The Billionaires Crazy Stripper

You know the best part about drugs? None. None, the f**k? There’s not a single thing good about that demonic s**t. Tried it once and almost saw the devil— and probably did by the looks of my sink the next day, but that’s beside the point. The point is, drugs are shitty to do. Avoid them when you can. But alcohol, on the other hand… My eyes go to the beautiful bottle of brandy placed just a few feet away from me. It is a very wonderful brand. Not for someone of my caliber but meh, when you drink the way I drink, you sort of get a sophisticated taste… which is a waste when there’s not a single thing sophisticated about me. Now, I know you’ll say ‘don’t look down on yourself’ ‘you’re beautiful’ and all that nonsense, but that’s not the point. The point is I know what I am, I know who I am, and that means I’m precisely Aurora Cadel. Pretty posh name, which makes sense if you consider the fact I have royal blood… somewhere, but I don’t use that name when I’m working. And where do I work, you ask? At the strip club. Stripping. As the beautiful stripper I am. Except… except I’m not entirely sure being in this room has anything to do with the fact that I dance nude for men, really. “Mr Ward, I’m begging you,” The man is only a few feet away from where I’m seated, his entire face red and swollen and covered in sweat, and I presume tears too. He’s a bald one, and he has on an expensive suit but he’s kneeling at the feet of someone who’s wearing a cashmere sweater and pants that looked quite reasonably priced actually. “You gotta give me one more chance. You gotta let me explain,” Now, Mr Ward… Mr Ward has his back facing me so I can’t see his face. Nor do I want to. I’ve worked at this club for approximately two years, and never have I seen a client like him. He comes once every month, with his friends. They sit somewhere really secluded, like away from most of the madness and music whatever. And orders his drinks. They stay for a few hours and the second it’s ten pm, they’re all gone. All four of them. I’d never worked his table before considering the fact that I’m mostly always on the poles, but I know people who have. They say they’re always talking but Ward? The man rarely ever joins in their conversation. All he does is smile and ask them a few questions. Spooky questions by the looks of it, cause the girls never want to talk about it anymore though they’re also paid to stay quiet but for some reason today, he came around and called for me. I mean, looked right at where I sat and waved me away. With a smile. And I realized almost immediately… ‘I hate this man. I hate his smile and I most definitely hate how gorgeous he looks.’ Cause he did. Look gorgeous, that is. Hell, I’d never seen sculptures in my entire life but I knew he was one the second I spotted him. He had smooth pale skin that looked like marble and the brightest baby blue eyes I’d ever seen… except he looked dead. He looked as dead and lifeless as other beautiful things. Like diamonds. Like priceless artwork. But he wore that extremely perfect smile on his face like he was human. And f**k, I’m just a dumb blond stripper. Who was I to tell him that his smile was creepy? Instead, you know what I do, I walk to him, hoping he asks me a ridiculous question and I get to leave with a couple of dollars and a zipped mouth but that’s not what happened. Because of course, when did God like me? “My dear friends think all women are weak,” His voice was nothing like one would expect. It’s bright. Happy. I could literally taste the sunshine and rainbows in each word. “But I know that’s not true, personally. So I’d like to prove otherwise with you,” I thought it was something s****l, naturally, and yeah, I try to avoid s*x when I can but there was something about that smile that made it hard to say no so instead, my dumbass said, “For my time, I’ll need five thousand dollars,” One of his friends scoffed. “Cheap w***e,” I didn’t even bother to look at the asshole, especially when Mr Ward’s eyes hadn't left mine for a second. I placed the most seductive smile I could conjure as I moved closer to the man, “I’ll make it worthwhile,” “Fifty grand,” He said, his eyes still so bright. “And then we have a deal,” I should have known that was a business maneuver of some sorts. Say a ridiculously higher price than the one I mention so I lose my ever loving mind and agree to something that I have no idea about. It’s why I’m here, in a VVIP lounge room, sitting in my lingerie and trying to ignore the fact that Mr Ward just shot the bald guy in the head. It was sudden, real sudden. I looked away for a second, daydreaming about another cigarette and the bills I can pay off when the sound of the gunshot echoed through the room. I wanted to bolt out of that room, I swear I did, but the thing that stopped me right in my tracks was him. Mr Ward had turned back to me, the smile still on his face with his hands behind his back, hiding the gun that I could literally see smoking out right behind him while his friends stared at me as well before he said, “Well? What do you think?” What do I think? My belly is lurching and whatever food I’d managed to stuff down is trying to force its way out of my throat but my brain analyses everything. It analyses the fact that I’m really just a stripper and no one would really care if I go missing because I literally just saw a murder happen that means I’m like a liability, right? Second, they have a gun. Jesus Christ, THEY HAVE A GUN. Three… three, the need to scrub the blood off the floor is bubbling up to the surface. Which makes me understand that I’m no longer as drunk as I wanna be but that’s fine. Cause I focus on what’s important. The third thing. “I’m not sure if the club is well equipped to handle a dead body,” I try to keep my voice stable as I lean backwards into the couch, my eyes staying fixed now on the blood as I zero into the thought of cleaning. Bleach. Sponge. Scrub. Scrub. Scrub. “Which is such a shame. How much will you pay me to clean this, really?” “f**k, is she really thinking about money right now?” One of them is speaking now, the clear disgust in his voice evident. I don’t care though. Heard worse things. “She just saw someone get shot,” “Doesn’t matter,” One voice is loud. Too excited. “Pay up, motherfucker!” “Do you really think she knows how to clean a dead body?” This voice is calm. Quiet. But none of that matters, because when I look up finally, Mr Ward’s eyes haven’t left mine. He’s the only one who hasn’t spoken, the only one who hasn’t made a comment… but somehow, from the smile creeping onto his lips, I know almost immediately… He knows I’m bluffing. He knows I’m bothered and pretending to not be. He knows. Fear starts to creep into my body, the cold in the room suddenly worsening as he starts to walk towards me, and when he stops, he takes off his watch and holds out his hand. I don’t want to hold it but I know I have zero choice in anything here. So I take it, ignoring the slight spark that lights in my spine as I rise from the couch before he places the watch in my hand and says, “You’ve done your part. Now, I hope our debt is paid. You may leave,” And I don't need him to say it twice.