Chapter 2 - Bambi

• “Welcome to the stage…Bambi!” The DJ says, using my stage name.
• Dancing comes naturally to me – music has always made me feel at home in my body, and when the music is sexy? Well, then I feel sexy too. I whip my hair back at the crescendo of the music, my eyes moving directly to the man in the money seat directly in front of me, who paid a great deal to be there.
• As I move my body in slow, sultry ways, the spotlight is on me, which means that I can’t see the details of the VIP’s face. But even without specifics, I can tell that this is the most important man in the room. He just radiates power.
• My breath hitches when I look over the powerful lines of his muscled silhouette. If the Mafia King is here, this is definitely him. He looks like a man who belongs in the shadows, and even though there are other men here, I feel like I’m dancing just for him.
• The Mafia King’s eyes are fastened on me as I get my six-inch heels beneath my body and slowly raise myself into the air ass-first. I let him get a good look at every bit of me before I smirk, and turn, and move to the pole.
• Am I imagining it in the darkness? Or is there something…familiar about the way he watches me?
• I let the thought fade, concentrating instead on pulling out all my best tricks. And as I hook my leg around the pole, spinning myself and letting my hair flare out wide, I see that these tricks are working tonight.
• Shouts and whistles begin, and the Mafia King leans forward to lay a stack of bills on the stage in front of him.
• I almost stutter to a stop.
• Seriously? That much cash, this early in my dance?
• He leans back in his chair, raising a dark eyebrow at me, inviting me to show him more.
• So, I do. I pick up my pace, arching my back as I spin around the pole, climbing up it and sliding slowly down. As my song ends I’m excited to see that there’s quite a bit more money on top of the pile.
• “Thanks,” I murmur, crawling across the last bit of stage towards him. “I’m glad you liked my dance.” There really is something familiar about his blue-grey eyes…
• I reach for the stacks, but suddenly a meaty hand slams another pile of money down next to it, startling me.
• “Double what he’s put down, honey,” the man grinds out, leering, “and I’ll take you in the back for a private dance.”
• “Sorry,” I say, casting my lashes down. “I’m just a stage girl.”
• I know Pete said to give these guys whatever they wanted, but I’m really not comfortable touching anyone.
• “Oh, come on,” the man says, grabbing my chin with his thick fingers and pulling my face up. The Mafia King is immediately on his feet. “Pretty bitch like you? I bet you can do more than just dance –“
• I gasp, pulling my face from his hands as I slide off the edge of the stage, wanting to get away from him as soon as possible.
• “I said,” the man growls, grabbing me and slapping me in the face with the handful of bills, “that I want you, you little whore. And I’m willing to pay for it, so you’d better fucking –“
• I shriek, trying to push away from the man, but he’s so much bigger than me!
• Suddenly the man shouts and falls away, his grip making me stumble forward.
• When I find my feet, my eyes go wide to see the Mafia King straightening up, blood on his knuckles. The man who grabbed me - he’s laying on the floor and there’s blood pouring from his mouth.
• “Oh my god,” I gasp.
• “Get him out of here!” the Mafia King shouts over to the bouncers, and then he pulls a handkerchief from his pocket as he turns to glare at me, wiping off his hand. I flinch back a step, surprised by the venom in his eyes.
• “Here,” the Mafia King says, dropping my arm and lifting his stack of bills off the stage alongside the two stacks. “Take it, get out of here.”
• “Wha…” I breathe as he shoves the money into my hands. “But I…”
• “Trust me, Bambi,” he says, his voice dry. “You earned it. Now fucking go.”
• He turns away, putting himself between me and the bouncers, and I turn and run for the bar, ducking behind it.
• Anthony gapes at me. “Are you all right!?”
• “Anthony…” I whisper, holding up the piles of cash in my hands, staring at them in awe.
• “Holy shit Iris!” Anthony whispers, stepping closer and staring at the money. “Look at all that fucking cheddar! For a dance!?”
• “I know!” I squeak, “this is going to get us so close to paying off the debt –“
• Anthony groans, wiping a hand down his face.
• “What?” I ask, frowning up at him.
• “I just wish you’d spend it on yourself, Iris, instead of that deadbeat.”
• “Anthony,” I sigh, my shoulders slumping. “I’m not explaining this to you again.”
• He rolls his eyes as I sit down on the little stool at the back of the bar. I always hang out with Anthony after my dances, but if he’s going to be mean I’ll just quietly count my cash. While I do, I mentally compose an email that I’ll send to my old friend Christian later.
• Christian – he would understand. He was my brother’s best friend growing up. Even though he only saw me as a little sister, he always understood me more than anyone else. Plus, he called me Daisy, and I just loved that.
• I stayed in touch with Christian after he moved away suddenly – but he never replied. And even though I’m sure he doesn’t read my emails…well, I keep up the habit for fun.
• Inwardly, I debate how to tell Christian about my night. I want to tell him about my triumph – I’ve always wanted Christian to be proud of me. But I do fudge the truth a little in my emails. For instance, I write that I’m a company dancer, which is true…
• I just don’t mention that my style of dance is exotic, not ballet anymore. I smirk a little, excited to tell Christian that I impressed a powerful client and got a big bonus. But how would he feel, really, if I told him that the client was the Mafia king?
• I sigh, thinking that Christian probably wouldn’t be happy. He always wanted me to be safe, and dancing for the Mafia King? I’m sure Christian wouldn’t approve.
• I’m halfway through deciding precisely how to word my email when I hear my name.
• “Is that Iris?” Two men peer around the edge of the bar.
• Anthony steps in front of me as I shy away. How did they know my real name? I always go by Bambi here.
• “Who’s asking?” Anthony asks, wary.
• “None of your business,” the taller of the brutes says, shoving Anthony aside and stepping forward, looming over me. “Hand over that cash, little girl. You’ve been sold - you work for Don Bonetti now.”
• My jaw drops almost to the floor.