I’m avoiding the girls smoking as they watch the stage. I’ve been dancing for six years now, and dancer years are like dog years. I see the new girls come, hot as hell, expecting all the guys to give them their entire wallet just because they’re sexy.

They quickly learn it doesn’t work like that. To make money, it’s not enough to look good. Hell, sometimes it doesn’t take any looks at all. It takes customer service skills. You need to make the guy feel good.

I see their jealous eyes as I take man after man up to the VIP lounge, and I know the rumors they’re spreading about me. They think I give blow jobs or full sex, but that’s not true. I’ve only done anything beyond a good, clean dance with one customer, and I left the club for him.

I’m one of the cleanest dancers in this place, but I don’t have a lot of friends to show for it. Though honestly, now that I’m in my early thirties and with a young kid to take care of, it doesn’t bother me much. The newbies are all of twenty-two and half of them are only concerned with taking Instagram selfies in the dressing room. The others are like me, no matter their age. They’re paying for college or kids, and we’re in it to make money.

I appreciate their hustle, and they appreciate mine. Vaguely I wonder which of them I could trust enough to live with me and Cierra as I lead a well-dressed gentleman up to the VIP lounge. I go through the same old routine before ushering him into the private room. I smile, and I bring my fingers to my black bikini, and I wiggle my ass as he watches and hands me $20 bill after $20 bill.

Every single one, I mentally spend on Cierra, on rent, on groceries. Every winning smile I give him is going to give my baby girl a better life, and every time I moan in his ear, he’s funding my kid’s future education, whether he knows it or not.

Once his wallet is drained, I bring him downstairs, and I kiss his cheek.

“Thank you, Anthony,” I whisper in his ear. “Will I see you next month?”

He shakes his head sadly. “I’m away on business, but I’ll be back in two with a big fat wad for you, Aphrodite,” he promises, and I can’t help but giggle.

“Oh Anthony, you always have a fat wad for me.”

“I wish you’d come back to my place...” he trails off, but I shake my head, giving him a wink.

“You like me just where I am and you know it, sexy. Send me a text when you’re back in town.”

Just as the client is leaving, I hear a ruckus below. I peer out over the edge and see with my horror a few tough looking guys pushing around a bouncer. And that bouncer, Tom, is a big guy himself.

“Where is he, huh? Where is he?!” they shout at Tom, and as much as Tom is trying to remain tough and keep them back, he’s outnumbered.

“I told you, John don’t work here anymore,” he says loudly. And my heart sinks.

John? They must mean… oh god. John. My ex-boyfriend.

We’d met here, he was a DJ, but he always had other things on the go. He said working here was more for fun and winked to me every time the topic of his work came up. I curse myself for being so stupid, for not seeing it sooner.

Then a while back he just quit entirely, didn’t even do the part time work.

“Yeah well, we need to speak with John,” shouts one of the thugs trying to intimidate Tom below. But the big bald brute of a bouncer holds his ground.

“I don’t know where he’s gone. Man just up and quit a while back,” he insists, which is true enough. None of us knew the particulars of John’s plans. Why he quit, why he hasn’t been around, or what he’s doing now.

Even I don’t know, not really, and he still lives with me. But suddenly I realize it’s way bigger than what I could’ve possibly imagined. I thought maybe he was just working under the table, maybe has some petty scam on the go.

But petty scams don’t get men like these shouting at bouncers in the middle of a busy strip club. These guys want to send a message.

“Well maybe one of these girls knows,” the wire-thin but sadistic looking thug says, reaching out to grab one of the dancers. And my hackles raise; I don’t want anyone to suffer for answers they don’t have. And I very nearly shout out to leave her alone, to draw their attention to me, when Tom blocks them and protects the other dancer as she nervously scurries away.

“Ain’t nobody here knows where he is, man! John ain’t had many friends! He wasn’t the type that was easy to like, you get what I’m sayin’? Wherever he is, ain’t nobody here can help you,” Tom insists. And for a moment it looks like the thugs aren’t gonna be satisfied with that, that they’re gonna beat the shit out of Tom. But they instead slowly back down.

“Well then. Guess we’ll have to look elsewhere… for now. But if anyone knows where good ol’ Johnny boy is,” he flicks a card onto a table nearby. “Let us know, huh? ‘Cause if we can’t find him, we’ll have to come knockin’ on your door again.”

What the hell has he gotten himself into now?

I’m not a dumb girl. I know that whatever he’s got going on is going to blow back on me, and soon, and if someone finds out where he is, then they find out where I live.

Where Cierra lives.