Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 67663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Looking back at the woman who now looks like she is about to piss her little panties, due to all of the men staring at her, I decide to get this over with. I nod my head at Hammer, indicating for him to start.
“Name,” Hammer barks out.
“Adalynn,” the chick in front of us whispers.
“You want a job, step one is to actually speak. Time is money, don’t waste ours.”
She twists her hands nervously. It is evident this isn’t her normal gig.
“Where did you come from?” Crissy recruits our auditions from other clubs or the streets. She finds the ones she thinks we can help the most.
“I’ve been working over at Titties and Tail.”
“How’s Mud treatin’ you? What brings you here?” I ask. This is a make or break question before we take someone on when they have worked at another local club.
“He treats me fine. I was told I could make more money here, that’s all,” she once again whispers, making sure to avoid eye contact with all of us.
“That answer just saved your ass. Dance,” Coal commands.
It is surprising how many times when asked how they are treated at their current or past employers they will spill all the secrets of the club. I happen to know, for a fact, Adalynn struggles at Titties. I also happen to know Mud has beaten her up pretty badly, twice, in the three months she has worked there. Doesn’t matter what the girls look like at his club; no, all that matters is how good they suck and fuck.
Opening the file in front of me, I am surprised to find it empty. This further piques my interest in the fragile looking female. The music starts, and I can see her move in my peripheral vision, although I don’t watch her dance. I don’t need to. Crissy already told us the girl can’t dance. We know she doesn’t have a drug habit, as well. Beyond that, however, she is a ghost. No one gets that deep underground yet works for a man like Mud. This is someone we need to keep our eyes on.
Hammer taps away on his phone beside me, while Coal sits with his elbows on the table, resting his chin on his hands as he watches her perform with a blank stare. Knowing my brother, he is seeing straight through her. She is vapor, smoke, nothing more than a movement in time. Skid is leaning back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head, watching her with a cocky smirk.
“Come give me a lap dance. You bring it to life”—he points at his jean covered cock—“you get a job.”
She sighs, hesitating.
She is obviously not meant to shake her ass on a stage. Since I don’t have any information in her file, I have no idea why she is trying to force herself to do it. What I do know is that I can’t put crap-ass talent in front of my paying customers.
“Done,” I bark out at her.
As humiliation washes over her face, I can see the tears well up in her eyes. Not letting one tear fall, she bends over to gather her discarded clothes while the four of us slide our chairs back and stand.
“Be here Friday at six. You don’t dance, you waitress. We will handle giving your notice to Mud,” I state, watching the words sink in and the relief take over her.
“Get some clothes. Short shorts, no skirts, tank tops, and heels,” Coal orders, tossing down money on the table.
Morgan
It has been two months without any issues from my sister. She will graduate high school in a little less than two months. My parents still won’t let her come home. I can’t believe it, but I am okay with having her here. Actually, I like having her around. It is nice to come home and know it won’t be to an empty house.
Walking in, I am expecting quiet since Madyson stayed home from school today due to not feeling well. However, I don’t expect to find her bedroom empty. Something doesn’t feel right. She left no note, but there is also no sign of anyone else being here. Calming my overactive imagination, I go about my evening.
When it is well past a decent time for a respectable young lady to be home, I call her phone. No answer. Her voicemail sounds with her cheery teen voice, pulling at my heart.
Where are you, Madyson?
After the beep, I quickly reply, “I know it’s only ten, but Mom’s training has kicked into my brain. Where are you? I just want to know you are safe.”
The night passes in a blur of anxiety. What is she doing? Is she okay? Why is she acting out now? Things have been absolutely great lately. What has changed? These thoughts run through my head. My emotions are a rollercoaster I want nothing more than to get off of. One moment I am worried, the next I am angry, and then I find myself sad that maybe my sister is rebelling because even this last bit hasn’t been enough to overcome the damage our parents have inflicted. With every change in thought and emotion, I fire off another call or a text to Madyson. Finally, with her voicemail full, I am left with only texting and waiting impatiently for her to reply.