The Hitman’s Angel

“How do you propose I earn my keep when you won’t let me leave?”

I already know the answer and his wolfish expression confirms it. “Did your mama teach you any of her moves on the pole, girl?”

Heat rushes to my face. “No.”

“Well, you better learn fast.” He reaches down and fists a hunk of my hair, dragging me toward the hallway of the apartment building. I scramble to crawl faster so I don’t lose all of the hair on the left side of my head. Although maybe I should just let him rip it out. No one wants a half-bald stripper, right? And I most definitely don’t want to take my clothes off for men like Hank. God, the idea makes my skin crawl.

The closer we get to the hallway, the louder the drunken cheers downstairs become. Hank lives above his own strip club, because it’s convenient and also, I suspect, he might catch on fire if he actually leaves the building and is exposed to sunlight. I’ve never been inside the place, even when my mother was the headliner, but it appears I’m about to get the grand tour.

“You know something?” he grits out, yanking me to my feet and forcing me down the flight of stairs at the end of the hallway. “I hope your mama does come back so she can see what you’ll become. She wants to throw me away like yesterday’s coffee grounds? Well we’ll see who’s the garbage around here. She is. And now you will be, too.”

When we reach the bottom of the stairs, Hank hip-bumps a door and the lecherous cheering grows slightly louder. We’re in some kind of dressing room area. It’s dark. There’s a row of lockers and a girl hunched over on a bench, smoking a joint. She gives me a lazy once-over and gets back to puffing. I don’t blame her. She’s trying to make a living and well-paying jobs around here are scarce. I know from the years my mother and I spent living in motels, her struggling to stay legit while I went to school. Until Hank came along and promised to take care of us and she was too tired and broke to say no.

There’s another group of half-nude women up ahead and Hank propels me by the scruff of my neck into their midst, snarling, “Put her in something innocent. She’s about to give her first private show and some shithead is going to hand over his salary to watch it up close.” He starts to turn away but changes his mind and charges back. The girls scatter as he grabs me by the throat and tosses me up against a rattling locker. “You listen here. If you don’t satisfy whatever customer I send you, I will burn every single one of your belongings. That little box of knick-knacks you think you’ve hidden under the floorboards? Think again. I’ll make you watch as I light it on fire.”

I’m shaking so hard, my back teeth chatter. This is how he did it. Forced my mother to work for years until her feet bled, then hand over every cent of her money, turning her into a dead-eyed robot. He threatened and terrified her until she gave up. “Please don’t do that.”

“I won’t. As long as you…” He raises a patronizing eyebrow.

“Satisfy the customer,” I rasp. “I’ll try.”

His eyes flash angrily, hand tightening around my throat. “You will.”

“I will. I will.”

“Good girl.” He rakes me with a glance, his gaze lingering on my breasts where they rise and fall beneath my mother’s old Nirvana tank top. “I should have thought of this arrangement sooner.” He laughs while walking away. “Happy Birthday, Margaret.”

CHAPTER TWO

Lenin

This place is trash. I wish to go back to my jigsaw puzzle at home.

Back in Moscow, strip clubs aren’t quite so obvious. They are more like a regular night club, less like an alcohol-fueled free-for-all. Alas, I suffer in this kind of environment no matter what. There is no control or predictability in a place where men are frustrated and women are making them so on purpose. I thrive on control. Having things in order, where they fit. In a place such as this, there is always some resentment in the air, coming from the stage and cheap seats alike. It annoyed and distracted me, so I said da when the sweaty, pale man offered me a private dance in another part of the club.

He reminded me of a gnat, buzzing around me, landing briefly with words like first-time dancer, special price, blah blah blah. I care about none of it. I simply wanted him to shut his mouth and it suited my purposes to leave the main floor with this man.

Where I can kill him with ease, as I’ve been hired to do. The contract was set up by his ex-business partner through my employer, but I care not for the details.