Page 13 of Under Your Scars

Kate walks up to me and crosses her arms, sizing me up. “I hope you brought something else to wear, pipsqueak. You’ll never make any tips with all those clothes on.”

I shake my bag on my shoulder. “Right here.”

She nods and points. “Our bathroom is there. Pick an empty locker. Mr. Valenti likes to keep the girls rotated constantly to keep the patrons entertained, so your shifts are only five hours. You get one five-minute break. One. Five minutes. That’s it. If you need to take a piss or something and you’ve already taken your break, tough luck. Patrons are allowed to touch you, dance with you, buy you drinks, but all clothes stay on. Don’t come crying to me if someone smacks your ass or cops a feel of your boobs. You want to make good tips? I suggest you pretend to be into it. Cash tips are yours, house gets a hundred percent of your card tips, no exceptions.”

She takes a deep breath to think through if she’s covered everything, and my legs are shaking so bad I’m not sure how I’m standing up straight. She groans and rolls her eyes. “God, you new girls are such babies. Get dressed. You’re working the bar, right?” I nod. “You got experience?” I nod again. “Good. I’ll show you how the sections work, then you’ll be on your own.”

By the time Friday night rolls around, I’m exhausted. I work my normal 9-5 at Reeves Enterprises, and then go straight to the club after. My shift starts at eight, and ends at one in the morning, and then I’m up by seven the next morning to do it all over again.

We don’t get normal days off at the club. The ‘boss’, Frank, decides when you can take the night off. Other than when he hired me, I haven’t seen him again, which is A-okay with me. He gives me the creeps. All the girls here seem terrified of him, only talking about him in hushed tones as if he can hear them whispering over the bass of the music.

Kate is the only one that doesn’t seem bothered by him. She’s kind of like the mom friend around here. She cares about us, but she doesn’t take any of our shit, and she definitely doesn’t tolerate laziness. Everyone has to pull their own weight. I wonder if she’s the way she is because Frank made her that way, or if she’s just trying to look out for us.

I used to be a bartender when I was at UT Austin, and on agoodnight, I’d come home with over two hundred dollars in tips.

But I make two hundred dollars here within my first hour most nights. I haven’t had a day yet where I didn’t leave with at least twice that. I’m not even sure how most of the men here can afford to throw money at all the girls. They don’t seem like the rich types. In fact, most of them are pretty rough looking.

It's not my business though. I came here to make money, and that’s what I got. I can’t complain.

While I’m cleaning off a table in my section, in the corner of my eye, I see five men sitting in loungers in a circle across the room with their hungry gazes on me. Every time I bend over a table to clean or take an order, their eyes follow me, drink me in, all trussed up in a mini skirt and a magical skin-tight crop top that transforms my A-cups into C’s.

I try to ignore those gazes while I work, and halfway through my shift, I notice two other men have joined the group. One is Frank. He’s tall and skinny, with a thin, almost bird-like face. He’s much older than the rest, his hair white and gray and the skin of his cheeks slightly sagging.

The other man makes my heart skip a beat.

Christian Reeves.

Frank has his arms around Christian’s shoulders and is smiling, though Christian’s mouth is in an unimpressed line. His eyes shoot up like he can feel me staring at him, and our gazes collide. His jaw goes so tense that even from across the room, I’m wondering if he’s cracked his teeth.

He says something to Frank and then all of them look at me again, and I quickly turn my back. My heart skips a beat and I suddenly realize I’m in deep shit. Not only is this club bad news, but now the CEO of my other job has seen me here with my boobs popping out of my shirt. He is one-hundred percent regretting giving me my job back. Panic begins to set in, and while I still have my back turned, mixing another cocktail, I subtly tap my hip against Kate’s. She hums at me while she leans far over the bar to hand someone a drink.

“Psst. Hey. Does Christian Reeves come here often?”

Kate’s eyes glance up at the mention of the name of the richest man in the world.“No. Not often. I’ve seen him around a handful of times but he’s never here long.”

Her voice is so quiet I can barely make it out over the loud bass bumping through the speakers. I peek over my shoulder to see Christian with his eyes glued to me as he takes a sip of his drink. He’s lounging on a leather sofa, one arm thrown over the back of the seat, and an ankle propped on his knee.

He very subtly tips his glass to me—so subtly I might have imagined it, but his eyes are still hot against my skin as the corner of his mouth quirks, giving him the smallest hint of a devilishly sexy smirk.

“He and his friends won’t stop…looking at me.”

Kate looks in their direction and then ‘accidentally’ yet very intentionally drops a glass and tugs me down with her to help her clean it.

“Listen to me, Elena. If Valenti ever tries to take you downstairs, you run. You run away from him and hope that while you’re running, he shoots you in the back. It’s better than what’s waiting for you down there. I don’t know if Reeves is a part of it or what, but just…stay away from them.”

I gulp. “What happens downstairs?” She doesn’t answer me, so I pinch her arm lightly. “Tell me.”

She sighs. “Valenti always has a ‘favorite’. She becomes his personal bartender for a while, and then if he takes her downstairs, I never see her again, and he comes back out of that elevator with duffle bags full of cash. You can let your imagination fill in the rest.” She pinches me back. “Tell anyone I told you that, and I’ll shank you.”

My stomach flips. If what Kate says is true, I’m praying I’m not Frank’s next bartender.

I spend the next hour trying to bribe Kate with my tips to get her to tend to Christian Reeves and the men with him. I offered her five hundred dollars, but she says it’s my turn for that section and won’t budge. I can’t put it off anymore, so I try to hide my fear as I walk towards the group of men that have been eyeing me all night.

“Hey, fellas,” I say, trying to raise my voice an octave to mask the nerves. “Anybody need anything?”

Christian won’t stop staring at me, and I’m certain he recognizes me now. I can’t read his face, but I think it’s safe to assume I’m no longer employed at Reeves Enterprises. None of the men say anything to me, they simply stare with wicked little grins.

“Well, just flag me down if you do, okay?”