them why the fuck their search is taking so long.
Over nine months of torture.I feel sick when I think about it.
Have the police just given up by now? Have they decided it’s a lost cause? Not worth their time? Have they accepted that Laney Rhodes will be anotherlost girl?
It’s not good enough.They have let her down.
A lone tear pricks my burning eyes, rolling out of my socket, and I quickly dab it away before it creates a stream down my cheek.
Cleo’s leg brushes her ear as she stretches herself out against the wall beside us. Her smile is bright and full, teeth shiny white against the red lipstick that lines her lips. She drops her lithe leg from above her head and skips toward the far edge of the curtain. Her silver waves fall down her sharp spine, brushing over her black caged harness. She has her staple single heart garters secured around her thighs and her silver pointe shoes tied tightly around her ankles.
She’s what you would call the cute, bubbly, optimistic of us three. Only twenty-one with one goal, to dance,to perform.
“Wow, yep, most definitely full.” Cleo’s voice is vibrant when she spins back around to look at me and Violet, who is now sitting at her dressing table, sliding a straightener through the lengths of her purple locks. Violet grins, though she keeps her focus set on the reflection staring right back at her.
“Nice,” she hisses, her expression the definition of devilish confidence. She reminds me of Cameryn, with her exterior as tough as nails, though her heart is big and full, and battered.
I feel a large hand splay on the bare skin of my spine, and I don’t have to turn around to know it’s my best friend at my back. Caleb’s toned arms coil around me when I spin around, hiking me in for a warm hug. The right side of my face presses into his defined pecks, and I close my eyes, breathing in his minty vanilla scent. Caleb took up managing for me so I could focus solely on dancing, and I’m grateful for that. He knew why I opened in the first place, and he made sure I could stay on my stage.
