A STRIPPER'S QUEST

Despite the severe blizzard, Ava, wrapped in a heavy black hoodie, was determined to reach her favorite place—the club. It was only 5:30 PM, but the city was already cloaked in darkness. Feeling increasingly anxious, she trotted quickly, hoping to avoid any unexpected encounters and arrive safely. The unsettling sensation of being watched and followed crept over her again. Her fears materialized when a heavy, hairy hand landed on her shoulder, startling her. Before she could react, her leather handbag was snatched aggressively. “Hey, come back!” a rough voice bellowed behind her. Ava had no choice but to remove her heels while running. Once she succeeded, she felt lighter and ran at a speed she couldn't believe she was capable of. “Ava! "Ava!” a lady’s voice called out, followed by a nudge. She blinked and found Lena waving her fingers in front of her face. “How many fingers am I holding up?” Lena asked. “Don’t get cocky; I can see clearly,” Ava replied sharply. “You were gone for almost a minute, just staring at the door. Are you sure everything is alright?” Lena asked again. “I’m fine. Just reflecting on the attack yesterday,” Ava replied, looking agitated with sweat forming on her forehead. She hugged Lena tightly, almost squeezing the breath out of her. “I’ve got you, darling,” Lena whispered into her ear and kissed her forehead. Lena had the face and skin of a seven-year-old, always attracting admirers with her pretty face wherever she went. Complementing her face was her beautifully shaped bosom wound on her chest. Indeed, the artist who designed Lena must have taken it personally. Her sharp curves made her stand tall as a mountain of a woman. Despite her elegance and lack of a white-collar job, she chose to be a stripper and an escort to make some money. That evening, Lena took to the stage in a silver corset and fitted leather shorts that hugged her curves perfectly. Her fishnet stockings and stiletto boots completed the look, giving her a raw edge. Every move under the club’s lights showcased her strength and allure, capturing the attention of men eager to satisfy their desires. She flirtatiously approached a wealthy man and grabbed his jaw, leading him to one of the rooms to finish their business. Ava wore a sullen expression that evening, reminiscing about the previous night and trying to understand why she was followed. She stood beneath the flashing lights in a black lace bodysuit that clung to her curves. Her long legs were framed by sheer stockings, and her stiletto heels clicked softly against the floor. Despite the confident sway of her hips, her eyes were dull and her smile forced. The dim light couldn’t hide the weariness etched into her face—a quiet sadness beneath the glamour. Instead of playing around the pole for viewers and customers, she sat down, sipping several cups of lemonade. She noticed a black vehicle pulling up in front of the club. A tall man in a hat stepped out. The man was dressed in a black suit with his face buried under a matching black hat. He looked tall and heavy with a grin on his face as he stared intently at Ava, who was somewhat bewitched by this mysterious man. “This must be some high-profile customer,” she thought to herself. “But what is he doing in a petty club like this? "Can he not invite the prettiest girls in the world and have as much fun as he wants with them?” The man had a cigar positioned on the right edge of his mouth while his two guards, resembling sumo wrestlers, followed his every step. Starstruck, every eye was focused on them. The manager quickly led them to the VIP lounge, where the mysterious man puffed his cigar. “Call the tall, busty lady and add hard liquor,” he instructed one of his guards with a voice as clear as crystal, despite being a hard smoker and drug addict. Ava felt rough nudges as she lost herself in thought again. As soon as she was about to question whoever did that, one guard gestured for silence with his fingers. “Master Blackwood wants to speak with you,” he said sternly. Confused but confident, as though summoned by God himself, Ava walked towards them. “Have a seat,” one guard instructed Ava. As soon as she took her seat and caught sight of Damien Blackwood’s face, her confidence evaporated like smoke in the wind. “My name is Damien Blackwood,” he began without wasting time on pleasantries. “I wouldn’t come here if it wasn’t urgent.” He paused for seconds before continuing: “You must be Ava Sinclair, daughter of Remmington Sinclair.” “Yes, sir,” Ava replied cautiously but curiously asked how he knew both her name and her father’s. “All your questions will be answered in due time,” Damien confessed while spraying Ava with his exhaled cigar smoke. “What would someone like you want from someone like me?” Ava barked out, almost in shock. “Bart! Gregor! Excuse us,” Damien instructed his guards, who stepped back simultaneously. “I know what happened to ‘Old Rem,’” Damien expressed while rubbing his palms together constantly before adding, “And I want to help you get to its tail.” “What would you want in return after helping me? There’s no such thing as a free lunch,” said Ava, who did not flinch in fear. “What I want is simple: be my partner until we’re done with our adventures,” Damien smirked before barking out, “I suppose being a petty stripper gets you everything you want?” “No! You’re wrong!” Ava replied pitifully before explaining, “I merely make enough for my upkeep.” Streams of tears raced down Ava’s cheeks as she continued: “I only became a stripper because of my father’s demise. I had ambitions of being a real estate developer when I was young.” Looking satisfied with himself, Damien leaned closer towards Ava before hissing, “Be my partner; let’s find out who caused you to miss your ambitions ; let’s have them explain why they did that.” After wiping away tears from her collar, Ava agreed reluctantly, feeling that being just another petty stripper wouldn’t give her the financial freedom or luxury she desired so much. Damien beamed with satisfaction, having used emotions effectively to get Ava to accept becoming his spouse, whispering, “We’ll sign documents tomorrow sealing it—I like things formal & official.” Signaling the guards closer, Damien finally rose, hissing, “Must get going—it’s dangerous staying long anywhere.” Damien slipped a green envelope on the table and kept his head buried under his black hat. He hopped into his ride and screeched off noisily. Ava sat there for a while, pondering over everything.