I’ve already sold off most of the horses and let go of all the hands we had, but I’m keeping my house and my acres. I’ve never wanted anything but my family ranch, and if this is what I have to do to keep it, then so be it.
I spin away, pissed yet accepting at the same time. I know it could be so much worse. I don’t have a mortgage or a car payment to deal with. Paying the taxes on one hundred and seventy-five acres and the general upkeep of the house, along with putting food on the table, is expensive enough. Eventually, I’m hoping to be able to take on some boarding horses to supplement my income. Mom’s been getting better, so I may even be able to cut back my hours soon.
When I exit the dressing room, there’s a man in the hall. That’s not unusual, since Wing always has someone around to make sure no one gets to the back of the club. I like to pretend he’s protecting us girls, but our dressing room isn’t the only room back here, so I have no clue whom or what the men are here to stop. What is unusual, however, is that I’ve never seen him before. The leather soul of my ballet flat makes a sticking sound as my steps falter. The guy glances up from his phone and gives me a lingering once over. His eyes never make it to my face, which is normal here. I think it’s part of why I’m able to do what I do. I’m not a person, I’m a body, and strangely, I’m okay with that.
“Felony!” Winger barks. I jerk my eyes to the end of the hall and the beads that separate the front of the club from the back. When I look at Winger, he’s staring at the guy behind me, his eyes narrowed. The warning wasn’t for me, it was for him.
I don’t bother looking over my shoulder to see if the guy understood the interaction the same way I did. If he didn’t, I won’t see him again.
I dip my head as I move forward, unaccustomed to being on Winger’s sour side. He holds the beads back for me as I exit the hall, never taking his eyes off the space behind me. I feel a slight tug on my left wing as I step past him. “Stay close to the bar and stage tonight, Fel. No booth or room orders, okay?”
“No problem, Wing.” I nod eagerly. As much as I hate what I do, I know I have a good thing here. No one bothers me, and I make enough money working four or five nights a week to keep my ranch. I don’t want to piss him off and threaten that.
“Good. Anyone bothers you, you come to me,” he tells me for what must be the hundredth time. I don’t appreciate it any less now than I did the first time.
“I will, thank you.” He usually doesn’t talk to me once I’m working, so whatever the reason he has now for his demand, I know he’s serious. He dismisses me with a jerk of his head to the left, telling me to get moving, so I do.
I head straight for the bar and check in with Saddle. He’s one of the many men that works the bar. He doesn’t serve drinks, we have pretty girls to do that, instead Saddle watches everything and everyone. All it takes is a head nod to one of the bouncers, and he’ll have you booted without so much as a word.
“Hey, Fel,” he says without even looking at me.
“Hi, Saddle. Winger told me to stay near the stage and bar. I’m going to make a lap,” I tell him.
“Okay, sweet thing.” His words are light, but there’s tension in his shoulders that isn’t normal.
Instead of examining him further, I mind my business and move toward the end of the bar, seeing if anyone needs a drink. My wings keep anyone from getting too close to my back, but I have to be careful when I turn so they don’t slap into someone. It’s taken some practice, but they serve as another barrier between me and the people in the club. The wings I wear on stage are even larger, so I’d never be able to work the floor with them on. Guys start ogling and lifting empty pints in my direction, and I fall into my usual routine of donning fake smiles and avoiding sneaky hands.
“No touching,” I coo sweetly for the sixth time tonight to the same guy. I don’t want to get this guy roughed up, but my patience is wearing thin. I don’t even care if his tips are fat.
“Come on, how much?” He jerks his head back, actually looking at my face.
“Are you ready to close out your tab?” I question, purposely misunderstanding his meaning.
His gaze roams up and down my body. “No. How much for you to take me to heaven?” His eyes are glassy but focused, so he doesn’t seem too wasted.
“That would land you in hell.” Winger crouches next to the table. “Do not touch,” he warns very slowly while making direct eye contact with the man. “If you would like a more personal experience, I suggest you visit one of the rooms upstairs.”
“I want her in one of the rooms,” the guy demands, taking his eyes off Winger and looking at me again.
I distance myself from the table, knowing I won’t be returning to it.
“I usually only give one warning to idiots like you, but since you’re a good tipper and the girls like that, I’m going to tell you one more time in the simplest terms I can, so your pea-fucking-brain can understand. She is off limits.” Winger pokes the man in the side of his head several times while calling him stupid.
I turn when I know I have enough space and head back to the bar. The first few times Winger intervened for me, I thought I would get in trouble, but he never says anything to me about it. We both just pretend it never happens, just like all the bread and sweets I bring him are never discussed. I’ve never seen him do it for any of the other girls though. The bouncers, sure, but not Wing. I always thought it was because I was so young and he was worried I couldn’t take care of myself, but I know there are other girls here my age, especially now that I’m over eighteen, yet he still only does it for me. It earns me dirty looks from the other girls, but they know not to say anything, just like I know to keep my mouth shut.
I stay on the floor for another half an hour serving drinks and shots, then I head back to finish my stage look while Bunny ends her set. She starts the night’s shows and usually ends them too. She’s really good at priming the group. Bunny does a lot more booty shaking than I do, and the men appreciate it. My specialty is pole work. I may be thin, but I’m strong thanks to growing up on a horse ranch.
The same guy is still in the hall, but this time when he sees me, he makes a point of looking right through me. When I pass him, I see a faint scar along his cheek. He’s handsome in the same bad boy way most of the guys who work at the club are. They all seem to carry the allure of danger with them, but it’s one I easily avoid.
The dressing room is loud when I enter. There are at least three other girls inside, all in various stages of undress, and it seems they are each vying to be heard over the others and Bunny’s music.
I make my way over to the corner and see Stormy sitting at my station. She looks over her shoulder with one sleek eyebrow arched as if she’s daring me to say anything. She hasn’t been here long, maybe three months, but apparently, she has decided she needs to replace me or at least put me in my place, which she clearly believes is under her.
Instead of engaging, I crouch near her side and pull my bag from under the table. I don’t need to mess with her, girls like her come and go all the time. When I yank on the bag, it doesn’t come free. It takes a few tugs to realize she’s wrapped one of the straps around the leg of her chair. Just as I come to this realization, she tips the chair back and the bag abruptly slips free, and I end up on my butt with the bag in my lap.
I taste blood in my mouth, and the sting on the tip of my tongue tells me where it’s coming from. “Oh, are you okay, Felony?” Stormy doesn’t even try to sound sincere as she looks down at me.
I roll my tongue over my teeth behind my lips, deciding not to respond. The room is unusually quiet when I stand and make my way over to one of the empty stations. Slowly, the sound builds again, but I continue to ignore everyone while I lace my ribbons over my feet, replacing my flats.
