Page 3 of Satin Empire

“Don’t be nervous, you’ll get the guys all horny and shit. You’re so pretty too, all you have to do is go out there, shake your hips a little, show your tits, and they’ll throw the tips out, don’t you worry. God, I’d kill to be your age again.”

The idea that I might get anyone “all horny and shit” makes my mouth go completely dry.

“Gina, I’m not kidding, I’m really not here to dance. I just snuck into the back because I wanted to find Carlo?—”

“Uh-huh, sure, and Helmuth just let you past, right?” Gina grins, shaking her head. “Imagine how much trouble he’ll get in for that. And how much trouble you’ll get in when he realizes you fucked him over and got his pay docked for the night or whatever Carlo does to him. Oh my god, forget a broken wrist. You’d be lucky to ever walk again.”

I want to scream. Now I’m picturing Helmuth sitting on my skull, completely naked, as he crushes me to smithereens.

This is out of control. I can just get up and walk out of here, and if Helmuth tries to grab me, I’ll tell him who I am. That’ll make him think twice about breaking bones or cutting off limbs or whatever that big monster likes to do when he’s pissed off. I’ll drop my name and boom, this is all over.

Except if I do that, my stepfather will know that I was here.

And if my stepfather finds out, I really will be dead.

This is a nightmare. An absolute, legitimate nightmare. I don’t want to dance in front of a bunch of horny men, much less take off my clothes for them, but I don’t see another way out. Through one door is Helmuth’s wrath and my stepfather’s withering hatred, and through another is body glitter, bright lights, and Def Leppard.

“There’s gotta be a way I can get out of this,” I say to Gina, grabbing her arm, practically pleading as she walks me to the door that leads up to the stage. I’m desperate and freaking out, and I’m still wearing my sweatshirt, it’s not like they gave me something cute to wear out on stage. Nobody gives a crap, they all think this is fine, but it’s totally not fine.

“You’ll be okay, I promise. Come on, seriously, you’re acting like you’ve never done this before. I think you’ve got a nice body under that sweatshirt, so just go out there, shake your ass, show your tits, and gather up the money they throw. That’s all you gotta do. It’s not even a long song.”

“But wait. Please. I’m really not the new girl. I just want to talk to Carlo.”

The door opens and a young guy’s sitting on a stool. At the end of a short walkway is a thick, red curtain, glowing with lights, and beyond that is the stage.

“Hey, Jimmy, is Carlo out there yet?”

The young kid grunts. “I think I saw him a second ago. Why?”

“Well, here’s your chance to meet the big boss then,” Gina says in my ear as the opening notes of “Pour Some Sugar On Me” blare through the speakers. “Go impress him or whatever it is you’re trying to do. Who knows, if you’re lucky, he’ll take you home and fuck you tonight.”

“No, oh my god, no that’s not?—”

Too late. Gina slaps my ass and shoves me forward, and I’m stumbling toward the curtain.

Chapter 2

Alana

Jimmy the kid gives me a weird look, frowning at my clothes, and out beyond the curtain, the crowd’s getting restless as the lyrics start. They’re shouting, begging for the dancer. I guess the DJ introduced me as Candy Delicious, which is super apt given the song selection. I wonder if the girl I’m pretending to be chose that name—it’s pretty awful. If I were a real stripper, I’d be something with more class, like Lacy Coin or Fanny Cheeks. Okay, I didn’t really think about this, and I’m trying to come up with a better stage name when I push through the curtain and step out into the blinding lights.

The crowd shuts up. Probably because some random girl in jean shorts and an oversized sweatshirt is squinting at them like she’s about to keel over, which is how I feel. Seriously, my heart’s racing so hard, my head feels dizzy, and my stomach’s a twisted, ugly mess.

That’s when some guy shouts, “Come on, Candy, shake your fucking ass!” And that gives license to the rest of the men to start heckling me.

Panic flares. Followed by anger. Righteous fucking anger.

How dare they act like I’m not hot as sin? I’m not a conceited person, despite evidence to the contrary, but I know I’m at least decent looking. These guys are shouting like I’m the ugliest troll creature they’ve ever seen and goading me on, which is actually kind of working in some perverse way.

It pisses me off. And you know what?

All my life I’ve been told to be good. First by Gran, then by Mom, and then by my stepfather. It’s always been, Alana, do as you’re told, and especially, Alana, if you keep running your mouth, I’m going to cut out your tongue, my stepdad’s favorite threat. And for once, I want to do something wild, something a little stupid, and why the hell not do it right here and now? Carlo’s in this room, and Gina’s right, maybe this is the best way I can get his attention. I didn’t envision meeting him this way, except now I’m here and I can’t go back, and I can’t go forward, so I might as well get through it.

I start to dance. I gyrate my hips, thinking back to the girls I used to watch when I was little. Every single day for two years, I came home after school and scribbled in my notebooks while watching Mom and her friends do their thing. Every day, and even on most weekends, I got an education in reading, writing, arithmetic, and getting strange men turned on for money.

Which is how I let myself get lost in the music.

First, I tease the sweatshirt. I’m really hamming it up. I mean, it’s kind of not sexy, but the guys up front are laughing and seem to be enjoying themselves, so whatever. I walk over to one dude, an older guy with a bald head, and I shimmy toward him before flipping my hoodie up and slamming it down over his face, turning his head into a kind of baby kangaroo in my pouch. The crowd roars as I let him go, and Baldy throws a twenty at me, cracking up so hard there are tears in his eyes.

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