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“The baby.”
My legs are suddenly quite infirm, so I lean against the edge of my desk. Baby? What is she talking about?
“What baby?”
“Emily didn't tell you.”
“No.”
Holy shit! Emily is pregnant. Fuck!
“You have to find her, Lucas.”
“I know. Please call me if you hear from her, will you?”
“Sure. I think it’s time to call the cops. Don’t you?”
“No. They can’t help. I’ll find her. I swear it.”
* * *
Emily
I haven’t seen Damon since he dumped me at the strip club five days ago. I can’t believe how stupid I was to trust that bastard the way I did. I should have been more careful, but Damon did his level best to manipulate me and take full advantage of my naivete. I feel like a bloody fool.
To be fair, he fooled us all. Lucas sure as shit would never have let Damon anywhere near me if he thought there was a possibility of the driver kidnapping me.
Poor Dom. My heart breaks when I think about his terrible ending. He was nothing but kind to me. His only crime was that he worked in the wrong business. It’s so easy to judge people when you’re on the outside looking in. I did exactly that the first time I laid eyes on Dom. But he turned out to be a gem. And now he’s dead.
Damon’s parting words to Paolo were telling. I imagine he owed the man money or some sort of favor, as I am his payback. Slimy son of a bitch! I hope Lucas finds him and rips him limb from bloody limb, the snake.
My talk with Paolo went pretty much as expected. He talked, and I kept my mouth shut. There is no democracy when it comes to strippers and the boss of the club.
So, this is my new life. Lucas has no idea where I am; Damon has left me here to rot; and Paolo expects me to entertain the clientele by dancing half naked on a stage and occasionally swinging from a bloody pole like a cheap whore.
My morning sickness isn’t helping my situation. I spend half the morning hanging over the toilet bowl and the rest of the time sleeping off the exhaustion from dancing into the early hours of the morning. This is so fucking humiliating, but I daren’t go against my boss.
I’ve seen what happens when hisgirlsdon’t perform to his satisfaction. I watched as Paolo slapped the cheek right out of one of the strippers when she dared to smartmouth him. The poor girl has been covering up a nasty shiner with makeup for three days now. I can’t afford bodily injury. I have to be extra careful for the sake of my baby.
My room is a shithole. The bed has seen better days and the kitchen, if one can even call it that, was chaotic when I first moved in. It took me the better part of a day to clean and make the place look like something.
I don’t have access to a phone, and Paolo’s men watch me like hawks. It would seem that everywhere I go these days, a man is watching me. I dance, I sleep, I wake up, I throw up, I eat, I go back to sleep, and then I prepare myself for a long night of work.
The men who come here are an interesting mix. I have a feeling that the business may be a front for other illegal activities. The place has a distinctly illegal feel about it, something I’ve become an expert at spotting.
The Mexican police don’t seem to care much about what happens inside here, either. Patrons openly use cocaine and other drugs to enhance the seedy mood that practically drips from the blood red walls. Alcohol abuse is another problem with frequent bust ups between the bouncers and the men who grab at the dancers.
My thoughts are interrupted by a bang on my door.
“Open up!”
It’s Paolo. Ugh! What the hell does he want? I really don’t want to see him. He’s so creepy.
“What is it?” I call through the door.
“Open the door!”
Fuck.