My eyes never leave her body as she dances carelessly down the street, oblivious to the world around her. I can’t help but feel the need to hide her from the world, keep this little piece of heaven just for me, but then a flood of shame runs through me as I think about Gwen being hidden, and I want to let her out again. I want to be selfless with her. I don’t want to drag her into the depths of hell with me unless she wants to, but all that nice guy talk leaves my mind the minute a man purposely gets in her way to touch her.
I almost groan aloud when I watch her two-step into the fucker with a large smile, and she just giggles out an apology, not noticing when his eyes trail her as she walks, his eyes following her every step. My heart beats frantically like a caged animal, wanting to lash out in protection and dominance. But I force myself to keep control, running my hand through my hair in frustration as I fight against my instincts. When I pass by the man who still can’t take his eyes off Gwen, I shoulder check him so hard he stumbles back.
As Gwen turns the corner and walks down Eleventh Avenue, she pulls her curly black hair into a messy bun and the scent of her sweet vanilla wafts down the street. I almost buckle at the scent, my will to keep my distance until tonight slowly faltering as she spins, her hair whipping in the wind. As she continues down the residential street, she greets everyone witha bright smile and bounces around people who don’t give her the light of day. It is as if she doesn’t know this is New York, and the nasty looks she gets from some people make me want to grab them by the throat and force them to bask in her light.
She skips towards one of the buildings on 34th street, a familiar building that is mostly glass and screams bachelors with too much money. She can’t afford to live here if she just got a job at my club. I know this because Aleksandr owns all the buildings on this street, and the rent is fucking astronomical, but as Alek puts it: perfect for the rich douchebags that live here.
She turns to see a tall man with shaggy brown hair sneaking up behind her. Before she can react, he wraps his arms around her in a bear hug and spins her around.
Gwen’s headphones fly out of her ears as she clings to the person hugging her, her wide smile lighting up her face.
She playfully squeals out, “Taylor! Put me down!”
My heart constricts and my blood boils at the sight of them together. The anger bubbling inside me is enough to make Jeffery Dahmer seem like a friendly neighbor in comparison.
Taylor finally sets Gwen down, their laughter mingling as Taylor tucks a loose curl behind her ear. She seems to beam at the interaction.
“What’s got you in such a great mood, baby girl?” Taylor says, his eyes lingering on her.
“I got a job at Johanna’s!” she replies, her smile softening as she looks at him.
He bends slightly, excitedly grabbing her arms. “Oh my God! We have to celebrate!”
She giggles as he spins her around, “Not too much. I have to work at 7!”
Taylor checks his watch with a smile. “That means I have three hours to get you drunk and sober you up! More than enough time.” His hand intertwines with hers, and he drags her into the building. She giggles as he pulls her along.
I step forward, ready to follow them into the building, rip Gwen from his arms, and pull her right into mine where she belongs. But just as I’m about to enter the building, my phone vibrates in my pocket. I glance at the screen and see Aleksandr’s name flashing.
I answer the call, my voice taut. “Yes, Aleksandr?”
“Office, ten minutes,” he says, his voice curt and to the point.
I take a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down. “I am handling something. Can it wait?”
“Ten minutes,” Aleksandr snaps, and then I am greeted by the dial tone.Fucking great.
I grit my teeth, my eyes flicking back to Gwen and Taylor as they wait for the elevator.
As much as it kills me to walk away, I turn on my heel and make my way to Petrov’s office because I know, despite whatever happens in the next three hours—and if Taylor wants to live, it better involve everyone’s clothes on—I’ll see Gwen tonight. And after tonight, she will be mine. No one else will touch her. No one else will make her smile like that. She will be back on her throne where she always belonged.
18
GWEN
As I stepped intoJohanna's Gentleman’s Club,the pounding bass and colorful neon lights assaulted my senses. The men here were a far cry from the usual rowdy crowd back home - they exuded wealth and sophistication, their designer suits and expensive cologne marking them as successful businessmen. And then there were the women – not just strippers, but skilled contortionists who twisted and turned their bodies in seductive poses for the mostly male audience, with a few women scattered throughout. It's clear that everyone here has money to spare, unlike me with my mountain of debt to Mason.
I couldn't help but feel envious of their easy access to money, knowing that any one of these patrons could easily wipe away my debt to Mason with a flick of their wrist. But as I make my way through the club, I couldn't help but feel a set of eyes on me. I walk through the side doors to the back where the manager’s office is and Oscar, the manager, is staring at me with an impatient glint in his eye. “You’re twenty minutes late.”
I give him a sheepish smile and shrug slightly. “I’m not from New York. I didn’t know a twenty minute train ride really meant forty.” Oscar rolls his eyes at me walking ahead of me and I jog to keep up with him. My belly rolls and I curse Taylor under my breath because only he would send me to work four drinks in and full of Korean fried chicken when he knew I’d be dancing around a pole tonight. The thought of all the food I just ate coming up in spades makes my body lurch as if I am seconds from throwing up, but I swallow it down.Do not throw up on your first night, Gwen.
“Okay so you will be working the floor tonight unless someone personally asks for a private dance,” Oscar says opening the door to a huge dressing area complete with private rooms and a huge gust ofVictoria Secretperfume invading my nostrils.
“By private dance, you just mean dance, right?” I question, following after Oscar as he slides between two topless girls, not even sparing them a second glance.
“This is not a prostitution ring,” he responds in a bored tone. “If you want to fuck a patron, do it after hours during your own time. Here is your locker.” He points to a dark pink locker with my name scripted on the front in a sparkly gold print. “Inside, you will find your uniform. At the end of the night, put it in the black hamper over there and it will be cleaned by your next shift. Any questions?”
Before I can respond, a voice pipes up from behind me, “Don’t worry Oscar! I got her.”