Chapter Four: A Shift With A Twist.
1404 Words
Renee scrambled around her apartment, getting dressed, brushing her teeth, and digging for her keys all at once. She was still fighting with her shoes when a quick shape passing by outside the window made her stop dead in her tracks.
The nighttime building manager—Mr. Clipboard Hitler himself—was marching down the corridor with his stack of paperwork, his shiny bald head catching the hallway lights like a beacon of doom. Coming to give her her third earful of the week, no doubt.
He approached Renee’s front door and knocked three times, each one more aggressively.
Oh no. Nope. Not today.
Renee flattened herself against the wall, holding her breath like she was hiding from a murderer.
Another knock came again, harder this time.
“Miss Carrington? We need to talk about your balance.”
She mouthed, ‘bite me’, as she stared at the door, praying he couldn’t hear her heart pounding.
He knocked once more, sighed the sigh of a man who’d quite frankly had enough and finally shuffled away.
She exhaled hard, clutching her chest. “If I see that scalp-top Shire reject one more time, I swear to Satan—”
Carefully, she grabbed her bag and cracked the door open. The coast looked clear. She slipped out, crouched slightly like she was sneaking past enemy lines, and crept down the corridor.
Halfway down, her keys clinked against the wall. She froze in silence as she looked around to see if anyone heard her.
With the grace of a feral cat and the mental stability of a broken toaster, she darted for the stairs, whispering, “Freedom, sweet freedom,” under her breath.
By the time she reached the car park, her heart was racing, adrenaline spiking, hair a complete mess; however, she’d made it.
She grinned to herself, breathless and adrenaline-fueled. “Stealth level: fuckin’ elite.”
By the time she reached Liquid Confidence, the place had already begun to quiet for the night. Silas was leaning against the doorway, a cigarette between his lips, talking to a man who looked like he benched lorries for a warm-up.
Renee approached, her heels striking the pavement with confidence she didn’t quite feel.
“Speak of the devil,” Silas said, lips curling into a smirk as he turned to face her “Were your ears burning, love?”
Renee plucked the cigarette from Silas’s mouth and rolled her eyes.
“Hey, what the f**k?” Silas barked.
“I need it more than you.” She inhaled deeply, smoke burning her throat but steadying her nerves.
The towering stranger’s gaze swept over her body, hungry and unashamed.
“If you’re going to stare at my t**s,” Renee said coolly, “you could at least pay me.”
He laughed, startled by her bite. “She’s fiery, isn’t she?”
Silas gave a short laugh of his own. “Told you, mate. But listen, Terrance, she works hard as hell. I promise.”
Renee’s brow furrowed. “What’s going on?”
Terrance closed the distance, draping his arm over her shoulders. His hand slid lower, possessive, grazing the edge of her ass.
“You’re working for me for a few weeks, sweetheart. I’m short on staff. Silas here tells me you need extra cash.” He leaned in, voice a low growl. “Mmm, my men are going to love f*****g your tight little ass—”
His words cut off in a howl as Renee pressed the lit cigarette against his cheek. He recoiled, his face twisted with rage. “What the f**k do you think you’re doing, you w***e?”
Silas shoved himself between them, hands raised. “Easy, mate. She’s fragile right now. Normally, she’s a good girl, I swear.”
Terrance bit down on the inside of his cheek, his eyes promising violence. Then, almost too calmly, he chuckled. “You did warn me she was feisty, my bad, my bad, I guess.” He spat at the ground, then turned and wandered back through the club doors.
Silas rounded on Renee, slamming her against the wall. His face hovered inches from hers, his hand gripping her jaw, fingers digging into her cheeks.
“You’re running out of chances, Ren,” he hissed. “Get your s**t together. I’m trying to help you—but you’ve got to learn to be a good little hole.”
When Renee finally made it to her dressing room, she locked the door behind her and slumped into the chair.
She stared into the mirror, unblinking, hollow, watching a stranger look back. Her eyes were swollen from lack of sleep, her skin washed out and pale under the harsh lights.
She was forced to work hours when only creeps and heavily drunk, bitter old men shuffled through. It felt like a punishment. The money was worse than bad. It was humiliating. And she was too tired to fight him on it.
Renee’s shift dragged on for hours. The strip club was half empty, music thumped, but there was no life in it. Just a rhythm she had to move her body to whilst pretending not to notice the eyes crawling over her skin.
On stage, a man in a wrinkled suit sat right at the edge. His hand kept sliding further across the stage, fingers twitching like he was waiting to grab her ankle. She twisted out of reach, forcing a fake smile, but her stomach curled with disgust.
Another man leaned back in his chair, drunk to the point of collapse, clutching a fistful of crumpled dollar bills. He tossed them at her chest, one by one, laughing as they fluttered to the floor. The money stuck to her sweaty skin before slipping off. “Dance, baby,” he slurred, “that’s all you’re good for.”
The crowd laughed with him, and Renee felt her face burn. She bent to pick up the bills, her hands shaking. Every bone in her body screamed for her to stop.
But Silas stood by the door, watching. Always watching.
The hours bled together. Two became four, six became seven. The doors kept swinging open, and more men came stumbling in.
Some were drunk, some angry, some looking at her like she was meat laid out on a table. She was tired, her legs ached, but when she asked for a break, Silas just shook his head and told her to keep moving.
By the third set, her body felt like an anchor. Sweat ran down her back, her throat was dry, and every smile she forced cracked her inside a little more. She caught sight of herself in the mirror behind the bar: lipstick smudged, mascara running. She was just a shell now, stuck replaying the same nightmare over and over.
The drunk man from earlier stumbled back up to the edge, laughing, a fresh stack of dollar bills in his hand. He threw them in her face this time. They hit her cheek, fell to the floor, and he shouted over the music, “Pick it up, sweetheart. You’re nothing but a dollar a night.”
She forced her lips to curve, biting back everything she wanted to say.
For the first time in a long time, she wanted to scream in the middle of the stage, to throw the money back in his face, to tell all of them she wasn’t their toy.
But she didn’t. She kept moving, her body swaying to the beat, her eyes glassy.
The night stretched on, and Silas wouldn’t let her stop until it had fully quietened down. After another hour, he finally released her and allowed her to go back to her dressing room, where she had the last of the vodka straight from the bottle. She reached for her phone as a piece of paper tucked into the corner of the mirror caught her eye.
Her chest tightened as she pulled it free with unsteady fingers.
Hello, Princess. Daddy ain't going to save you now. It’s time we finished what we started, don’t you think?
The words hit like a punch to the gut. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe. Her vision tunnelled, sound dulled, and all she could hear was the pounding in her ears.
There’s no way it can be him? He hasn’t even been released yet? How the hell did he find me so fast?
- Writer
