●Gem●
"I'm going to work, bye."
Right after sending it, I turned my phone off. My focus went back to the TV but Jade was already looking at me.
"Who are you talking to?"
"Just someone I met at the club."
She did not push further. We had lived together for almost a year but we barely spoke about our pasts. She was not comfortable with hers and neither was I. We knew only the basics about each other and that was enough.
When evening came, we got ready and drove to work. Parties were never ending in this part of the city. People always had money to burn. I could not even call it clean money. I refused to believe anyone would casually throw away hard earned cash like that. It was mostly earned from drugs and human trafficking.
We were also a product of human trafficking.
Sometimes I called us lucky. At least we were not forced to transport drugs inside our bodies. At least no one had cut us open to sell our organs. That was how low the bar was here. Survival meant being grateful for the bare minimum of mercy.
This side of the world was ugly and sad thing was that almost everyone knew it existed but they chose to ignore it.
We headed backstage, already mentally preparing for the night. I was pulling my hoodie over my head when Marie's voice cut through the room.
"You bitches need to SHUT UP!"
A few girls lowered their voices. Most did not. I did not bother looking at her until she walked over and stopped right behind me.
"Gem, someone is already looking for you."
I shoved my hoodie into the locker before turning to face her. Today she looked different. She had replaced her heavy make up with a minimal one and I could now see why she worked here. She must have been a goddess in her prime.
"What are you looking at. Move."
Her sharp tone brought me back. I sneered slightly and took the door card she handed me.
I slipped past the other girls, walked down the hallway and stopped in front of the familiar door. Sliding the card in, I pushed it open.
He was already inside.
Seated comfortably with a glass of alcohol in his hand.
Carlton Harris looked up the moment I stepped in.
He glanced at me lingering by the door, his eyes dragging slowly over my face before taking a sip of his drink.
"Did you forget how to walk or are you planning to stand there the whole night?" He arched a brow at me and I bit back the words that were about to leave my mouth.
I took two steps foward before he spoke again. "Lock that door Catherine."
Biting down my bottom lip, I turned and put the lock in place before gingerly moving foward only to stop when there was a good amount of distance between us.
His gaze was still burning on me and I now wished that I had not removed my hoodie, maybe it would hide my unease a bit. I didn't even understand why my palms were becoming sweaty considering the fact that he was not the first man to ask for me.
"What did you want from me?" I finally found my voice. The words came out steadier than I felt. Suddenly I wanted to leave. Being in the same room with him only dragged me back to our first encounter.
His eyes darkened slightly, not surprised by the question.
"What I want," he replied calmly, resting his elbows on his knees as he looked at me, "is to bend you over that table and see if you're still this defiant when you're begging, but that can wait for some other time. Come and have a seat."
Those words left his mouth so casually, as if he had merely commented on the weather and not on what he wanted to do to me.
Heat crept up my neck, spreading slowly across my cheeks despite my effort to stay composed. My stomach tightened, not entirely in fear. Something heavier settled there instead — a slow, traitorous warmth that made my breathing turn shallow.
My pulse betrayed me first. I could feel it in my throat, in my wrists, in the space between my ribs. My body reacting before my mind could scold it.
The worst part was the way my thoughts flickered —, unwanted images that made my knees feel weaker than they should have.
I pursed my lips, forcing my expression into something neutral.
I walked toward the couch, refusing to let him see the slight stiffness in my movements, and deliberately chose the opposite end. I sat down carefully, crossing one leg over the other, keeping as much distance between us as possible.
"Why are you working as a stripper Catherine?" He asked and after a breath, he continued, "Aren't your parents rich?"
That question caught me off guard, especially with the switch-up from what he had just said not even a minute ago.
"Because it's fun," I replied, keeping a straight face, though his eyes immediately narrowed at me.
"Yeah right," he said, voice sharp, "it's so fun that you usually drug the clients who ask for a personal dance with you." His words dripped with sarcasm, cutting through me, and before I could form a reply, he added, "Careful with what you say to me, Cathy, otherwise I might just call your boss and inform him about your attempt to drug me. So why do you work here?"
My stomach dropped. Harry would definitely kill me if he actually found out I'd tried to drug a client. He would make it slow, torturous, and I'd beg him to just end it.
"Why do you care?" I finally shot back, forcing myself to keep my voice steady, my eyes locked on his burning gaze. "Did you want me to dance for you?" I added quickly, trying to shift the topic because this conversation was going nowhere. I was permanently tied to this place, and as much as I wanted to leave, I couldn't. Saying that to anyone would guarantee my cousin's death before I could even follow her to the grave.
He shook his head, running his hand through his thick dark hair. "No, I actually need something else."