Crossed: Chapter 17

ANDREW GLEESON IS MY BEST REGULAR.

He’s also the most obnoxious. He comes in four to five times a week, and while he’s a big spender, he always gets a little too grabby.

I let it slide because whenever I smack his hands and tell him to remember the rules, he listens.

But tonight, before things even get started, I can tell that something’s not quite right. There’s a glaze to his eyes that isn’t normally there, his pupils blown like he’s snorted a whole eight ball up his nostrils. I ignore it, because I need the money, and like I said…normally he listens.

So even though he gets pushy during my set onstage and is a little too jittery when I meet him in the private room, I push the feeling aside and remind myself that he’s harmless.

The music pumps through the surround sound speakers, a sultry bass vibrating through me as I attempt to slip into the role of Esmeralda, the way I always do, sauntering toward him to put on my show. Only as I sink into his lap and feel his erection pressing against me, I’m still just me. My alter ego is nowhere to be found, lost somewhere like a ghost in the wind.

Well, this is problematic.

I try to fake it till I make it, going through the motions even though my mind is on a thousand different things, but Andrew notices almost immediately.

“What’s wrong?” he snaps.

I shake my head, smiling at him and throwing my arms around his shoulders as I swivel my hips in a figure eight on his lap. “Not a thing, handsome.” We both know it’s a lie.

This isn’t the first time I’ve had trouble sinking into the role of Esmeralda, but it’s never been with a man like Andrew, an overbearing slimeball of a regular who should really be at home with his wife and not paying me to grind against his dick until he comes inside his pants.

My dances still satisfied, and I always felt good about the money I was making.

But tonight, Andrew’s wandering hands feel like slime coating my sides.

And that has everything to do with him and nothing to do with me.

“No touching,” I say, pushing myself off his lap and bending over, trying to get some space while continuing to dance.

“Get back over here,” he demands.

I bristle at his tone, gritting my teeth. He’s never been so sharp with me, but I listen to him, wanting to keep him calm and just finish this and be done with it. Spinning around, I sit back down on him, looking into his hazy eyes.

He’s definitely on something.

His hands come up and grip me tight again on the hips, and then he thrusts himself up between my legs, so hard that it hurts.

“Fuck, Andrew. Stop.” My voice is firm, and I quit moving entirely.

“Then get it the fuck together, Esmeralda. Jesus. You feel like a damn robot.”

I know what I should do, what the smart thing is to do. I should smack him in his disgusting face and call Benny the bouncer in to take out the trash. But then I think of Parker saying what would happen if I was short on money again, and I close my eyes, swallowing down the urge to leave.

Instead, I let my mind wander, and when Father Cade’s face flashes in my mind, I suck in a sharp breath at the spark of heat.

I latch on to his image, even though it feels wrong, and suddenly every roll of my hips is on top of his lap, and every time I feel a wandering hand, it’s his fingers skimming across my flesh.

The fabric of my G- string dampens as arousal flushes through my system, my clit swelling as I grind myself down, able to feel how hard he is as I rub myself just the right way along his thick cock.

Fuck.

My eyes squeeze tighter, reveling in the way it feels to give in, to let myself feel.

To be the reason he breaks his vows.

Strong hands grip my breasts, ghosting over the fake emerald necklace I wear while I’m Esmeralda, and a moan escapes me, my hips working faster against his erection, the slight thrust of his hips hitting me in just the right spot. Pricks of pleasure skitter through my middle and dance between my legs, and I hear a low groan from in front of me.

“Goddamn, Esmeralda. I knew you wanted it. You’re soaking me, baby.”

My eyes snap open and I stumble off Andrew, reality crashing back down on top of me until I feel shattered and trapped beneath the rubble.

Andrew’s hands fly up and grip my waist tightly, meaty fingers digging into my skin until I wince. “Where are you going?”

“The song’s over, Andrew,” I say, ripping myself away. “I’ve gotta go.”

Forcing a grin, I lean in and press a swift kiss to his cheek before rushing out the door, not even remembering to get the money I’m owed.

I’ve never, ever gotten that way when I’m at work. It’s not about sexual pleasure for me. It’s business. A way for me to regain agency with my sexuality after it being stolen from me when I had just turned nineteen.

And it’s extremely concerning that with a single thought of Father Cade, I lost myself in a fantasy.

Ridiculous.

I’m still beating myself up over it twenty minutes later when I rush out the back entrance, desperate to get home and curl up beneath my covers and pretend tonight never happened.

Usually there’s a bouncer at the door, but when I leave, there’s no one there, and I put my head down and hustle over the few steps, calculating how long I’ll have to wait to grab the next bus home. And maybe that’s why I don’t hear footsteps coming up behind me until I feel the strong grip on my arm that pulls me into a hard body.

My breath whooshes out of me.

“You forgot your money,” Andrew rasps in my ear.

I press my lips together, shaking my head, fear piercing through me like needles. “Oh, did I?”

My heart slams against my ribs, beating out the words “get away” like a giant red flag waving in the wind. I listen without a second thought, trying to pry from where he has us stuck together so I can leave, but he just tightens his hold and then drags me back into the alley behind the club, slamming me roughly against the side of the building.

“Don’t run, baby,” he whispers against my neck, his hips thrusting against my ass as he presses me into the brick. “Finish what you started. You were into it. I know you were into it.”

“No, Andrew. It’s a job.” I struggle against him, my stomach heaving with nerves, adrenaline pumping through my veins. Flashes of Parker waltzing into our apartment in the middle of the day and me smacking him in the face as he demanded for the thousandth time to know where my mother went coast through my mind. The way his hands reached out and gripped my throat, slamming me on the couch. His meaty paws ripping away my clothes as he told me he was trying to find her. That until she came back, it was up to me to make sure he got paid.

How when I told him no, he made it hurt worse.

“It’s just a job for me,” I cry out. “Stop it.”

“Quit lying, dammit.” He pushes me harder into the wall, my cheek scratching against the rough surface until it stings.

A crack sounds from beside the large dumpster at the end of the alley, and it’s loud enough to make us both jump and for Andrew’s grip to slacken. I don’t waste the opportunity, ramming my elbow into his stomach and slipping beneath his arms, my stomach heaving as I sprint away.

I don’t stop and I sure as hell don’t look back, only slowing down when I make it to the bus stop where there’s a few people already waiting. There’s safety in numbers.

Glancing behind me and not seeing Andrew, I relax, hunching over and resting my hands on my knees, my lungs burning from the exertion and my body stinging from the shock. My hands shake and my mouth turns sour, and I close my eyes to keep from throwing up.

It’s ten minutes before the bus shows up, and it takes every single one for me to calm down. To convince myself that everything is fine. That I’m overreacting. That if I talk to my boss, Phillip, he’ll ban Andrew from ever coming back in the club and everything can go back to the way it was before.

By the time I make it back to the apartment, I’ve done my best to wipe the experience from my mind, not wanting Dalia to pick up on anything being wrong. Luckily, she’s not even awake when I get home, so I slip in as quietly as possible and closing the door once I’m in my room.

And that’s where I stay for the rest of the night. In my bed, burrowing in the covers and pretending that I’m choosing to stay awake.