“Not stealing the silver, no. But…” He grimaces. “Looking at it.”
“And the silver in this case being…girls.”
“Shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”
He looks miserable, and I have to laugh. It’s not every day I meet a man who even cares that he might have offended me, much less one who avoids objectifying us. “Don’t worry about it. I mean, looking is free. And kind of a job requirement for you, since if you didn’t look at us, you couldn’t protect us. So I’m guessing you mean one girl in particular.”
“On my first day here I met with Ivan. He told me don’t fuck—” He clears his throat. “Don’t mess with the girls. I didn’t think it would be a problem for me. Hell, it shouldn’t be a problem for me.”
“This is one Ivan problem I can’t help you with. You want a day off or a free hour in the VIP room? Come talk to me. This is one area where Ivan can’t be moved.”
“Then why—” West stops speaking abruptly, and I have a feeling he’s blushing, even though it’s too dark to see. He stands, unfolding to his six-foot height. He towers over me, but he’s sheepish. Worried he disrespected me. With another man, I’d think he didn’t want to offend Ivan. In this case West doesn’t want to offend me. He’s that kind of guy, old-world manners. He fits in well with the Grand, with the crumbling building and its faded damask wallpaper. Even if it is a strip club.
“Why does he fuck me?” I fill in for him. “He doesn’t. That’s the short answer.”
West blinks in surprise. I know what everyone thinks. And with what Ivan does to me in that basement, they’re not completely wrong. He hurts me and uses me in depraved ways. But he doesn’t fuck me. He doesn’t even touch my pussy. I’ve never seen his cock.
“It’s none of my business,” West says softly. “You don’t have to explain yourself. Or him.”
“Good thing, because I wouldn’t know what to tell you. But don’t let Ivan catch you fucking around with one of the girls. He’s protective of them.”
He gives me a faint smile. “That’s one of the reasons I like working here. And why I’d like to keep working here.”
I tell myself it’s concern for the girls that has me asking and not prurient curiosity, but that’s a lie. It’s both. “So who is the lucky girl?”
“Lucky isn’t the word I’d use to describe her,” West says darkly.
And I know exactly what he means even if that doesn’t clear it up any. Every girl here has a story. No one grew up wanting to take their clothes off for men. Even if the ideal sounds sexy, the reality doesn’t live up to it. Panting men and grasping hands. Lots of money, but never enough to feel clean.
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That’s what I didn’t know when I wanted to work here. I feel powerful onstage, flaunting my nakedness, using my sexuality to lead men around. But at the end of the day the power is only an illusion.
West takes a long drink from his glass of water, emptying it. “Anyway, I’m not trying to mess around with her. It’s not like that. I just want to…”
He trails off, but I know the answer. Ironically it’s the same thing Ivan wanted when he saw me. It’s the reason we’re trapped in this perverted standoff, spanking and mouthing off, ever circling. “You want to save her,” I say sadly. “But that’s the thing about girls. We can only save ourselves.”
Chapter Nine
Ruffles and lace are my armor. Lipstick and glitter, my war paint. Going to the basement without any of it makes me feel vulnerable. I’m wearing a baby-blue tank top and a low-riding pair of jeans, but I may as well be in a dirty white shift.
I told West that girls have to save themselves, and that’s what I’m doing. It won’t feel powerful, like I do when I’m onstage, in my armor and war paint, but it will be real.
All I can do is nod to Luca on the way down.
Ivan doesn’t look up when I reach the bottom. He knows it’s me, but I have to wait. And I’ll give him this much, one last time.
“Come,” he says finally, and I step forward.
Surprise flickers in his pale eyes only briefly. Then it’s gone. He doesn’t even wait for me to speak, like he usually does. He doesn’t ask why I’m here, hours earlier than I usually arrive. “Have you been a good girl?” he asks.
Maybe I should take comfort in that. He wants what we have, however dark and deviant, enough to try to keep it. He must sense something is changing, and he wants it to stay the same.
I can’t go back, though. The thing that’s changing is me. I came here as a scared, lost little girl. I rose out of those ashes and became someone beautiful, someone powerful. Someone who never really existed. I’ll leave this room the same way I came—scared and lost. A little girl, even if I’m no longer his.
“Yes,” I say softly. I’m good and I’m alone. Those are the same things. Aren’t they?
He stands, sudden and almost aggressive. He doesn’t move around the desk. He just narrows his eyes. “Why did you come, Candace? What do you need?”