Saints 2

Keeley

It was easy to switch off and just let my body move. And I was good at it, I knew I was, but every time I danced it was like someone else took over my body. I locked Keeley away in my mind where she could be safe. Because even after five years, I still hadn’t gotten over what had happened to me. And I had come to uneasy terms with that.

The only thing that I had learnt in five years was that sex sells. And I had a body that screamed sex. I wasn’t petite or willowy, my body was soft, womanly, and men loved it. 

The attack on me had taught me one thing: if I let them, men would use my body and discard me like yesterday’s trash. So, I taught myself to use it against them, and I had become damn good at it as well. Dancing gave me power. They could look all they wanted provided the money kept coming. But they couldn’t touch. Ever.

I used them.

They didn’t use me.

I would never be used by a man ever again in my life.

Flicking my hair back, I plastered my face with my widest smile as I straightened, my hand still gripping the pole. It was slippery with oil and sweat. If it had been cleaned properly before my audition, then I could have done better. As it was, I felt my performance was mediocre at best. All I could do was hope I made the cut. I needed this job. The tips alone would pay my share of the rent. Where I was now, was shit. Too many gawkers who weren’t willing to put their hands in their pockets.

Turning towards the woman who was in charge, I waited for her to say something. She wasn’t even looking at me. Her back was turned, and she had a phone pressed to her ear.

Great, I rolled my eyes. If she hadn’t been watching, then I was as good as gone. And that sucked because I was ten times better than the girl who had been dancing before me. Finally, the woman lifted her head and I knew instantly that it was going to be bad news. She just had that look about her.

“Keeley, is it?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Sometimes my Americanisms came out, even after years of living in London.

“Unfortunately, Mr Marino doesn’t think you are right for us here. You just don’t have the right look for The Penthouse. Even though I think you are an amazing dancer, he’s the boss.” She gave a self-conscious shrug. 

My anger rose, causing bile to burn my throat.

So, the big boss had decided I wasn’t good enough for his club even though I was without a doubt the best dancer they had seen so far. There could only be one reason that I could think of. My size. The all-powerful Mr Marino thought I was too big to appeal to his customers.

Mr Marino was an ass.

“Screw Mr Marino,” I blurted out, despite intending to sound more demure. Sometimes my temper got the better of me and I vomited words without thinking. 

“I know that you are probably disappointed, but please don’t take it as a bad thing. Just because you aren’t right for us doesn’t mean you won’t be right for another club. It’s nothing personal.”

I waved her words away. Was that what she thought this was? Personal? I didn’t take rejection personally. But I had needed the money the job promised. London was an expensive city to live in, and I liked it there. I didn’t want to move somewhere cheaper. London was my home.

“Yeah, ok.” Climbing off the stage, I reached for my clothes. They were nothing spectacular - a soft t-shirt that used to belong to my housemate, a pair of baggy sweatpants. I had no one to impress outside of these walls. If anything, the less attention I got the better. “Thanks, for nothing, Mr Marino.” Like a petulant child, I aimed my middle finger to the large, windowed office above the bar. That’s where he was hiding and watching, I had no doubt. Some middle-aged, pot-bellied gangster wannabe who thought beauty had to come in the form of six-foot statuesque models with more plastic than a barbie doll.

A phone rang, and the house mother’s hand rose, signalling for me to stop. I ignored her. The moment I had slipped my street clothes on I was already heading out the door. Not even the sound of high heels chasing after me made me slow.

“Keeley, stop.”

With a sigh, I finally did as she asked, clutching my bag to my chest like it was some kind of shield. I probably shouldn’t have given the big boss the finger. Powerful men didn’t like things like that. It tested their masculinity. What little they had.

“Mr Marino would like to talk to you. He has another job that might be of interest to you.”

I laughed. “I just bet he does.” I knew his type. I wasn’t good enough to dance in his snotty club, but I was good enough to bend over his desk and fuck. “Tell him I’m a dancer not a whore.”

Her mouth fell open. I looked sweet and innocent, but my mouth after five years of living and surviving on my own was anything but. I had grown a backbone finally, and sometimes it got me into trouble.

“He wasn’t…uh, we have some other vacancies and…”

I cut her off. “No, thank you. I would rather starve than take a job here now.” I stomped away.

What was that old saying? Cutting off your nose to spite your face?

Yeah, I had certainly done that.

*** 

“You did what?” Kieran lounged on my bed, his floppy sandy blonde hair falling into his eyes in the most adoring way. If I had been normal, I would have found him attractive. I might have even tried it on with a man who looked like him. But I wasn’t normal. 

He was my roommate and nothing more, and I knew he didn’t look at my body and have any of the lust filled thoughts that I usually saw in men’s eyes, which was why I felt totally at ease stripping out of my clothes and putting my pyjamas on in front of him. He had seen everything I had to offer before and he wasn’t interested.

Climbing up on the bed where he was lounging, I flopped backwards. With Kieran I felt safe, even when his arm went around me. His touch wasn’t repulsive to me. In fact, I couldn’t sleep without it, which was one of the reasons we shared a bed most nights. Unless of course he had a date and then I slept on the sofa with earplugs in.

“I told them where to stick their job.” I closed my eyes, letting my brain drift for a few seconds. I was a good dancer, but it was emotionally exhausting to keep my subconscious locked away for hours at a time. “Might have given the boss the finger.” I shrugged.

“Keeley.” I could tell without looking that he was shaking his head. “I thought you wanted to work there.”

“I don’t suit the aesthetic. And you know what that means.” I reached to pinch my stomach. “Too many wobbly bits.”

Gripping my hand, he tore it away. “You were too good for that dump anyway. They wouldn’t know real beauty if it sat on their face.”

I laughed before I could stop myself. Kieran had a way with words that men back home just didn’t have. Carefree even when we were both struggling to cover the rent each month.

“Fuck.” I covered my face with my hands. “What the hell are we going to do?”

“Ice cream.”

“Kieran, ice cream is not the cure for everything.”

He hugged me a little tighter. “Maybe not, but it helps. It always helps.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “It will be ok, Keeley. We have been in worse spots than this before and we got through them. Why don’t you close your eyes for a bit? I’ll go and get a tub. Tomorrow is another day.”

Closing my eyes for a while did sound good. After the disastrous audition and even worse shift, I was exhausted.

“Sounds good. I…"

Someone hammered on the door. I didn’t move. It was late, but it wasn’t unheard of for people to call on us. More than likely it would be someone for Kieran. No doubt a booty call.

“You get that.” I didn’t even open my eyes.

The quiet of our tiny apartment was suddenly filled with voices. Male voices talking in low whispers but I could tell Kieran sounded angry.

“Keeley?”

My eyes flew open. Startled, I sat upright on the bed, clutching the pillow to my chest. I didn’t know him. Panic flooded my system with ice. If I had been a military man, they would have said I had PTSD. But I wasn’t, so I didn’t know what the medical term for my flashbacks and panic attacks were. Maybe it was still PTSD.

“Yes?”

“Mr Marino would like to see you.”

I blinked. Mr Marino? As in the owner of The Penthouse? Had he been that angry at my childish outburst that he had sent his goons to kidnap me? “No, thank you.” I stood, pleased that my body wasn’t shaking. “And I would like you to leave.”

“I’m sorry, but I really must insist.” The dark-haired man smiled at me, but I barely saw it. Another man was in the hallway, his hand closed around Kieran’s throat. 

“You don’t have to worry; no harm will come to you or your…" dark eyes narrowed as he glanced behind him, “friend.”

“Don’t you dare, Keeley.” Kieran’s voice was a rasping gurgle.

“Fine, just let him go.” I waved my hand as if I didn’t have a care in the world while slipping my feet into my flip flops that I used as slippers.

“You will come just like that? No fighting?” There was real surprise in the man's voice. It sounded suspiciously like he was hoping I would put up more of a fight, maybe he was one of those assholes who enjoyed a woman being scared.

And I was scared. I just wouldn’t show it.

“Kieran, if you don’t hear back from me in two hours, there’s an address book in my lock box. Find the number for Monster and tell him what happened and who took me.” I hadn’t spoken to my cousin in five years, but I had to believe that he would come to my rescue if I needed him. “And if he doesn’t answer…” I paused. I was going to give him another name, but I was unsure. “Phone G.”

“G?” Kieran parroted back, rubbing at his throat.

“Yeah, G.” If Mr Marino was powerful enough to pluck me from my bed at eleven o’clock at night then he might be the best person to ring. He had more power than the Savage Sons could ever hope to have. That was if, of course, he wasn’t dead or in prison. If my earlier outburst had caused me to get into shit, then he might just be the only person able to get me out of it.

I just hoped it didn’t come to that.

“Lead the way, henchman.” I flicked my finger towards the door. “Let’s get this over and done with.”