Page 15 of Ruthless Saint

“Outstanding. Have fun up there.” With a wide smile stretching her lips she presses the lift button and I hold on to the bars as the cage goes back to its place.

Once there, I take a few steps, testing out how secure it is, and am pleasantly surprised when the whole thing doesn’t move. I take a small sip of water, placing the bottle back in the thick corner bar, mindful that as much as I need to keep hydrated, I’m stuck here without a toilet for the foreseeable future.

When the music starts, I’m surprised by how loud itsounds, before noticing the speaker built into the top of the cage. Niykee Heaton’s voice wraps around my body and before I know it, I’m moving my hips as she sings about Bad Intentions. I’m lost in the sensual music, my eyes closed and body swaying as one song changes into another, then another. The high-stakes poker room might as well not exist. I keep my eyes closed, not wanting to see the men inside. And I don’t turn around when I feel the hair on my neck stand, certain I’m being watched from another angle, too. I just keep on dancing, feeling free in this gilded cage made to contain me for the viewing pleasure of wealthy men. Free like I’ve never felt before. And once my shift is over, the cage moving back to where Martina is waiting for me, there is a pang in my chest. My soul is already aching to feel the freedom again.

“You did great, Stevie.” Martina helps me back onto the solid ground, then guides me back to the dressing room. Once I’m in my chair, unclasping the choker from around my neck, she places an envelope in front of me. “This is from tonight.”

My hands stop as I stare at the bulky envelope.

“Your tips from the poker room,” she explains.

“Thank you,” I say.

Martina shuffles on her feet, waiting for me to move or say something else, but I’m unable to lift my gaze from what I hope will pay for at least a few more nights in the hotel. “So… I’ll see you tomorrow?”

I tear my focus away from the dressing table and meet Martina’s eyes. “Yes, I’ll be here.”

“Fantastic.” She visibly relaxes. “I was about to have a heart attack! I’ll text you your schedule for the week in the next hour. It’s quite late, so let me know if you need me to order you a taxi home. Other than that, great job tonight.”

“It’s fine, Martina. I can make my own way, but thank you.”

She laughs. “Oh, don’t thank me. It’s company policy to offer transport to staff who work late.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” I turn back to the mirror, hoping she’ll take the hint and leave me alone to get changed. After a few beats, she does and I can finally breathe again. I take off my makeup, take the feathers out of my hair, and pull it up into a messy bun. Then I slip into a white t-shirt, ripped blue jeans and a pair of vans. Feeling like myself again, I grab the envelope and stuff it in my bag, not wanting to look inside just yet.

Mel stops me just before I leave, telling me how amazing I looked when I danced. I give her a hug and leave, the feeling of finally belonging somewhere spreading in my chest as I hike up the hill back to the hotel.

Almost a week passesby without a hitch. Each night, I dance in the golden cage feeling free and like I can finally be myself. I ignore the people behind the glass in the high-stakes room, or the feeling that someone else is watching me from somewhere behind me. I dance for myself, letting the music flow through my body, letting myself feel like a woman for the first time in my life.

Last night, Mel and I went out for a drink after my shift, our friendship reaching a new level. For the first time, I opened up to another person, telling her about never knowing my parents and my nomadic life so far. Mel told me what it’s like growing up in a small town. I’ve never laughed so much in my life. Feeling relaxed and happy wasn’t something I was ever able to experience. Up until now.

“Did you think about it?” Mel strolls into the changing room, giving me a hug before dropping her bag on the floor.

Before we parted the night before, she told me she had a spare room in her apartment I could stay in since her roommate left to travel the world for a year. I was tempted to say yes straight away, but something stopped me.

I put the finishing touches to my golden eye shadow, then turn to face her.

“I did.”

“And?” She stops unbuttoning her blouse, her eyes searching mine.

“Are you sure it’s a good idea? We barely know each other, and what if this job doesn’t work out for me?”

“Oh, please. That’s the beauty of it. My roommate’s rent is all paid up. So the money you’d pay would go to bills and food. And if the job doesn’t work out, at least you’d have a roof over your head to figure out your next step without having to worry about where you’re going to sleep.” She shrugs, pushing a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear, like it’s the most natural thing in the world to offer a practical stranger your house.

“You barely know me.”

“I know enough.”

“I could be a serial killer.” I quip.

“Hopefully, you’re a famous one. At least they’ll remember my name.”

I laugh.

“Seriously, though,Stevie. My place is yours if you want it.”

And here is the reason why I haven’t said yes. Because as much as I’d like to think of Mel as a friend, she doesn’t even know my real name. “Okay, but I need to tell you something first. Then you can decide if you still want me around.” The words rush out of my mouth. I could be shooting myself inthe foot, because if anyone finds out my real name, I’ll probably be back to being jobless thanks to Dante Santoro blacklisting me in this town.

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