Chapter 30
Lucia
“Wow-wee, sweetheart. Aren’t you a treasure?”
“Don’t be shy, honey. We don’t bite.”
I duck my head low and hurry down the street as a third tormentor joins the duo who recently finished desecrating the sidewalk with urine.
“We don’t want to hurt you, sweetie. I just want you to sit on my face. You’d enjoy that, wouldn’t you? Do you want me to eat your pussy?”
Gagging, I quicken my pace. The trio follows for half a block, groping themselves as a crowd of homeless people mill around.
They’re creepers who can’t afford the drink cover charge of the local strip clubs, so they target homeless women, hoping their desperation for a meal will lower their morals enough to accept their offer.
I’m not that desperate.Yet.
I might not be able to say the same if Dante ruins my performance tonight like he did the last two times.
Suddenly, the trio backs off, their fear from more than a threat to tell their wives how they spent their Friday nights.
“Shit,” I mutter under my breath when I spot the cause of their concern.
Across the street, Marco leans against a lamppost, pretending to scroll on his phone. Part of me appreciates his support. I’ve softened a lot over the past four weeks. But I’m also terrified. If Dante knows where I’m going and what I plan to do when I get there, he could steal the only chance I have of seeing my son this month.
He could even stall our contact indefinitely if my anger boils over too rapidly for me to contain all my secrets.
I can’t let that happen, so when the opportunity arises, I slip down a narrow alley between two buildings and duck behind a stack of crates at a takeout shop. Through the back door, I’m swamped by the smell of frying oil and old spices.
The workers ignore me as I hurry through the kitchen and out the front. I blend into the crowd before Marco can double back, then remove my cell phone battery and store it in my backpack.
By the time I reach the venue thirty long minutes later, my pulse has calmed. It’s a pity I can’t say the same about my nerves.
Even though the night has barely begun, the residence is loud and full of drunk men. Their predatory grins follow every woman who walks past—even the ones fully clothed.
Luna wasn’t lying about it being a high-end gig, but that must only apply to the clothes, not the clientele.
“Cici?” a woman in the foyer asks when she spots me.
I nod, and she drags her eyes down my body. “I thought you were brunette?”
“I will be,” I reply. “Do you have somewhere I can get ready?”
The skin under her chin wobbles when she jerks it up. I follow her into the residence with multiple rooms, antique furnishings, and floors scattered with dollar bills.
“You’re a special order, so you’ll be in the library.” She plucks a cigarette from a man’s mouth, takes a long draw, and then passes it to another. “There’s a pole upfront, but no stage.” My stomach churns when she murmurs, “These clients prefer up-close performances.”
I wet my lips to ensure my following question comes out clearly. “It’s a bachelor party, right?” She nods, but that’s the start and end of her reply. “Do you have a description of the groom for me?”
With her head thrust back and her narrowed eyes peering at the ceiling, she laughs. “You’re not here to critique our clients.”
“That wasn’t my intention. I just want to make sure the groom gets his money’s worth.” Stop giving me that look. I’ve been in this industry enough to say what needs to be said to keep the gig. “It’s not often friends fork out ten thousand for a stripper. I want to make sure he’s a repeat customer when whatever marriage he’s entering ends in divorce.”
See? I mention the amount simply to see if shock registers on the payee’s face.
It doesn’t. Mercifully.
“He’s six one and has tattooed hands and a porn stache.” She opens the door of a broom closet next to a massive library with wall-to-ceiling bookshelves. “I’ll take a sneaky pic while showing them into the library. Do you have a playlist?”
