Page 9 of Hitch
A smug sense of pride spreads through my shoulders as I let my hips sway, leading us to the VIP room. Duane’s blazing eyes lock onto my body, his jaw clenched like he can’t believe I’d go with someone else after he tipped me a hundred dollars on stage. I pretend like I don’t see him, but his gaze sears into me, a palpable, tingling sensation licking across my bare skin.
The Mortician pays for his hour, and secretly, I’m glad for a reason to get my mind off of the monster. In our usual private room, a white pleather sectional sits in the corner of the booth. It’s big enough for both of us to sit and stand comfortably, but small enough that it’s economical for the Double Take. A tear stitched together with clear tape, rips through the far right cushion. The Mortician sits to the left, making himself comfortable. Red lights beam from the ceiling.
I hand The Mortician my phone. Anticipating my request, he flips to the camera app and takes a few pictures of me.
“You’re a fucking queen,” he says. With him, the title fits. The Mortician likes to think he’s in control, but he’s paying me, and I’m the one leading our dance. I’m the one who lets him finger me. I’m the one who charges him triple the price once the privacy curtains close. I’m the one who uses my sexuality to work for me.
After being in a sexual drought for years, having to lie on my back while I faked orgasm after orgasm for my sugar daddy, I’m not going to let anyone tell me what to do. Even if that means doing risky things, like becoming a stripper, or sucking off a stranger in a glory hole, then getting into his truck.
I grab my phone from the Mortician and quickly open up my favorite social media app and post one of the pictures with a high contrast filter.
Never let a man tell you what you’re capable of,I type in the caption. I love quotes like that. I need the pep talk, to convince myself that I’m worth so much more than I let myself believe for years.You are your own woman. No one controls your life, but you.
I close the phone and straddle the Mortician, pressing my lips together, ready to dance. Back here, I’m Secret, and not even a monster can scare me away from good money.
But the thrill of being near the monster swells in my lower stomach. Inside, I know I like being near him, especially with how he keeps his eyes on me. There are plenty of other gorgeous day shift strippers, but he’s focused onme.
There’s a certain power in that.
Chapter4
Duane
I fingerthe napkin from the blackmailer, humming as Secret—Reggie—dances on the stage again, this time in a white lace ensemble like she’s a precious angel. Since moving to the big ol’ city of Stockton, she’s flourished like a damn butterfly, and there ain’t nothing anyone can do to cage her in a cocoon again. After all, she transformed that night when she put a gun to my head; why wouldn’t she blackmail me?
But why do itnow?
Todd sits on the corner stool of the bar, slurping his coke. I take the seat next to him and tap the counter. The bartender brings me a beer. The tangy bitterness skates across my tongue as I gulp it down like a man dehydrated out in the desert. That’s what she does to me, my Hitch. Makes me desperate for nutrients only she can provide.
Todd taps his plastic cup on the bar top as Reggie makes her way from the stage to the VIP room with another customer. Todd used to be friends with my spore house manager, Braden, a long time ago when Todd was passing through Florida. Nowadays, Todd owns several properties, like a trailer park on the south side and this here strip club, the Double Take. It’s a good way to clean money for him, just like I use the farm for my own.
When we were skipping town, Braden reconnected with Todd, and then Todd put me in contact with the original owner of Grainswept Fields, who sold it to me.
I said goodbye to that life in Florida. Coming out here to the west. Doing everything my fatherdespised.Showing that dead fucker just how stupid he was to sell the business out from under me.
“You’re out early this time,” Todd says.
“I’m done watching,” I say bluntly.
“I hear that.”
He starts yelling for his bartender’s attention, and I glance back at the VIP room.
Hitch is back there. A goddamn thorn in my side. If she’s the blackmailer, I’ll have to kill her, sure, but I’ll respect her too. Maybe I’ll even make it fun for both of us. She’d like that.
But after what she did that night, and how good she’s been keeping her full lips sealed for me, I ought to return that respect, and confirm it’s her, before I finally kill her. I owe her that.
My phone buzzes the same time that Todd’s does. We both check the message; Braden sends a group text:The new seller says he’s going to the cops. He thought I was just a seller too.
The next message comes in shortly after:Fix this!
I study Todd. He’s the one whoknowspeople, the one who hired the new seller in the first place.
Braden’s the expert, working on the product itself with precision. Todd finds us new sellers and moves the product as well.
And me? I’m the owner of the operation. I take care of any loose ends. It’s what I’ve done since I was a teenager. And now, I have a good excuse to put those skills to work.
It’s my favorite part of the business.
