Cracks in the Armor

by Helena Hunting

  Relieved, I relaxed back into the couch, but I was bagged. I headed to bed just after one in the morning, too tired to wait up for Sarah any longer. If I was lucky, I might get some middle-of-the-night company. It wasn’t about the booty call, although that was a bonus. It was just nice not to sleep alone all the time.

  Sarah

  I pulled into an empty spot at the back of The Sanctuary. This lot was reserved for staff. It prevented patrons from following dancers and waitresses to their cars at the end of the night. It also allowed management to keep an eye on some of the girls who liked to make a little money on the side.

  I popped the trunk and cut the engine. Preparing myself mentally for the night ahead, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. It was just six hours. Then I could go home and wash away the stink and the dirty feeling that came with this job. At least tomorrow I didn’t have classes, so I could sleep in.

  My internship would start in less than two weeks. I didn’t want to think about how little time I’d have then; I was already spread so thin. I hardly had time to hang out with Tenley and Lisa as it was, and I saw Chris once a week if I was lucky. Which I hadn’t been lately. We hadn’t seen each other in sixteen days.

  Before I got out of the car, I checked my phone for messages. There was one from Chris, inviting me over once I was done with my shift. I had been excited about seeing Tenley and Lisa tonight and hooking up with Chris later, but I couldn’t pass up the shift when Xander called me in. As much as I wanted to text Chris back and say yes to the invitation, I couldn’t. I had to wait until my shift was finished first. Sometimes the clients got a little too touchy-feely and seeing Chris afterward was too difficult to manage. I shoved the phone in my bag and got out of the car.

  I didn’t bother to lock the doors. It had nothing to do with my faith in the security cameras that panned the lot at regular intervals. Or the beefed-up guy manning the back door. Occasionally the security guard got distracted. This happened most often when one of the dancers came out for a “breather.” By leaving the car unlocked, I made sure no thief had to bust a window to get at the nonexistent contents. The only things in there were a box of tissues, a lip balm, and the owner’s manual. The car itself was a piece of junk. Replacing a broken window would cost more than it was worth.

  I grabbed my bag from the trunk and headed across the pavement. Max, one of the security guards I knew from having worked at The Dollhouse, was leaning against the door, looking bored. Everyone who worked security was on rotation, according to management. Except for Grant, Xander’s right-hand man; he was practically glued to Xander’s ass. That meant that Max, like the rest of security, spent two hours of his shift back here, staring at parked cars. Their job was to escort the girls to their cars and make sure they weren’t soliciting on the side. Not that it didn’t happen anyway. It just happened less with Xander’s guys.

  While my job location had changed, everything else about The Sanctuary echoed The Dollhouse. The dancers were still looking for the same chemical escape, replacing Damen and his drugs with a more consistent provider. Like Sienna, Xander was heavy into the underhanded dealings. Except Xander didn’t have a middle man. He managed the club and dealt at the same time. Girls who brought in the money were also the ones who got bumps for free. From what I’d heard, a lot of things were traded in the privacy of Xander’s office.

  “How’s my favorite blonde tonight?” Max asked as he held open the door.

  I rolled my eyes, already annoyed. As I went to push past him, his hand shot out, barring my way into the club. I gave him a look and he returned it with a hard stare of his own.

  “Someone’s in a mood.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest, impatient to get this part of my evening over with. I didn’t want a lecture on attitude from Max. I wanted to get inside, work my shift, and go home. Or go to Chris’s, provided tonight went well and I could wake him up to let me in.

  “I need to get changed.”

  “What’s the deal, girl? You can’t be going in there dropping this kind of attitude with Xander. Boy will put you on shooter detail for sure.”

  I sighed. Max was right. If I showed anything but total compliance, Xander would give me the worst section and have it filled with the lowest of the low to show me how bad things could get. It had happened once already. I wasn’t interested in a repeat, or the half-hour bitch session that would follow.

  “I’m just tired. School’s killing me.”

  His hard expression softened. “Don’t fuck that up, Sarah.”

  “I won’t.”

  “You better not. This place should be temporary for you. This isn’t your end game.”

  “Don’t make it sound like a death sentence.”

  He didn’t crack a smile. “It would be for you.”

  I could handle Max when he was pissy or parental, but tonight he looked sad—as though he knew what this place was doing to me. He had a point: I couldn’t afford to let this job interfere with school. My stomach twisted at the thought that I could end up here permanently. I had no intention of following in my mother’s footsteps. I’d worked my ass off to get where I was, and the internship would get me my MBA and the chance to break free from the life I’d been born into.

  Max stepped aside and let me pass. He was a good guy. I often wondered what his story was, how he’d ended up here. I didn’t know anything about him other than what he did for a living and his first name. It bothered me that I talked to him every time I worked, but knew almost nothing about him.

  I crossed the anteroom and pushed through the door to the main changing room. The usual sights and sounds greeted me: dancers in various stages of undress, primping, applying makeup, pouring themselves into skimpy outfits. The bitchy chatter was a bitter accompaniment to the smell of hair products and too much bare skin.

  I hated that this was my life. I hated this job. I hated this place. But I needed it. The fifty-five thousand dollars in tuition loans my scholarship hadn’t covered was enough reason to keep doing it. Once the debt was paid down and I had a respectable job, I’d walk away from this place and never look back.

  Most of the dancers ignored me, although a few shot me small smiles as I passed. None of these girls was my friend. My primary objective here was to make money. I crossed into the changing room reserved for waitstaff and set my bag on the bench. Inside was my outfit for the night: short plaid skirt, black boy-short underwear, black lace push-up bra, cropped white button-down that didn’t cover much, and a red tie. The prescription-less glasses completed the look. I always made great tips with the dirty schoolgirl uniform. Men were predictable in their perversions.

  Opening my locker, I wished there was a door for privacy. Hinges showed it had been removed and replaced with flimsy curtains you could see through. The no-door policy was for the dancers’ safety, or so Xander said. Protecting investments, as it were. He didn’t want to run the risk of having any of the girls cornered in a room they couldn’t get out of. I didn’t buy it for a second. There was more of a risk for the girls to go after each other than for someone to get past security.

  I was just about to strip out of my clothes when I heard the clip of stillies behind me. Dee, short for Destiny, stood in the doorway.

  Dee and I had worked together before at The Dollhouse. Unfortunately, I found out recently that she’d once slept with Hayden. It had been long before Tenley, but it was the first thing I thought of whenever I saw her. I didn’t want to be a traitor for liking her, even though Hayden’s past wasn’t my fault. At least she wasn’t one of the many women who’d been in Chris’s bed. I’d heard more than enough about his skill set from a variety of sources.

  “You up soon?”

  “In about fifteen.” She glanced over her shoulder before she came into the room and stepped to the right, putting her out of everyone else’s line of sight.

  “What’s up?” I asked, suddenly on alert.

  “I saw the schedule tonight. I think Xander’s going to put you in
Candy’s section.”

  Candy was one of the other dancers who’d come here from The Dollhouse. Of all the women Chris had been with, Candy was the one I felt most threatened by. They’d actually “dated” once, and from what Dee told me, Chris had been the one to end it. Still, there was history between them and Candy hated me enough for me to know she still carried a torch for him.

  On the upside, Candy danced on the main stage, which could mean great tips, but sometimes it also meant lots of assholes who couldn’t keep their hands to themselves. “I guess that’s good.”

  “It would be if Xander hadn’t given Trixie center stage tonight. Candy’s on left.”

  “Are you kidding?” Left was closest to the back rooms where all the illegal action happened. While it was the most heavily watched by security, it was also the section I never waited, because on that side of the club almost anything was for sale.

  “I thought you’d want to know before you got out there.”

  I nodded, trying to stay calm. On the inside I was scrambling. “Thanks for the heads-up. What happened with Candy?”

  “Not sure. All I knows is last night Xander had a whole crew of dirty suits at center and Candy was on. Something musta gone down, but I sure as shit couldn’t tell you what. I gots to get ready—just thought you should know.”

  “Thanks.”

  She gave me a sympathetic smile and then peeked around the door frame, checking to make sure no one was watching as she slipped back into the main room.

  Trixie was new to The Sanctuary; she’d only been dancing for a month. That Xander would give her the main stage over Candy was like a slap in the face. But putting Candy on left stage? That was a big old fuck you in the ass.

  I changed quickly, having lost time from the chitchats with Max and Dee. Xander had been known to pop in whenever he felt like it, and I wasn’t keen on him seeing more than what I bared for the masses in the club. He’d caught me once in only underwear. I hadn’t liked the way he looked at me. It wasn’t about the possibility that he might want to get me on my back or my knees. That was a given. I was more worried that he wanted me to move from the floor to the stage, like most of the girls did eventually. Sienna had been pushing me to make the move, but I’d refused. Xander wasn’t so easygoing about it—or anything, for that matter.

  I shoved my bag in my locker, checking my phone before I closed it. In the time since I’d arrived I’d missed another message from Chris, but I didn’t have time to check it now. It was something to look forward to when I got a break. If I got a break.

  I left the pungent aroma of cheap perfume in the changing room for the smell of beer, cologne, and dirty sex. Of all the things I loathed about The Sanctuary, the smell was the worst. It clung to my hair and my skin, to everything I brought into the place. I learned early on to make sure nothing I wore to The Sanctuary ever made it back into regular outfit rotation. Not that I would ever wear my “work” clothes anywhere outside of this place. Not even the jeans I came to work in ever went back on, unless I was heading to or from the club. Regardless how many times I washed them, I couldn’t get the smell out.

  I walked down the long, dimly lit hallway into the club and glanced at the left stage. Candy wasn’t on right now, but Trixie was riding the pole at center stage like she was ready for the real thing. Whatever happened last night had to have been bad. Shutting down my fear—because Xander was like a dog and could sniff it out—I headed for Grant, Xander’s personal bodyguard. He usually knew the schedule. Sometimes if Xander was occupied, Grant would say who was where. Then I wouldn’t have to deal with the boss directly.

  Of course, that wasn’t the case tonight. Grant took a step to the right as I approached, his massive frame having kept Xander hidden from view. Xander was sitting at the bar, sipping a drink, watching the club. When he saw me he glanced down at his Rolex. “Sarah, so good of you to arrive on time. You know, if you’d been early, like your friend over there”—he gestured to where one of the new girls was waiting in the center section—“then maybe I would have let you pick where you serve.”

  I plastered on a smile and twirled my hair around my finger, hoping to appear clueless. “I’m happy to serve anywhere.”

  His grin was as lecherous as his gaze, which moved down me in a slow sweep. “Now if that were true, you’d be making a lot more money, wouldn’t you?”

  * * *

  I didn’t end up serving left stage. It turned out the girl Xander put on center couldn’t handle the number of tables and we split her section. It was busy, but having to share meant the tips were weak. I walked out with a hundred less than usual in my pocket. It was a message from Xander. He was going to start pushing harder, just like Sienna had done. I could only wait tables for so much longer before the request that I get up onstage became a demand. The problem was, unlike Sienna, Xander wouldn’t let up until I folded.

  At the end of my shift I changed out of my slut attire and back into my jeans and T-shirt, then headed out the back door. The security guard had changed. He was one of the ones I didn’t know. Or trust.

  He gave me a sidelong glance. “You want me to walk you to your car?”

  “I’m right there.” I pointed to my Tercel.

  His eyes narrowed. “That’s your ride?”

  It wasn’t much of a ride, compared to some of the flashy cars parked out here. The girls who performed the best also got the best perks, leased cars being one of them. I was perfectly happy not to be among the privileged few. “Yeah. Have a good night.”

  “I think I should walk you over.”

  I was parked under one of the lights. If he was looking for a little end-of-night action, it wasn’t the most covert place to have it happen. He must have read the skepticism in my expression.

  “One of the guys on camera detail warned me that some dude was out here fucking around by the cars. It was during shift change, so there wasn’t anyone here. I’d feel better if you let me check things out.”

  I glanced nervously at my car and shrugged. “Yeah. Okay.”

  I trailed behind him as he stalked across the lot. He walked around the vehicle, looking for . . . signs of forced entry maybe? When he didn’t find anything sinister, I pulled on the handle to find that it was locked.

  “Huh, that’s odd.”

  His shoulders rolled back and his eyes shot around the dark lot. “What?” His hand went behind him, as if he was getting ready to go for a piece. It wasn’t the first time I suspected the security was armed with more than brass knuckles and walkies.

  “I don’t lock my doors.”

  “What?” He looked at me like I was crazy.

  “Do you see this?” I gestured to the Tercel and then motioned around the lot. “Of all the cars here, who would choose mine to steal?” I peered into the backseat. All the doors had been locked. Only one person would do that.

  I rummaged around in my purse until I found my keys. After unlocking the door, I bent down and felt around under the front seat until my fingers closed around a keychain. I bit my lip to stop the stupid grin from breaking out. Though it would be more convenient to have my own key, there was satisfaction in knowing he’d drop one off for me because he wanted to see me. “It’s cool. My b— friend was just leaving me a key.” I almost stumbled over the word.

  “Next time, tell your friend to leave it with one of us instead of sneaking around back here. We’ll get it to you.”

  “Yeah, sure. Thanks.”

  Chris would never leave his key with one of these beefcakes. I slid into the driver’s seat and let the bouncer shut my door. He waited until I pulled out of the spot before he ambled back to his post. He was a lot nicer than some of the other guys who worked for Xander, surprisingly.

  I checked my phone at the first red light. There were several texts from Chris—the most recent were admonishments for not locking my doors. The ones before and after contained an invitation to stay the night and a message about the key he left under the driver’s seat. Tonight ha
dn’t been bad, so I wasn’t about to pass up the offer. I was glad I’d packed an overnight bag, as I always did.

  I pulled into the parking spot reserved for Chris’s bike. He’d angled it at the top of the space so there would be enough room for my car. He was always thoughtful like that. It made me feel like a bitch for not inviting him over to my place more often, where parking wasn’t an issue.

  It had been too long since I’d spent any real time with him. I didn’t like how much that bothered me, or how excited I’d been about the text and key. That I constantly packed a bag in advance was a red flag I chose to ignore.

  I was quiet as I made the trek up the stairs to his apartment and unlocked the door. The light above the ancient, avocado-green stove was on, casting a pale glow over the dated kitchen. There was a note propped up on the counter with my name written across the front in Chris’s elegant cursive. I always teased him that he wrote like a girl.

  I set my bag down quietly, though a bomb could go off and Chris would sleep right through it. I left my shoes on, because Chris insisted I never walk barefoot around his place, and crossed over to the counter. There were little doodles in the corners of the note he left me. Designs that reminded me of the tattoos he put on other people. Ones he refused to put on me.

  Hey sweetlips,

  I hope you had a decent night. There are fresh towels in the bathroom and a sandwich in the fridge. Give me a kiss before you pass out.

  ~Chris

  I folded it and put it carefully inside my bag. I had a little box of notes like these from him in my bedroom. I kept every single one.

  My next stop was the bathroom. I shut the door and checked the showerhead to make sure it was pointed at the wall. If it wasn’t, the water would spray out of the tub and soak the floor. I’d found that out the hard way. It took a long time for the water to heat up, so I removed the fake eyelashes and the makeup while I waited. Although Chris’s bathroom wasn’t particularly nice, it had the benefit of a powerful showerhead. The spray came so fast and hard it almost hurt.