Chapter 1. A Stripper's Dilemma

Natalia's pov

"See you tomorrow dad."

I leaned down and gave my father a gentle kiss on his forehead, his pale skin feeling cool against my lips. His eyes fluttered open, the corners crinkling as he smiled weakly at me.

Seeing him so withered and helpless in the stiff hospital bed made my heart clench painfully.

"Be safe, my dearest girl," he whispered, his voice a rattling rasp. I squeezed his bony hand lightly, trying to return his smile despite the lump burning in my throat.

It's been 6 years since Mom died after an accident and that's when we found out he had stage 4 cancer.

"Always dad. I'll spend the night praying for you while on my shift." I responded.

Tears stung my eyes as I turned away, not wanting him to see me break down. I couldn't let him know how terrified I was of losing him.

I hurried down the stark, overlit corridor, the harsh neon lights exaggerating the hollows under my eyes. The cloying antiseptic smell seemed to cling to my clothes and hair. I needed to get out of this depressing place.

Not until Mia, one of the nurses assigned to my dad's ward stopped me. "You have to pay before midnight, Nat. There's really nothing we can do without a significant amount of the money needed to perform the surgery" I heard her say.

"I'll make sure I keep my promise Mia. Just do what you have to do"

Unlike the rest of the nurses who would glare daggers at me each time I showed up at the hospital, Mia would smile at me instead. She looks after my dad when I'm on my shifts, and helps with discounts or late payment for my Dad bills – a kind gesture I do not take for granted.

Bursting through the front doors, I gasped in the chilly March air, pulling my thin pleather jacket tight across my chest. Goosebumps prickled my bare legs above my tattered jean skirt as I set off down the cracked sidewalk at a rapid clip, my tattered sneakers slapping against the pavement.

Up ahead, a sleek black limousine came tearing around the corner, barely avoiding plowing into a group of teenagers also leaving the hospital. Its tinted windows remained firmly rolled up as it blew past a stoplight.

"Hey asshole, watch where you're going!" I shouted at the car.

To my surprise, the limo pulled up sharply just ahead of me, the driver clearly having heard my insult.

I froze and halted in my steps, the last thing I would want is getting into some billionaire nerve. Not that I care but I had more pressing issues at hand.

The tinted window slid down slowly revealing a young man's chiseled face. He held a crisp $100 cash out the window without even glancing at my direction.

"Go get yourself checked out and buzz off, trash," he sneered, his deep baritone voice tinted with some sort of luxury.

Man's definitely a Billionaire, or even much better, a trust fund kid.

He threw the cash at me and my cheeks instantly reddened with humiliation and fury. Why do rich people always act like they own the whole world?

"I'm not a charity case, you damn arrogant prick!" I spat at him and flung the $100 cash at his face.

He scoffed and rolled the window up, leaving me glaring at my own disheveled reflection.

With an angry huff, I spun on my heel and broke into a run, my ratty jacket flapping behind me. I couldn't risk Gio taking out his rage on me if I was even one minute late for my shift.

The man was second in command to the devil himself - a trait I've gotten used to after six years of working for him.

Twenty minutes later, I arrived. I took a deep breath, trying to steady my pounding heart as I ducked through the familiar back entrance of Voyeur, the city's most bustling club.

My heart pounded as I slipped through the back door of Voyeur, the thumping bass and raunchy laughter wrapping around me. In the dressing room, three of Voyeur's most popular strippers, Violetta, Wendy, and Michelle lounged amidst a haze of hairspray and perfume.

Violetta beamed at me, waving a wad of hard-earned spoils from the night. Despite the grime, there was a familiar sisterhood between us girls who knew the harsh reality we embraced.

Pushing through the doorway, I found Candy, Jasmine, and Desiree huddled together on a worn velvet sofa, a cloud of hairspray and sickly-sweet perfume clinging to the air like a veil.

Candy caught my eye first, her face beaming as she flashed a wad of dollars in her ruby nails.

"There she is, our little moneymaker!" Her brassy voice grated on my nerves. "We just hit the jackpot, baby! That gross old bastard was so out of it, he didn't even twitch when we rolled him a second time."

The other girls cackled as Candy peeled off a few bunch of twenties and tossed them my way. I snatched the bills from the air reflexively, the weight of them cold and greasy in my palm. Just looking at the cash made my stomach roil with shame and self-loathing.

Jasmine looped an arm around my shoulders, giving me an affectionate squeeze. "Aw, c'mon Nat, don't be such a square. This'll really help out your old man, right?"

I managed a tight smile and tucked the cash into my bag. "Yeah, I guess"

"Of course." Jasmine waved a hand at me. "Girl’s always gotta do what they gotta do to get by, honey."

"Seriously though," Desiree chimed in, "you're a total pro at this, Natalia. You really are the best at reeling in those rich perverts."

Heat crept up my neck as the others nodded eagerly. I may have been the club's star attraction, but it wasn't something I took pride in. Stripping and giving blowjobs was one thing, but luring men back to their places to drug and rob them blind was a different story.

"It's that whole 'good girl' vibe you've got going that brings them to you," Candy said with a salacious wink. "Those sleazebags can't resist a hot little tease who plays all innocent and untouchable but then drugs and robs them later on and they still don't know how." And they all burst into laughter.

"Yeah, that signature 'no touching' rule of yours really gets 'em going,'' Jasmine snickered, making air-quotes with her fingers. "Gets those old horndogs all riled up and willing to pay a lot just for a private dance."

I shrugged uncomfortably, not wanting to dwell on the ugly realities of how I earned my cash. "Whatever, you guys are the ones who come up with those stupid rules to sucker them in the first place. I'm just doing my job, same as you."

"Sure," Desiree said placatingly. "But let's be real - you're Gio's star player when it comes to the...off-menu activities too, if you know what I mean." She raised her eyebrows meaningfully.

My cheeks burned, but I couldn't exactly deny it. Despite my 'no touching' policy on stage, I was disturbingly good at the more underhanded jobs Gio hired us out for.

Luring wealthy Billionaires away from the club, drugging them once we were alone, and then cleaning out their wallets - maybe even a little light blackmail too, if the situation allowed for it. I always made sure to wear a mask, of course, but there was no hiding my boldness and sexual charisma up on stage. Gio knew I was his most effective asset, and he capitalized on it ruthlessly.

"Of course," I muttered, pushing past them to get ready for my shift. "I'm a really talented little hustler. Can we just drop it already? I'm gonna stop doing all this soon."

The guilt came creeping back in, churning in my gut like acid reflux. No matter what the girls said, there was no glorifying what I did. It was dirty, ugly work.

Even though my dad doesn't know my real job. His life-saving treatments didn't come cheap. And now he needed surgery. I'd do anything to keep him alive and comfortable, even if it meant selling every last shred of my dignity.

A sharp whistle sliced through the air, making us all jump. And then came the venomous voice I loathed with everything in me.

“And who says you're stopping anytime soon?”