Chapter 1
My footsteps echo down the alley as I jog to the back door of the club. My heavy boots keep most of the murky water that never seems to dry from splashing my legs.
I use the toe of my boot to kick the bottom of the door. I know some of the dents and chipped paint are from me, but there’s no easier way to get Winger’s attention.
Proving my point, he jerks the door open a few short seconds later with a nasty scowl aimed right at me.
“Hi, Wing.” My greeting is small, quiet. He’s one of the few people I even speak to at the club. His sneer drops, and he shoves the door open in a wide arc before ushering me inside. All the scars covering his face blend together, making his skin resemble modeling clay, but I don’t mind scars.
“Come on in.” His voice is gruff, but that’s just Winger. I knew he was one of the few good ones when he stopped some of the guys who frequent The Dollhouse from harassing me.
Most people here think I’m a snob because I barely talk to anyone, but the truth is I’m just trying to keep my head down and go unnoticed. That’s pretty hard, though, when I take my clothes off for money several nights a week.
I pull open my oversized bag and grab a mini loaf of bread that I baked earlier today. It’s wrapped in cling wrap, but it’s the cheap stuff from the dollar store that doesn’t stick well, so the packaging is a little loose.
I hold it out to him shyly. I’m not sure if Winger actually eats all the things I bring him, but he always cradles them in his big hands as if I’ve relinquished a treasure.
“Sourdough?” he asks hopefully.
“Not yet, I need to give my new starter a few more days.”
“Thanks, Fel,” Winger says sincerely. I’ve never seen him smile. I’m not sure he’s even capable of it, but something tells me he’s as pleased as he gets.
I duck my head and walk back to the dressing room so I can change out of my street clothes.
Bunny is already at one of the stations. I don’t know her real name, just like she doesn’t know mine, but her stage name is strangely fitting, just like mine is. I actually have several nicknames. Most people don’t know my stage name, Fel, came from the name Winger gave me the first day he escorted me back to see Vanity—she’s like the pit boss for the dancers, and no one gets hired unless she says so. I walked away with the moniker Felony—Fel for short—but it works, because my costume is a bastardized version of a fallen angel, and most assume that’s where the name comes from.
I’ve been here for two years now. I’m not even jailbait anymore, but the name cautioned most of the guys who work or venture in and out of the club to leave me alone. Not that any of them are afraid of catching a charge. I’m pretty sure the club is some sort of front for a criminal organization, but I don’t ask questions. It’s none of my business. However, since it was Winger who gave me the name, the warning has been heeded, and I’m officially off limits.
No matter how much I try to keep my ears and eyes closed, I see and hear things. I know Winger’s got a lot of pull around here. Bunny is always trying to suck up to him, but as soon as he turns his back, her real feelings show. I’ve heard her say Winger is the boss’ right-hand man, but I’ve never met anyone Winger answers to.
I watch Bunny out of the corner of my eye as I make my way over to my station. I only call it mine because it’s always the one I pick if it’s available. It’s tucked in a corner and offers a little more privacy while I’m changing.
I swear half the girls know I’m uncomfortable changing in front of them, so they always make it a point to be close by just to see me get all jumpy. The irony that I’m a stripper who can’t change in front of people isn’t lost on me.
Thankfully, slipping into my costume is like donning armor, even though it doesn’t cover much of anything. It feels like I’m sliding into a character who disappears as soon as the makeup and feathers come off.
Bunny picks up her phone, purposely ignoring my presence, which works out best for me. The days she decides I’m worth her time usually end with me being more exhausted than when I work a double at the club, which is rare. Considering I spend my mornings in the barn and my afternoons helping Mom, most days are already doubles for me.
Bunny curses, and I peek over at her. Her arms are too thin, but who am I to judge? I’m too thin also, although I think her slim frame has more to do with drug use than her body type. The men seem to like her though. She makes good money, more than me, but she’s also willing to cross lines that are a hard pass for me. Just as she lifts her head, I dart my gaze away from her and focus on myself.
I can hear the house music pumping through the walls, but it’s muted. It covers the sound of me digging through my bag and gathering my things. The scraps of silky black fabric hardly take up any room, it’s the shoes that make the bag so bulky. I haven’t worn them in a few weeks, instead choosing to wrap my feet in ribbon while I’m on stage. Sure, the narrow fabric can be a hazard, but breaking my ankle would definitely bench me at work and make things harder at home. I thought Vanity would insist on the heels since they are, after all, part of the costume that was supplied to me, but no one has said anything yet, so I shove the bag under the table and quickly pull my boots off. The faster I can get dressed, the faster I can hit the floor and serve shots, which means more tips.
When I celebrated my eighteenth birthday last month, I thought someone would tell me I needed to start doing lap dances, but no one has approached me yet, and honestly, I’d rather keep it that way. If I could find another job that paid this well and offered only evening and night shifts, I would do it, but there’s not much out there for a girl my age, especially when they see my diploma comes from an online school.
The dressing room door opens, and music blares for a few seconds until it snaps closed. “Bunny!” Lola coos as if she’s just seen her best friend for the first time in years. I keep my head down as they start talking about what they did last night and their plans for this evening. They take frenemies to a whole new level. As soon as one has their head turned, the other is talking shit to anyone who will listen, but this place is cutthroat. I can’t imagine what the bigger clubs—the ones close to the casinos, where the girls can make really good money—are like.
“Hey, Felony,” Lola singsongs, but her greeting is anything but pleasant. I act oblivious to her tone and give her a fake smile.
“Hi, Lola, your hair looks nice.” I learned early that complements can create a buffer. I have to use them sparingly though. If I use too many, the girls get suspicious, like they think I’m insulting them instead.
Her fingers seek the tips of her sleek black bob, the ends dyed a bright fuchsia. “Thanks.” She sounds almost genuine. Sometimes I wish I could be real friends with the girls, but to keep my sanity, I have to keep my two lives separate, not to mention I’m pretty sure they all hate me and each other anyway. I have Mom and Gwen though. They are more than enough.
With her hand still in her hair, Lola spins on her heel and moves to a station of her own to get ready for the night. Bunny sends a glare in my direction, but I pretend not to notice and continue getting ready.
I use the makeup like a mask to paint my face, adding a few crystals under my eyes that look like glittering teardrops. It’s probably the realest part of my costume. I tried using glitter at first, since it’s cheaper, but it gets everywhere, and I got tired of telling my mom I was crafting with Gwen when she would ask why I always had it in my hair. It’s bad enough I have to cover myself in shitty perfume that smells like I bathed in a vat of sugar cookies just so I don’t come home smelling like smoke and alcohol.
After putting on my black bandeau bra and cheeky panties, I tug up my faux leather leggings and my black wings. I take a moment to look in one of the many long mirrors. I kind of hate that I think the girl in the mirror looks pretty in a weird way. She’s not me, never will be, but she is me too—the me who’s willing to do whatever it takes to make sure I can keep my ranch.
