Dark Exodus (The Order of Vampires 2)

Grasping the pole with one hand clad in a long-netted glove, she lifted her weight off the stage with feline-like agility and twirled her body around the sleek metal. Whistles erupted with approval from the males sitting in the darkness.

The other girls said she was an amazing dancer. Apparently, it was a struggle for a mortal to hold their body weight in precarious positions for extended amounts of time. Larissa, an immortal, suffered no such strain.

Dropping her knees to the floor, she held the pole with both hands and arched her spine back to lower her shoulders to the stage. She peeked at the audience through thick lashes, her long, dark hair dragging freely across the floor.

She reveled in her exposed vanity, careless of her newfound conceit. There were no more tight braids or sharp pins or bonnets in this new world. And she was never returning to her old, oppressive ways.

She swung her head up, and with a flip of her hair, she rolled to her stomach, arching and crawling back to the pole as her legs twisted and her toes pointed. Extending her tapered arms above her head so her breasts lifted, she then cocked her hips to the beat of the music.

Dollar bills accumulated at her feet. It still struck her as surreal that she could get paid for displaying a body the Amish demanded she hide.

Taking one last stroll across the front of the stage, she bent at the waist to scoop up the scattered money. Vito assured her she was safe. Men were not allowed to touch the dancers unless they had purchased the privilege beforehand.

If anyone touched without permission, the bouncer hauled them out of the bar. Vito was a mountain of a man, even next to Larissa’s five-feet-nine-inch frame. He displayed impressive strength for a mortal, and she appreciated his protective nature because he always treated her and the other females respectfully.

When the song ended, the crowd applauded. The lights dimmed, and Larissa quickly collected the rest of her money. She passed the next dancer to take the stage and went to her locker to drop off the crisp dollars she held between her palms. Dabbing her damp skin with a towel, she took a sip of water from a bottle.

Some of the girls had warned her about not locking up her belongings, but Larissa just figured old habits die hard. Amish rarely used locks. If someone wanted to take her money, they must have needed it more than her.

She passed Vito on her way out to the main floor. “Nice job, Larissa.”

“Thanks.”

Over the next few hours, she earned tips by serving beverages to the customers. Her job, when not performing, was to smile and treat the customers kindly. The only time she had difficulty smiling was when one gentleman asked her for a favor.

Some of the girls danced privately for certain customers. There were different types of dancing the men could pay for. Larissa had yet to do any private dances, but that was supposed to change tonight.

Steve, her boss, had said she needed to start offering at least a “Level One” lap dance. That was where the dancer remained clothed and provided a patron with a few minutes of swaying, but the customer could not touch the dancer.

There were ten levels. Some involved touching. Others required the men to lie down or get tied up. Some were done in the privacy of the back rooms, and for almost all levels, the girls displayed their breasts.

Larissa never showed such private body parts to anyone but her husband. And even that made her uncomfortable.

Her lack of experience and Amish background made the exposed hair on her head even seem scandalous. The thought of going topless might cause her blush to catch fire.

She was the only girl who remained modestly covered by English standards while working the club. It just felt wrong to share those parts of herself with strangers, but Steve said it was a job requirement and she needed to leave her modesty at the door.

Tonight, she was expected to perform her first lap dance. Vito had promised her he would be close to make sure the customer did not touch her in any way. The touch of a man was the only thing she feared more than showing her breasts. It was something she simply could not abide, something she so deeply loathed, taking her top off felt inconsequential in comparison.

She loved her job. She loved being able to dance to her heart’s content. But she just hoped she could handle the close proximity.

When her break came, she found Vito lingering by the stage. He was a friend and a comfort, and they often shared a meal. He followed her into the employee lounge.

“You making good tips, Larissa?” She perched on the arm of a worn, black leather couch.