1
Desperate
My stomach gives a familiar lurch the minute I arrive at the door to the club. The same mix of emotions I always feel every time I come here slash at me, embedding themselves deep.
Regret.
Guilt.
Shame.
I glance up. The two-story building looms, its dark walls hiding a world of secrets and sin. Red lights pierce the night with a lusty glow, surrounding the bawdy silhouette of a naked woman, the horns that adorn her head, and the establishment’s name.
The Devil’s Den.
Darkness shrouds the city, but the streets are still crowded. My cheeks heat; I hate the idea of anyone seeing me walk in here.
I’ve been serving drinks at this place for a week, and still, apprehension eats at me as I push open the scarlet door.
It doesn’t matter that I’m not a stripper. All my life, the pastors warned us that places like this destroy the soul. Any woman who enters a place like this is a whore. Worthless.
No better than an animal.
Evil.
You do what you have to. If you don’t take care of yourself, no one else will.
My best friend Sarah’s voice filters through my head, grounding me. Giving me strength. Reminding me that I have no choice but to be here.
Lord, please keep her safe.
I’ll find you again. Someday.
As soon as I open the door, the music playing inside the club hits me with a wall of throbbing sound. The base assaults my ears, reverberating through me, the loud steady beat overwhelming my senses. The smell of booze, sweat and cheap perfume makes me cringe.
Everything about this club reminds me of just how far from home I am.
Home. No. The Colony was never home.
I’m barely two steps inside the dimly lit front hall when Todd appears in front of me with his usual glower. The big bouncer stands too close, forcing me to step back.
Figures. Why does it always have to be him on the door?
From the first day I started here, Todd has given me the creeps. He leers at the girls every time they come in, as if he’s caressing them with his eyes. His breath smells of stale coffee.
“You’re late.” He thrusts his beefy arm into my face, close enough that I can see the time on his watch. “It’s almost ten.”
He’s right. I was supposed to start at nine. According to his watch, I’m fifty one minutes late, and this place is packed.
“You’re in for it this time, little girl,” he adds gruffly. “Dee wants to see you.”
Dread pricks at me at the mention of my boss. The worst-case scenario storms through my head. Dee will probably fire me. If she does, I’ll be thrust back onto the streets.
Or forced to go back to the Colony.
A cold sweat slithers across my skin. I am never going back there. I’ll take the streets first.
I nod, but Todd doesn’t move, leaving me no choice but to squeeze past him through the crowd. I don’t want him touching me.
In the main room, I look over at the bar. Monica, the bartender, catches my eye as she serves the customers crowded there. She cranes her neck and taps her watch, looking harassed.
I give her a nod and start across the room toward the stairs that lead up to Dee’s office.
The babble of customers creates a never-ending hum of white noise that feels like it’s always on the verge of drowning me. Low, purple-tinted lighting casts everything in dark shadows, making it difficult to see. I adjust my duffle bag on my shoulder and weave my way through dozens of tables scattered about the room.
On the stage at the front, two of the girls gyrate and twirl around the brass poles, dressed in sequined thongs. As much as I admire the strength and grace of their movements, it’s impossible to enjoy watching them without guilt tugging at me. Neither wears a top, leaving their breasts bared to the men who whistle and make catcalls from the audience. The lewd calls coupled with so much naked flesh makes my insides squirm.
Walking faster, I avert my eyes, but everything about this place is made for sex, or the sale of it. The lowered lighting is a blessing here. It half-hides the hungry leers from the men, the red and white strobe lights reducing the girls on the stage to slashes of flesh and grinding bodies.
If I don’t look too closely, I can almost pretend it isn’t there. That I’m working at a coffee shop, a business that isn’t bathed in sin.
Almost.
Halfway across the room, I feel eyes pressing into my back. The hairs on my nape rise up. I throw a glance over my shoulder, half expecting to see Todd staring at me from the shadows, but he isn’t there.
Of course he isn’t. He wouldn’t leave his post at the door.
I peer around at the crowd. No one seems to be paying attention to me.
I give myself a shake. They haven’t found me. Have to stop being so paranoid.
And they haven’t found Sarah, either.
They haven’t.
At the side of the room, I turn down a hall, headed for the stairs at the end. A door to one of the private rooms opens and one of the girls steps out. Inside, I catch a glimpse of a man pulling up his pants and tucking in his shirt before she closes the door. She flashes me a smile.
It’s a dead-eyed, fake smile made of glass. The smile of a girl who’s been at this too long, who has let this place steal too much of her soul.
I force myself to smile back and make my way past a few more private rooms. Moans drift out of one, followed by soft pleading. I walk faster, feeling like I’m crawling out of my skin. I shouldn’t be here.
At the top of the steps, the pounding music from the lower floor is muted. My secondhand sneakers squeak on the floor, making me realize how much quieter it is up here. There are no libidinous stares, no groping hands, no scent of sweat and booze. This is Dee’s domain.
“Steph?” My boss appears in the doorway to her office at the end of the hall. “Get your ass in here.”
My stomach knots. She’s totally ticked.
Okay, so here’s the thing. My boss is one of the nicest women I’ve met since I left the Colony six months ago. If not for her, I’d still be living on the streets with no job, no place to live, and no money.
I’ve heard countless stories from the pastors about what happens to young women who stay on the streets too long. So many of them are forced to sell their bodies to survive, especially in a place like downtown Las Vegas.
Dee didn’t just give me this job. She gave me everything. It’s not a stretch to say she saved my life. The least I can do is show up on time.
“Yes, ma’am. I’m here.” I stop at the door as she turns and crosses the room to her desk. “I’ll just—”
“It’s about time.” Dee tosses a folder on top of a pile. “We’re swamped here, and we’re short-staffed, girl.”
“I know. I’m sorry. The bus was late—”
“Get in here.”
Unsure what to make of the order, I blink at her. There’s a brusqueness to her tone that suggests I’m in for it, but it’s hard to tell with Dee.
Dee Masterson is the most interesting woman I’ve ever met. With chestnut brown hair streaked with hot pink and every last inch of her arms covered in tattoos, she’s the type of woman I would expect to be working the floor instead of owning the club. After spending my life around women who think showing your ankles is a sign of wickedness, she’s just such a breath of fresh air. Only now, facing her makes my stomach clench.