The day goes from weird to weirder the longer it goes on, and if I didn’t need the money so fucking badly, I would be calling in sick for the club tonight. A random middle-aged man knocked on my door as I was getting ready for my shift, and handed me my keys, muttering something about it being a death trap and destined for the wrecker.
I’d be offended if he wasn’t right. The car is a shit box, and there isn’t a day I don’t miss the car my dad bought me as a graduation present. He was so excited to give me a new car, telling me that because I got a full ride for college, all the money he put away over the years could go toward something more fun.
The memory hurts as I think back to the day Dad noticed I was driving another car, and my excuse was so obviously a lie I can’t believe he didn’t call me out on it. I told him I was letting a friend borrow it to visit their mother in Florida, and then it never came back. I don’t know if he didn’t notice, or if he just assumed I would tell him the truth when I’m ready.
Everything I’ve done since Rayne left has been done on autopilot. I made dinner, ate, got dressed, and put on a full face of makeup without even realizing I had done it. I’ve never been so affected by someone as I am him, and it scares the shit out of me. Even hours after he left, his scent lingers in my apartment, reminding me of how out of place he looked here.
I glance at the time and realize I’ve spent entirely too much time daydreaming about a certain tall, dark, and ridiculously handsome man.
The drive to the club is much the same as the rest of the night, a blur I don’t remember. I park in the staff lot and quickly check my lip gloss before getting out of the car and entering through the back. Out of all my jobs, this is the hardest. The shifts are late and long, and the number of times I almost break men’s hands for groping me is obscene. But it’s also the best paying. The tips are what makes all the difference at the end of the week, which is why if push came to shove, it wouldn’t be the first job I gave up.
I smile at a few of the other waitresses as I pass them on the way into the break room to drop my bag off. I catch sight of myself in the full-length mirror the girls use to make sure their tits are out to capitalize on tips and cringe internally. The black dress clinging to my body is so short, one wrong move would have my ass out for the world to see, and the front isn’t much better. My tits spill out the top of it, and I silently admonish myself. When did I become this? When did I allow myself to use my body to make money? I have no issues with women using what they were given to make it in this world, but I never thought I would be capable of it.
To be honest, I’ve always been shy, quiet even. But this job doesn’t allow for it. I have to be on all the time. I have to have a smile on my face, I can’t snap when some perv touches me, and I have to do it night after night.
I fix my hair quickly and then I’m on my way to the bar to start serving drinks. I slip behind the bar and smile at Summer when she waves at me. The only good part of this job is the people I work with. For the most part we have a good time together, and we are always on the lookout if someone gets a little too handsy.
Summer quickly became a friend on my first night here when I had no fucking idea how to serve drinks. She laughed at me as I fumbled my way through the night, all the while picking up after me and covering for me when our manager asked who broke five glasses and dropped an entire bottle of top-shelf vodka.
“Hey, babe.” She grins, her long blonde hair sitting straight against her back. “You’re tired.” It’s not a question. Summer is one of the only people on Earth that knows about my money troubles, and she has covered for me more than once when I’ve had to go home due to exhaustion. Once every couple of weeks, the tiredness overwhelms me and makes me physically ill.
I nod. “What’s new?”
“Babe, I know you need the money, but you also need some sleep. I’m worried about you.” She stops what she’s doing to hold my shoulder for a moment.
I close my eyes, fighting the tears that surface at her kindness. “I have Thursday night off.”
“I bet you’re working a long shift at the diner that night though.” Again, not a question. She knows me so well. Knows the habits I’ve formed over the last few months.
“And I’m not working on the weekend.”
“Because you have that gala that you’ll probably lose even more sleep than usual over.”
I sigh because she’s right. Summer knows me, and we’ve had this argument so many times over the last few months that I’ve officially run out of excuses. “I need the money.”
Summer’s eyes warm. “I know, I just worry.”
Before I can reply, Kyle, the manager from hell, appears and we quickly busy ourselves with serving customers. I’ve just pushed three tequila shots across the bar when he grabs my wrist. “Emerson, the boss wants you in VIP tonight.”
I turn to him, only briefly taking in his greasy hair and almost too slender frame before my response falls from my lips. “Why?”
Kyle rolls his eyes like it’s the most stupid question he’s been asked all night, but it’s a valid question. I’ve worked here for almost six months, and even working five nights a week, I’ve never stepped foot in the VIP area. On top of that, I’ve never met Angelo Russo, never even seen him, so why he would be asking for me, in particular, seems odd.
“I don’t know, maybe he has a thing for redheads.” He sneers at me. “Now, go. And for god’s sake, don’t break anything. Mr. Russo is in and anything you do wrong is going to reflect badly on me.”
My face pales. Even though I’ve been doing this for six months, I wouldn’t say I’m exactly good at it, and I still break glasses every now and then, especially when I get nervous.
“Are you going to stand there staring at me all night?” Kyle sighs. I don’t know why he works here, because he fucking hates it. He acts like the job he does is the biggest injustice in the world and everything that goes wrong only goes wrong to inconvenience him.
Summer catches my attention behind Kyle, and her face is full of pity. She works VIP some nights, but she hates it, and I don’t think I’m going to love it either. Before I realize what I’m doing, my feet are moving toward the staircase behind the bar that leads to the VIP area. The second floor is open plan, looking down on the dance floor below. Booths line the walls, giving the illusion of privacy from the rest of the club. I’ve only been up here once, and it was in the middle of the day during my tour when I was first hired.
It looks totally different under the dim lights, and nerves bubble low in my belly morphing into full-blown nausea. This day just keeps getting better.
“You must be Emerson.” A blonde girl grins from where she’s perched against the bar. I’ve seen her around a few times, but I’ve never actually spoken to her. “I’m Robyn.” She holds her hand out.
“It’s nice to meet you.” I smile, shakily taking her hand.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, honey.” She looks over at the guy behind the bar, a tall, slim man who would normally catch my attention, but my mind is still full of Rayne. I can’t even bring myself to find this guy attractive. Nonetheless, he pushes a glass across the bar to Robyn who hands it to me. “Have some water. It will calm your nerves. We’ve all been there. Haven’t we, Darren?”
“Vodka would calm her nerves, water will just stop her hyperventilating.” Darren chuckles. “But she’s right, babe. We’ve been where you are. But we stick together up here in VIP and we won’t let anything happen to you,” he promises.
I’m oddly comforted by the promise, and after taking a few sips of the water, my heart rate comes down and the nausea stops simmering low in my belly. It’s still there, but it’s not threatening to have the small dinner I had make a reappearance.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it, honey. And don’t let these big bad VIPs scare you. If they step out of line, tell them to back off just like you would any other client.”
Darren barks out a laugh. “And if that fails, take a note out of Robyn’s book and throw a drink on them.”
My eyes widen as I look between them. Surely they’re joking.
“I asked him nicely to get his hands off my ass. Ain’t my fault he couldn’t follow a simple instruction.” She shrugs.
Maybe working in VIP won’t be so bad if I get to work with these two.
Three hours later and more than a few laughs, I actually kind of like working up here. It’s not quite as hectic as it is downstairs, which means there’s time to catch my breath. The clients are also generally less handsy, surprisingly, and I’ve had a conversation with a few of the groups which we’d never have the chance to do in the main bar.
I’m walking down the middle of the booths checking in for empty glasses when the table at the back waves me over. It’s the first time I’ve been to the table since I came upstairs, and it’s not until I’m basically standing on top of them that I realize whose table this is.
Angelo Russo.
The owner of the club. Also one of the most infamous criminals in Chicago.
The color drains from my face as I close the distance and plaster a fake smile on. “Hi, how are we doing tonight?”
There are three men at the table, each leering at me like I’m a prime rib they’re about to devour. Angelo Russo is in an expensive suit like the one Rayne wore the day I met him. If I didn’t know he was bad fucking news, I might find his dark hair and blue eyes attractive, but I don’t. Instead, the way he looks me up and down makes my skin crawl.
“Who do we have here?” One of the other guys in an equally expensive-looking suit smiles, but I see the devil lurking behind his gray eyes. He’s related to Angelo, that much I can tell by the similarities in their bone structure, but I don’t want to spend enough time at the table to find out how.
“Can I get you another drink?” I ask without giving them my name. I assume one of them already knows it anyway, seeing as they asked for me up here by name. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end as their eyes drag up and down my body, stripping me in their minds.
“Sit with us.” Angelo isn’t asking, and before I can even look over my shoulder to let Robyn know where I am, I’m being tugged down to sit between two of them.
“You’re a pretty thing, aren’t you?” The man with the smattering of gray at his temples leans into me, taking a deep breath of my hair.
An involuntary shudder vibrates through my body and my heart rate picks up. My body is telling me I’m in danger, but there’s nowhere for me to go.
Angelo’s hand comes down on my bare leg, startling me to look at him. “Cat got your tongue, darling?” The endearment rolls from his lips and has nausea rolling in the pit of my stomach.
“It’s my first night up here,” I say. “Just don’t want to make a mistake.” I giggle nervously as my eyes look out over the dance floor.
Bodies moving together, all of them oblivious to how trapped I am up here. Robyn and Darren are the only people who can save me, and neither of them will go against their boss’s wishes.
“Don’t worry so much. I know the boss.” Angelo winks and I barely hold back the urge to wretch. “I’ve been watching you, Emerson. You really are very beautiful.” He gathers my loose hair in his fist and tugs my head to the side firmly. The bite of pain only has my stomach revolting more as my eyes search for an escape route. Rayne’s business card in my purse flashes to my mind and I admonish myself. I am not going to lean on him to save me for the second time today. I am not a damsel in distress and I refuse to act like one.
“Thank you, sir.”
He moans. “I like the sound of that coming out of your pretty mouth.”
The man sitting across from us is surveying my body like I’m an all-you-can-eat smorgasbord and panic bubbles in my throat. Three against one. Even with self-defense training, I’m outnumbered.
“I should get back to work. I don’t want to leave Robyn and Darren to do all the work.” I move to push myself up but Angelo’s hand tightens to the point of pain around my bare thigh.
“Not yet, darling. Have a drink with us.”
The guy on the other side of me holds out a drink that seems to be straight vodka. The way the three of them are looking at me, I’m almost certain it’s drugged, and I’m all out of excuses not to take it.
“I shouldn’t drink on the job. My manager, Kyle, is a real stickler.” I giggle flirtatiously, trying to put as much into the little performance I’m putting on as I can.
Something dark crosses Angelo’s features, his hand tightening around my leg as a small whimper of pain falls from my lips. Thankfully the sound is swallowed by the loud music that beats throughout the club.
“That kid’s a fucking menace. Has he put his hands on you, darling?”
I shake my head. “No, he’s just strict is all.”
“Well, I won’t tell if you don’t.”
Fuck. I hoped the first excuse would work because the more that comes out of my mouth, the more likely they are to catch on to the fact I know what they’re trying to do.
I take the drink from his outstretched hand, but I don’t take a sip just yet, my hand shaking as I bring it to my lap. “Truthfully, I don’t drink much. I’m a bit of a lightweight.” The giggle that slips from my throat is fake, but I need them to underestimate me. I need them to think I’m just another girl that will fall at their feet because of who they are.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart. We’ll take real good care of you,” the guy across from me drawls.
I barely contain the eye roll. These three are such typical predators that if I weren’t trapped by them, it might actually make me laugh. “I don’t know your names.” I flutter my eyelashes at them, desperately trying to buy myself some time before I’m forced to take a sip of the drink.
“Well, you know I’m Angelo Russo.” His hot breath on my cheek only makes it harder to keep my dinner in my stomach. “And on the other side of you is my cousin, Paul. And across from us is his brother Tony.”
“I’m Emerson.” I smile with a little wave. I hate playing this role, but it’s necessary. Men like this don’t like strong women, so I’m forced to pretend I’m not one.
Paul’s hand comes down on my other thigh and panic starts to rise. I’m trapped. There’s no escape and I don’t know how long I can keep the pretense up. How long can I hold out on taking a sip of the drink? If I take a sip, I’m fucked. They’ll have to get me out of here, or at the very least to one of the private rooms on the other side of the bar, and surely Robyn and Darren won’t just let them take me.
“Your drink is going to get warm there, Miss Emerson.” Tony nods toward the untouched glass in my hand.
They each raise a glass and I’m forced to follow suit, my hand shaking violently as I bring the glass to my lips, the taste of vodka hitting my tongue as soon as the glass touches them.
“Em, can you cover for me for a minute? I just need to run to the bathroom.” Robyn pops her head into the booth and I’m standing before anyone can stop me.
“Sorry gentlemen, I’ll have to have a drink with you another time.” I smile and step over Angelo’s legs, hoping Robyn can see how fucking grateful I am for her interrupting.
A hand shoots out and wraps around my wrist so tightly I gasp in pain. “We’re not done, Emerson.” The way my name comes off Angelo Russo’s tongue makes me want to throw up.
“Next time.” I yank my wrist from his grip and scurry away to the bar.
Today just keeps getting better.
