Page 67 of Shifting Hearts

ONE

Maddy

F ilthy liars said the fires of hell can incinerate every sinner and their appalling sins.

But nothing compares to the burning inferno of rage and revenge churning in my gut.

That’s why I prefer to take care of business myself.

I swipe the lock of fake strawberry blond hair from my face and tuck it behind my ear with more finesse than you’d expect from someone in this setting.

The rancid breath of the man before me wafts over my face, and it takes every shred of self-control to keep from revealing my murderous thoughts while staring into his lustful eyes.

I catch the faint glint of a wedding ring in the scattered light from the faded disco ball above us. No wonder he’s here—he must repulse his wife something fierce.

I step aside to turn my back on him, leaning my tits away from his pawing hands as I grind my ass into his pathetic excuse of a hard-on. The harsh fabric of his dirty jeans chafes my exposed thighs under my denim shorts.

To distract myself, I think back to the reason I am here tonight, enduring the simple dancing routine while wrapping my hands around my naked breasts to keep them from spilling everywhere.

Little Alexi.

She needs me.

If only I could save everyone in this hellhole, I could be persuaded to rid the world of every single waste of space, like the one howling behind me as I gyrate my ass in his face.

But I need to focus.

His elated cries can be heard over the music, but they are not loud enough to drown out the screams echoing in my mind after I heard them in the middle of the night, two days ago.

Alexi was taken while I was at work, but Ally, one of the other little girls in the orphanage, called me on my cell. I could hear Alexi’s hysterical cries in the background, calling out for me.

That night, I tucked my phone back into my flimsy denim shorts and ran to the locker room to get my bra and shirt. By the time I got to the orphanage, there was no sign of Alexi or the men who had dragged her from her bed.

She is only five years old.

She loves Jello and looking up at the stars from the window while she lies on her cot.

Most nights, before I leave for work, I make up stories about dragons living amongst the stars to keep the past princesses of the universe safe.

And now she is out there, somewhere, all alone, wondering why I haven’t come for her yet. And why is no one keeping her safe?

That is why I have a mission—I need to find her.

No one else is looking for her, and although I have been cautious, I am sure Mrs. Gruber has started to suspect something. Her client list has been quietly dwindling over the last few years.

Across the dinner table, her eyes hold less disgust now…and far more suspicion.

Family dinner, if that is what you can call it.

With thirteen orphans and me, at the ripe old age of twenty-two and the only one who has never left because I needed to stay and protect the others from Mrs. Gruber, we are as close to a family as we will ever get.

We eat dinner together to make “the Pit”, as we call it, feel more homely.

With scattered, worn-out furniture and mismatched articles, the Pit feels more like a waystation for all rejected and worthless things, including the children.

Including me.

But not anymore.

Glancing at my watch, I realize that this guy got his crumpled $20’s worth.

Time’s up, fucker.

I pull my body back and slap his hand away when he tries to reach for me.

A tinge of disgust convulses in my stomach. “Sorry, slugger. Show is over, unless you have any more to give?” I lean closer, thrusting my chest in his face, just like the other strippers taught me to do.

The manager is still keeping an eye on the cameras in his office, and I don’t want to give him any more reason to suspect that I might not belong here.

Or that I have ulterior motives.

It was hard enough to convince him to let me keep my shorts on.

But I had no other choice after I learned that this club was the epicenter of all the unspeakable things happening in our little town of El Paso.

I slide my finger under my nose to curb the stench coming from the man before me. Sweat is fermented with desperation and a hard day’s work.

But when I rise, I plaster an eager smile on my face.

I have no intention of giving him another dance. I might do this stripper gig to get the info I need, but no man will ever have the luxury of getting more of me.

I turn to walk away before he can get to the grimy crumpled mess in his pocket. I hold the bill he has given me with two fingers and dump it into the collection box in front of the stage.

The other girls will appreciate the extra tip, and it isn’t like this is my full-time gig. I have a small ad on Craigslist that has been very lucrative and extremely informative in my line of work.

Work that I like to think of as the extermination of all the useless cockroaches in the world. Cockroaches who prey on the innocent.

And going undetected in a place like this affords me the opportunity needed to get closer to my marks.

It’s a win-win. I give the girls some of my earnings, and they help me blend in seamlessly into the cesspool, that is the Stroke the Kitty Club, located on the wrong side of the tracks.

I jog to the costume room in the back to take a breather. Surely, I won’t be missed in the next ten minutes.

“Hi, Maddy, have you thought about our proposal yet?”

José, one of the male dancers, pushes his boyfriend out of the way to get to me. He is one of the nicer ones.

“What proposal would that be?” I walk over to the obscure plastic chair slightly hidden behind a wooden screen that has seen better days. This is my area, as I don’t need an illuminated mirror like the other girls.

I work primarily in the dark.

“To give you a makeover, of course. You deserve one, darling. And by the looks of that wig, you desperately need one.” He turns to his boyfriend for support, and he nods profusely in my direction.

I grab the scratchy thing from my head and take out my brush to try and tame the flyaway hairs. My pitch-black pixie cut comes into view, and I know what a contrast it must create against the backdrop of my snow-white, almost translucent skin.

“You know the answer to that. I can’t afford the men paying me more attention than necessary. You know about the defect .” I sigh deeply. This isn’t the only time I have tried to explain it to him.

“Don’t be preposterous. With tits like that, nobody will notice your birthmark. We do need to address your skin issue, though. You look transparent. You could really do with some sun, girl.”

I snort at the thought. I live in one of the warmest areas in the world, blessed with plenty of sunny days, and yet my skin stays as white as milk.

“I’ve tried everything, Jo. The only thing that works is the tanning solution, and even then, it’s only temporary. You know that,” I say while I comb through the unruly wig.

He presses his hand to his chest in fake outrage. “I just can’t believe that someone with your dark hair and fair complexion can’t tan a bit. Are you sure you’re a gringo ? Because I think you might be seriously lost.”

His boyfriend’s shoulders shake from laughter, and the corner of my lip pulls up to a smile.

“Jo, I don’t have any control over my looks, but I can keep you from messing with me and turning me into a doll. Now, if you will excuse me,”—I flip the wig back on my head—“I must get back to work. The scumbags aren’t going to suck themselves off, are they?”

They both start howling with laughter, and I am thankful to make my escape.

My cowboy boots glide smoothly over the wooden floors thanks to the felt I regularly glue to the soles. I can’t afford to announce my position when I am stalking my prey, and it has served me well, more than once, when I needed to disappear into the background soundlessly.

Scanning the bar area, I see poor Gwenny spinning behind the counter. I think Julia was supposed to help her tonight, but I haven’t seen her.

My options are to either help her out or serve my own agenda. And I want to be free to create an opportunity, should something arise.

So, I walk deeper into the entertainment area and scan the tables surrounding the stage.

My contact at the border confirmed that a convoy is definitely coming this way tonight. This will be their first stop.

It always is.

The Stroke the Kitty Club is not just famous for its mediocre strip shows. It is also the place where shady deals are done, and palms are greased. Especially when it involves business with the cartels.

They have soundproof rooms in the back, which are regularly scanned for bugs. That is why the only way to get the information is to be one of the dancers in the room.

And the reason I decided to become a regular here.

My targets always have a way of ending up here, and it makes my job easier when I can get to know them in this informal atmosphere.

It makes me less likely to be picked as a suspect when the bodies are eventually discovered.

To the chauvinistic pigs I take out, I am just an obscure little girl with a great rack, who refuses to take off her shorts. Even if they mention me, it is only in passing, with no lasting impression.

I make my way to the stage once again, peeking behind the curtain to see if I can find Charity. She will know if someone big is expected tonight. She is the lead dancer and the most requested for these types of meetings.

Most days, I get my information from the girls, but tonight, the assignment is personal. I need to be in the room to assess the situation; otherwise, I might lose control and do something foolish.

I pull the heavy curtain back and spot Charity smoking a cigarette just off stage. “Hi, Charity, do you have any bookings tonight?” I shout above the music.

“Who’s asking?” she replies, taking a deep drag of her cigarette.

I huff and walk closer. Charity always has to be difficult. “I wanted to know if I could be one of your girls tonight. I need the money.”

She can see that I am lying but doesn’t mention it. Instead, she says, “Look, Smith, they have specific requirements, and your skanky ass doesn’t make the cut. Move along.”

She turns her back on me, and I grab her by the arm in a punishing hold.

“I will not be dismissed by the likes of you. You’ll get me in, or are we going to have a disagreement?”

I wouldn’t really hurt one of the girls. They need this gig to survive, but Charity has been begging for it for a while now.

“Okay, Bigshot. Tell you what. You go get rid of your pathetic little shorts and get into a real costume as they’ve demanded, and I’ll let you dance front and center. Since you need the money, you won’t mind taking the prime spot and showing the rest of us how it’s done.”

She throws the cigarette to the floor and stomps on it before she marches off in the direction of the locker rooms.

“Now you’ve done it! Better get your ass over there. These guys don’t like to be kept waiting,” Ronnie says before she opens the curtain and steps through with her ridiculously high heels.

I have tried to avoid this for as long as I could, but if this is the only way to get Alexi back, then I am not beneath parading my body in a flimsy G-string. Let’s hope the men are so intoxicated that they don’t see what I have been forced to hide all these years.