The Dark Knight

5: Escort Girl

Lucy tossed and turned in her bedroom that night, unable to sleep. Jerry had long since drifted off, but she found it hard to follow him into slumber. Their conversation at dinner kept replaying in her mind, every word echoing like a warning. She turned onto her side and watched him as he slept, his chest rising and falling steadily, lips slightly parted, a soft snore escaping. He looked so peaceful, so untouchable.

She smiled faintly and reached out to brush a lock of tussled hair from his forehead. My shining knight, she thought. Leaning in, she pressed a light kiss to his lips, careful not to wake him.

He mumbled something incoherent, rolled toward her, and—still asleep—pulled her into his arms, a faint smirk playing on his lips.

Lucy nestled closer, but her thoughts refused to let her rest.

I’ve been getting funny threat letters for a while now… traced to no one… we have to keep our guard up.

Jerry’s words replayed again and again in her mind.

She sighed. She hadn’t signed up for a life like this—one that forced her to constantly look over her shoulder, wondering who wanted her dead. Her mind drifted to the life she had before Jerry rescued her from Big Joe—the nights of exotic dancing, the escort jobs, the hollow excitement of a life played out for survival rather than joy.

Nothing gave her true satisfaction in that old life. It was a means to an end, addictive and soulless. She played the temptress, but the persona never matched her true nature. She shuddered, wondering if the past she had escaped was finally catching up to her.

Her thoughts spiraled back to her work with Madam Ronnie, the owner of the escort service, and she drifted into sleep, pulled into memories of stages and spotlighted nights.

“Hey, Roxy,” Lucy called to the redhead hustling between tables in the bar.

“Hey, sugar… what’s up?” Roxy came up to her on the side staircase as Lucy waited for her turn on the stage. Other dancers were performing, the crowd eager and restless.

“I need help tying these laces, please,” Lucy said, pointing to the tight bodice of her costume.

“Sure thing, girl. Turn around.” Roxy moved closer, expertly tightening the laces.

“What's the point though? It’s gonna come right off again up there,” Roxy teased.

“Yeah, well… all in the fun,” Lucy giggled, flipping her off playfully as her name was called.

“Showtime,” Roxy said, smirking, and Lucy winked at her before climbing the stage stairs.

Lucy strutted onto the platform, hips swaying, twisting to the beat, heels clicking in rhythm. The crowd roared; hands reached, eyes followed, money flashed.

She wore a tight bodice sequined and glittering under the stage lights, paired with a micro skirt that left little to the imagination. Her long hair framed her face and shoulders, cascading in waves that moved with her every step.

Lucy’s movements were slow, deliberate, and commanding. She arched her back, letting the sequins catch the light, then slid her hands down the contours of her body, teasing the audience without ever giving full surrender. Her fingers toyed with the straps and ties of her outfit, pulling slightly as if to suggest that at any moment, more could be revealed. The tension in her dance demanded attention, eliciting eager whistles and low murmurs of anticipation.

She approached the central pole, gripping it with a strong, fluid motion. Sliding down, she let her legs wrap around it while she inverted her body, the bodice clinging tight as it highlighted her form. Her skirt shifted teasingly, revealing flashes of toned thighs, teasing the crowd with the promise of more. She let herself hang upside down, then slowly rotated upright, hands tracing her hips and chest, every movement sensual yet controlled. The cheers rose louder, the men leaning forward, mesmerized by her command of the stage.

Her performance was a blend of art and provocation—a promise of indulgence without delivering completely. Every glance, every smirk, every sway was designed to make the onlookers yearn for a private session.

With a fluid, almost liquid grace, she spun, inverted, and let her skirt slide just enough to show what lay beneath. The crowd erupted, money thrown with abandon, but Lucy’s eyes stayed sharp.

Halfway through, she noticed one of the men slipping a folded note to Roxy. The redhead winked toward Lucy, pointing to her. Lucy ignored the gesture and continued dancing, refusing to be distracted. Her movements remained hypnotic, the lights tracing her curves, the sequins flashing, skirt sliding at precise moments, bodice shimmering with every arch, twist, and pose. Each motion was a tease, an unspoken invitation, all under her complete control. The cheers and whistles only reinforced the power she held on stage.

During her break, she went backstage to cool down. Roxy appeared, grinning mischievously.

“What’s that look, Roxy? Bad girl, you,” Lucy laughed.

“The guy in the front row asked for a private dance. Here’s his number,” Roxy said, handing her the note. Lucy tucked it into her underwear with a practiced smile and returned to her routine.

It was going to be one of those nights again.

Lucy’s heels clicked with purpose as she strode toward the private room, each step a deliberate show of confidence.

Parting the heavy curtain, she stepped inside, the space thick with expectation. The man sat waiting, masked, his hands twitching slightly with anticipation. Lucy circled him slowly, hips rolling in a practiced rhythm, her movements both seductive and commanding, offering glimpses of what lay beneath; she tilted, arched, and let the light catch the curves of her chest. The costume she wore clung tightly to her form, the sheer bodice leaving little to the imagination, outlining her curves while promising more to come. The fabric shimmered under the dim light, teasing, daring.

Then, with a fluid motion, she perched on his lap, sliding lightly and letting her body sway, letting him feel the press of her hips, the teasing tension of her thighs. She twerked with deliberate precision, letting the lines of her form tease and tantalize. His hands moved freely across her back and sides, exploring as she leaned into his touch while maintaining control, drawing pleasure from the attention but keeping the performance fully hers. Then, letting the moment crescendo, she leaned forward and slowly began unfastening the top of her bodice. Her fingers worked teasingly, revealing the curve of her shoulders and the soft swell beneath, the gold sequins sparkling as the fabric parted just enough to show skin without losing control of the encounter.

She perched lightly on his lap, pressing close, letting her body glide against his, her hands resting lightly on his shoulders, her movements slow, calculated. She swayed, rocked, arched—every motion designed to heighten anticipation. Her breaths were hot and deliberate, whispering playful provocations into his ear, lips brushing just so. The masked man’s hands hovered, restrained by her confidence, as she fully owned the performance, teasing, turning the tension into release.

Finally, with a subtle arch and a confident push of her body, she brought the dance to a climax. She allowed just enough contact and rhythm for the man to satisfy his desire fully, leaving him flushed and spent, no longing left behind. Smiling, she eased herself from his lap, letting the bodice settle back into place, adjusting the straps and skirt, regaining full composure.

With a final wink, she stepped back through the curtain into the main hall, heels clicking against the floor. The cheers and money of the crowd awaited her, and she moved with the same poise, sensuality, and authority she’d carried throughout, knowing she had commanded every eye and desire in the room—and taken complete control of the night.

As she wrapped up her night, the phone rang.

“Lucy girl, you’ve got a request for a dance and an escort tonight. Haven’t clicked ‘accept’ yet,” Madam Ronnie purred over the line.

“I’m not doing it,” Lucy said flatly.

“Why ever not?” Ronnie laughed.

“He’s a bully. Wants to show off for his friends. I’m done with him,” Lucy said, grimacing.

“This is business, Lucy,” Ronnie replied, attempting to reason with her.

“Then send someone else,” Lucy said firmly.

“Specifically asked for you, baby girl,” Ronnie countered, teasing.

Lucy sighed. “You owe me extra for this.”

“I’ll add a bonus,” Ronnie promised.

“Fine,” Lucy relented, exhaling.

That night, Lucy entered the Luxurious Bar dressed in the ridiculous schoolgirl outfit requested. She spotted her target immediately: Big Joe, with Bosco lurking nearby. She rolled her eyes but moved into character.

“Well, well, see who we have here, Bosco. Sweet Lucy has arrived,” Joe drawled, leering.

Bosco’s eyes lingered too long on her legs. Lucy suppressed a shiver. He had always been a leech, and she had learned to keep him at bay.

“You still owe me for the last gigs… pay up or I won’t dance,” Lucy warned.

Joe sneered. “You will dance for me, girl.” He stepped forward to grab her roughly, but she stepped back. His friends, drunk and loud, waited eagerly. She decided, firmly, that not tonight, not for free. She turned to leave by the back door.

Heavy footsteps followed her.

“You walk away from this, and you won’t live long enough to regret it,” Joe hissed, grabbing for her shoulder—until a shadow moved between them. Her dark knight.

Lucy woke with a start, drenched in sweat, chest heaving. Jerry stirred beside her, wrapping his arms around her.

“Baby… what’s wrong?” His voice was low, concerned.

“I dreamt of Big Joe again,” she whispered through tears. “Why did I ever live that kind of life? Who’s sending us these letters?”

“Shh.” He stroked her back. “Nothing I can’t handle. It’s 3 a.m., babe. Don’t wake the kids.”

“Why us?” she murmured against his chest.

“We’ll get to the bottom of this,” he promised, fingers lacing with hers.

“It’s your life of crime too,” she added quietly.

Jerry exhaled. “We’ve been over this. I’m clean now.”

“And the vigilante stuff?”

“Vigilante?”

“Yeah. Your Robin Hood work. Isn’t that what they call it?”

Jerry rubbed the back of his neck, caught. “You fight. You kill sometimes, don’t you?”

He didn’t answer.

“How is that different from being King of the Streets?”

“That’s past tense, baby. Was. Not now. Not anymore. We have kids to think about.”

“Exactly. He who lives by the sword dies by the sword. I won’t raise my kids in that life.”

“Our kids,” Jerry corrected softly, kissing her.

“Exactly. I can’t have our kids brought up in that lifestyle,” Lucy insisted.

“They’ll be safe. You’ll be safe,” he whispered. “Vince is a proven protector. From now on, you won’t be alone.”

They settled back together, kissing and holding each other, letting the intimacy soothe their fears. Lucy fell asleep quickly, while Jerry stayed awake a little longer, reflecting on his past and the streets he had left behind. With Lucy in his arms, he finally believed he could keep moving forward.