Page 9 of The Obvious Check

Savannah:You’ve seen a beach before when you were a baby. Mom and Dad took us.

My throat closes. The memory claws its way up, taking over the filth, smoke, and desperation that clings to this place. Oh, how I wish I could tell Adley about it in person instead of through secret calls and texts. I’m not even sure what she looks like anymore. Last time I saw her was on the screen at an internet café two years ago, which feels like a lifetime. She’s fourteen now, just at the start of those awkward teen years. She needs someone to be there for her. To fight for her.

That’s me. She is who I’m fighting for. To see her again. To give her all the things I missed out on.

I quickly wipe away the tear rolling down my cheek and look around, hoping no one saw. Thankfully, everyone is too lost in their own worlds to notice mine. It’s the story of our lives in a place like this. None of us are here because we want to be. We’re here because we need the money, or we’re being blackmailed in some way or another.

One day, I'd love to douse this hellhole in gasoline and watch it burn to the fucking ground. Take all of Luke's little black books with their meticulously tracked “debts” and turn them into nothing but ash and bad memories. But that kind of justice only happens in my dreams, the ones I have on the rare nights when exhaustion and my nightmares don’t claim me first. My reality is far too cruel for such satisfying endings. In real life, places like this never burn; they just change owners, and girls like me keep dancing until we're replaced by younger versions of our broken selves.

I reach for the leftover foundation and scrape the tube like I’m mining for gold, desperate for enough product to cover thebruise-colored circles under my eyes. Then I wipe the lipstick clean before using my finger to apply the red stain to my lips. After that, I pull my hair into a tight knot and slip into the white rhinestone bodysuit. The same costume I've worn every time I've stepped onto that godforsaken stage. I've become so dependent on it, I view it as my battle armor, and it's the only way I have enough strength to keep going when every cell in my body is screaming at me to run.

I finish the look with my signature red wig. It’s seen better days, but again, it makes me feel like someone else when I’m out there.

“Scarlett Cherrywood.” That's what Luke called me the first time he shoved me onto that stage, grinning like he'd just purchased me at auction, his fingers leaving bruises on my back where no one could see them. And just like that, the name stuck and another piece of my soul was stripped away, replaced with his vision of who I should be. Another collar around my neck that I never asked for but wear anyway.

My stomach churns at the thought of all those men staring at me with their hungry eyes, mentally undressing what little I’m already wearing. I hate this place. I hate the men who stare like they have a right to. Like I owe them something.

I shove my phone in my bag and stuff the whole thing under the vanity, wedged into the darkest corner. It’s the only place I can leave it and reasonably expect it will be there when I get back. The girls here aren’t exactly Girl Scouts, and desperation can make thieves of us all. So I keep the bag hidden. Out of sight. Out of mind. Just like my dignity and every dream I had before I wound up in this neon-lit purgatory.

Then I head over to the stage, waiting for my name to be called. Closing my eyes, I take a few deep breaths, hyping myself up to think about anything but the leering men below me.

“Let’s all welcome Miss Scarlett Cherrywood.”

I take my first step onto the stage, ignoring the drunken applause as I reach for the metal pole in front of me, and start to wiggle my hips. It’s all I do. Like I said before, I can’t dance, and somehow this pathetic display is enough of a novelty for them. Me in an outfit that hangs off my frame while clinging on to an old pole for dear life.

At least he hasn’t pushed for more yet. I haven’t crossed that particular line with Luke, but I know it’s coming. It’s just how he operates. He works in increments, and although he never outright asks for your soul, he takes it so gradually you barely notice you’re being hollowed out until you’re nothing but an empty shell with his name carved inside.

It’s just an hour or two behind the bar…

It’s just one dance…

It’s just one skimpy outfit…

It’s just three dances tonight…

That’s how it works. He keeps pushing my boundaries until I forget where they stop. I’ll keep working, though, saving up all the tips I get to eventually pay that asshole off. Even though I had to quit working at the diner to pick up more shifts here and combat the interest of Luke’s first loan, I still have a friend there. Chloe. She always saves her free meal for me, which means I’ve been able to save up a little money that Luke can’t touch. Nowhere near what I need to pay him back, but it’s a start. It’s the only bit of hope I have.

I’m in too deep.

I know that.

I’m just trying my best to get out of it.

I close my eyes, twirl around the pole, and force my lips into a fake, slow smile, pretending to wave at the crowd. The only thing that can get me out of my head when I’m up here is to pretend I’m somewhere else.With someone else.

That’s when I imagine him. The only thing that gets me through every dance here.

Dark hair. Green eyes. Dimples for days.

I didn’t know his name back when I first saw him fighting, but now his features are etched into my soul. How was I to know I’d end up sitting next to him in economics every week? I’ve watched the veins in his arms pop from typing too quickly. I saw the kind of damage he could do to an opponent stupid enough to step in the ring with him. Imagine what he could do to Luke.

He gives me comfort without even trying. Without knowing.

The first time he spoke to me, I felt dread deep in my stomach. I couldn’t meet his eyes that day. Still can’t because if he ever found out that I think about him every time I step on that stage—that Iusehim to survive this—he’d either run or call security. He’s too kind. Too good. The kind of guy you don’t just look at, you flinch from, because deep down, you know you’ll ruin him.

I’ve tried to avoid him at all costs, but fate’s a bitch with a twisted sense of humor. He sits next to me in class. He’s in my study group. He’s asking me out for lunch.

And I hate him for it.

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