SIX: Between Hard Poles and Walls

Blending in has never been my strongest suit, especially when it involves pole dancing and psychopaths. 

I was taught to dance by world-renowned professionals from all over the world, but not this—no, not this. As much as my father wanted me to seduce men, which would mean dancing like this in a nurse costume would be a good start, but no, he never had someone teach me this.

So I blended in, or so I thought.

“Damn, girl. You got accepted here with those moves? Their standards are low these days.” one of them whispers as she does a split in front of some old men who I recall I last saw on the government news.

“Oh, come on. I’m trying my best here.” I mumble behind the mask. It’s not very easy knowing someone from afar is staring at you with blood-red eyes which will be the color of the liquid that will be coming out of my body if I get caught. 

So as much as I abhor myself for this, I dance my heart out like the bitch I was raised.

I’m running my hands all over my body as slutty as I can but for her to say that, my moves must be awful as hell.

“I mean . . . I know this job is, like, far from decent, but you really could do better.” She slaps the bounded cash on my face and I roll my eyes on her police ass as she crawls on her four limbs towards the edge of the stage and in front of the congressman, her cleavage as exposed as they can be. 

I will barf right in front of his face if I see him licking all that saliva just from the sight of breasts.

My eyes swoop the place, trying to avoid a very particular pair of eyes as I can. It was far from easy with those blinding, colorful lights hitting everywhere. Finally, I spot the Mayor’s daughter in the corner, lapping faces with a man. 

I really need to get some info about that casino. I shouldn’t even be dancing around here so calmly.

“Hey little Nurse! You should get off the damn stage if running your hands is all you can do!” A younger man yelled from afar. I grit my teeth and tried to find whoever said that. I’ll punch him in the f—

“Girl!” Someone slaps my behind and I look back to the same dancer in the police woman costume. “What?” I yelled over the loud music.

Her hand raised up and down as if pointing to my body, “Your sexy ass in that Nurse costume shouldn’t go to waste.” She muttered before pushing me towards the pole.

“Since solo isn’t your thing, why not let the pole do the work for you?” She yelled back and gave me a short wink before turning back to another politician who handed him some actual gold, but she insists he puts it himself in her cleavage. 

Fuck this. I can’t be doing this right now.

With clammy hands, I touch the pole as if it would suddenly melt me. Although it wouldn’t, I’m certain as hell some other gaze from a particular someone will.

Focus, Evangeline. 

Konstantin Morozov’s gaze was so intense, it’s almost tangible. Like a hot caress sliding over my barely covered body.

The flimsy nursing costume did little to shield me from his scrutiny. My heart is pounding a million miles per minute, not just from the exertion of my earlier awkward dancing, but from the sheer arousal his stare provoked.

Look away, you Russian Fool!

The way he’s looking at me—hungry and dangerous, like a predator watching its prey—sends shivers down my spine. I can’t concentrate. I could feel heat pooling low in my belly, spreading through me like wildfire.

God, what is he doing to me? I wanted to hate him, to hate this magnetic pull he has on me, but my body was beginning to betray me, responding eagerly to his silent command:

Dance like the slut that you are for me, darling.

I arch my back and stretch my legs as I spin around the pole. I could imagine his hands on me every time the cold, metallic stick was touching my exposed skin.

My body got carried away as I pushed myself up the metal, trying to hang on it. A little more and I’ll be up—

“Ah!” A groan fell out of my mouth when all of a sudden, my clammy hands finally caught up to me and I slipped right out of my grip on the pole, landing heavily on the stage with a thud.

Shit, if it couldn’t be more embarrassing than it already is.

Snickers and laughter from the crowd instantly enveloped the entire place while the other dancers pulled me up. “Ow!” I breathed heavily. 

“Oh gosh, are you alright?” The girl in the bunny costume asked as she held me on my waist with my arm over her shoulder, another dancer on the other side. “Y-yeah . . . I think I twisted my ankle.” I murmur. I can’t believe I got carried away. What was I thinking?

Finally, a good reason to get the heck out of there.

“Told ’ya should have gotten outta there!” the same male who yelled about my awkward dancing earlier added. 

Really waited for me to mess up just so he could say that, huh?

Just when I thought that was as far as the comments would come, a group of women’s voices caught my attention—particularly the girls I hung out with earlier in the tea party.

“Who even is she? Did you really hire someone like that?” One of the women earlier murmured to the Mayor’s daughter.

“Yeah, she sucks. What a way to ruin your party.” the other who, I remember, clutched her when she was crying, aired.

The Mayor’s daughter grunted. “Ugh, God I don’t even know. Let me see. I’ll talk to her. Maybe kick her out, too.” She replied with a mischievous snicker before leaving their table and walking to the backstage.

My eyes widened as blood slowly drains from my face.

No, no, no. She can’t know who I am! I’m in a Nurse costume, humping the life out of me on Britney’s music on stage just five minutes ago! If she knows I’m Eva . . . Not just me, but the entire Burroughs family’s reputation will suffer . . . and my mother. My mother will—

“Hey!” My thoughts were cut off as I glance behind me. It was the policewoman.

“I’m sorry for even suggesting that. I guess the pole didn’t teach you anything.” She chuckled.

“It’s um . . . it’s alright.” I replied with a heavy heart. I got myself humiliated, that’s for sure. But it’s not like I’m actually Evangeline Burroughs right now. I’m nothing but a normal dancer who’s got like, probably their normal routine. I don’t suppose dancers are always in their perfect shape, anyway.

Besides, I have bigger problems right now. 

I hear the sound of the Mayor’s daughter’s heels clicking in the backstage before her blurry image follows suit. She stood on the very door, her brows propped up and her arms crossed, waiting for me to be delivered at her feet.

“God, what does she want?” The woman in the bunny suit, holding me up by my right side, muttered.

“She’s the worst employer yet. I don’t know why the leader even accepted this offer. The group could do much better,” the other on my left side replied.

We were slowly heading towards her.

“Y-you know what?” I turn to the both of them. “I could definitely still dance!” I push myself from their hold and tried to stand up on my own when my twisted ankles betrayed me.

I can’t get caught. I can’t get fucking caught!

“No, you can’t. You’re injured. Besides, the Mayor’s daughter looks like she has something to say.” They shrugged. “Don‘t worry, we’ll be there with you.” They slowly pulled me up once again, and we trodded to where the Mayor’s daughter was standing.

She signaled the two to take off their masks, swiping her hand in front of her eyes. They pulled theirs off, baring their real faces behind the silly, slutty costumes.

They then both turned to me.

“I-I can’t . . . No—” I shake my head when we arrived in the backstage. The Mayor’s daughter, in all her blonde glory, inhaled before a screeching scream was blown.

“What were you all thinking, taking a newbie in and ruining the goddamn party?!” she exclaimed in a high-pitched barbie doll tone. I think my ears popped.

“Put her down on the floor!” she ordered.

“What?” the two dancers questioned in unison. Jesus, does she want me to beg?

“I said put her down on the goddamn floor!” she screamed once again. Gone was the crying girl who tried to get sympathy from Konstantin Morozov earlier. This is a bitch right here.

“Or you won’t be getting any pennies tonight, either.” She raised her brows. The two dancers hesitated before putting me on the floor as gently as they could. 

Now I’m kneeling in front of her. This is honestly nothing—I’ve been kneeling in the Dark Cell with bloody lashes on my back the moment I was born. However, that smug smirk on her face is what’s making this unbearable. She thinks she won.

I unknowingly glare up at the little blonde who has nothing to be proud of but spending Daddy’s credit card. “What’s with those eyes, you fucking whore?” With the points of her heels, she kicks my exposed stomach. 

A grunt slips past my lips, alerting my only allies to this situation. “Hey!” The dancers then blocks her off of me when they were all harshly pushed off by the Mayor’s daughter.

“Don’t you know who I am?” she pulls my chin up to look at her. “I could get you fucking killed, bitch!” she barked.

And with all the courage I have left, I muttered, “Go to hell.” before I roughly spit at her and she staggers back as the liquid slides down her cakey face, erasing the make up in its path. Her eyes instantly burn.

“You good-for-nothing slut! Let me see that face so I can hand it to dad and let you see who you’re messing with!” She rushed back to me and I close my eyes as she was about to pull the thread securing the mask to stay on my face.

This is it. I’ll be fucking damned.

As if God suddenly was on my side, a knock sounded and a head popped in to sneak a peek. “Hi, is the Nurse here?” Someone opened the backstage door and the Mayor’s daughter instantly turned the other way to subtly wipe her face. Looks like someone can’t be seen without their makeup on.

“Why?!” she grunts in annoyance.

“Someone w-wants her off-stage.” The employee hesitates, sweat beading on her forehead. “Didn’t they see she can’t dance?!” The bitch replies.

“Do you mean the injury? That’s the thing, she doesn’t have to stand while dancing . . .” 

“What?” we all asked in unison. I don’t have to stand? Then what am I going to do?

“A lap dance.” She murmurs, rubbing her neck. I instantly inhale a huge amount of breath as I stare wide-eyed at her. The words not registering in my head.

“He wants her to do a lap dance.” she repeats.

“What? No! I’m not fucking done with her. Who is it anyway?” The Mayor’s daughter snapped.

Please don’t let it be him . . .

“It’s Konstantin Morozov.” 

Oh no.