Bad Girls Read online

  Her phone buzzed, and she pulled it out of her pocket, glancing at the screen to see who it was.

  Jared, her agent. She snapped it open.

  ‘Hey, babycakes!’ came Jared’s three-pack-a-day croak. ‘Just checking in to see how your weekend went!’

  ‘Really nice,’ Amber said, lighting a second cigarette from the butt of her first. You’d think that the sound of Jared’s ruined vocal cords would put her off smoking, but it never worked that way.

  ‘Did he give you a present?’

  ‘Yes,’ Amber said, thinking of the envelope stuffed in her handbag.

  ‘Double excellent! So everyone’s happy. Now, more good news: you’ve got a catalogue shoot on Tuesday. Very high-end. Swimsuits and cruise wear. You’re in swimsuit shape, aren’t you, sweetie? We don’t need to panic?’

  ‘No, I’m fine,’ Amber reassured him.

  ‘Weight?’

  ‘One twenty, like always.’

  ‘Good girl! OK, I’ll email you the details. And Amber, sweetie? It’s been a while since a modelling gig came up for you.’ He coughed, a long, hacking rasp. ‘Give it everything you have, sweetie.’

  The jasmine growing over the pergola was coming into flower, its scent delicate, its flowers small and white. The pale smoke of Amber’s Silk Cut blended with it, the tobacco somehow picking out the floral notes of the jasmine. Amber loved to sit up here; she’d bring out cushions and pile them on the bench and sit there, flicking through fashion magazines, London’s most beautiful hidden gardens and elegant architecture laid out below her, the rich grass spread of Green Park just at the end of the street.

  I need to earn enough to buy this place, she thought. I need security for me and Matka. I’m making way more from the dates I go on than the modelling jobs, but Matka mustn’t ever realize that. She must never find out about Tony and the other guys. She must never know that they rang my agency and asked how much it would cost to take me out, and that Jared sets my rate for that just like he does for magazine and catalogue and advertising work.

  She’s so proud of me. It would kill her if she ever knew.

  Skye

  ‘You walk in front of my act,’ Oksana hissed menacingly as soon as Skye stepped down off the stage, leaving Jada to work

  the pole on her own.

  ‘Oksana, it’s not an act,’ Skye sighed, trying to move past her. ‘You’re not on Broadway. We’re just shaking our asses for money, and I’ve got a bunch of guys waiting. Let’s finish this – oh, I dunno, never, OK?’

  ‘You never walk in front of my act again, American whore!’ Oksana insisted.

  ‘Or what?’ Skye snapped. ‘You’ll claw my eyes out with those tacky acrylics of yours?’

  Oksana’s head snapped back in shock. Insulting another dancer’s nails was almost the worst thing you could do. (The absolutely worst thing, of course, was calling someone fat or diseased; those were grounds for open warfare, which was frowned on by the management.)

  Oksana couldn’t help a quick glance down at her nails; they were so elaborately coated with swirls and appliqués that the effect was almost 3-D. That was enough distraction for Skye to slip past her and wiggle sexily over to a guy she’d spotted as a prime prospect while dancing. His bold eye contact told her that he was ready for business, and his very expensive suit and haircut that he could afford whatever she wanted to charge him.

  He was waving at her now; Skye flicked her glance to his wrist and saw that his watch was top quality. He was actually quite handsome in a preppy-banker way, with slicked-back fair hair and pink full lips, and he radiated the confidence that comes directly from having a wallet stuffed with cash. Shimmying up to him, she sank down on his lap with a sexy little wiggle of her hips, her gold-dusted curls dripping enticingly down her bare back.

  ‘So, you want a private dance tonight, baby?’ she murmured in his ear, noticing his high-priced aftershave. This guy was looking better and better.

  ‘Do I ever!’ he groaned. ‘Lead the way, gorgeous. I’ve got a whole stack of hundreds burning a whole in my pocket. And not just hundreds, y’know?’

  He sneaked a pinch at her ass, which wasn’t allowed – touching the girls was strictly forbidden, in the public areas of the Lounge, at least – but Skye let it pass. No one had seen. And now she was rising off his lap, leading him by his tie through the rest of the johns. It was corny, the tie thing, but they all loved it; it made them feel somehow as if the girl actually wanted them, couldn’t wait to be alone with them; not for their money, but for themselves.

  They were total fucking morons, the clients. Every man was a moron who let his dick make decisions for him.

  Behind her, Skye knew that Oksana was still shooting her daggers with her eyes. Well, let her. Oksana was an idiot to waste her time on being jealous of Skye instead of working her clients.

  They reached the door to the private room, and, unlike poor hapless Marvin, this guy knew the drill. He was already flipping a twenty out of his money clip and slapping it into DeVaughan’s hand.

  The room was small, lit by a few recessed spots. Black walls, black carpet, an old curved banquette standing in the centre. Mirrors ran around it, cheap, rough-edged, rectangular panels in which almost every angle of the room was reflected, and it smelled of sweat and semen.

  It was in the back room that Skye missed the smoking ban most. She’d ground herself on many clients puffing on big Montecristos or Davidoffs and even though the rich pungent smoke had made her choke and cough, it was still better than this stink, the mouldy smell of spilled dry come. But you couldn’t read any of that on her smiling, sexy face. She knew, because she was keeping an eye on herself in the mirrors.

  Skye tossed her hair back and widened her blue eyes enticingly. R&B pumped through the built-in speakers in an endless loop, bass line thumping, singers moaning horny lyrics, their voices husky, crooning sex words till humping was all you could think about.

  ‘What’s your name, baby?’ she cooed, pushing him gently down onto the banquette and straddling him, working her four-inch Perspex-and-diamanté heels into position under her so she didn’t break an ankle when she got going.

  ‘You can call me Gary,’ he said, grinning, so she knew that wasn’t what it said on his driver’s licence.

  Crap. For some reason, it always went easier when they told you their real name.

  ‘Well, Gary baby,’ she purred. ‘You ready to sit back and enjoy the ride?’

  He nodded eagerly.

  ‘You know the rules, don’t you?’ Skye ran one long nail down the side of his face, lightly, sliding her tongue round her lips, giving him a little push of her crotch into his to really get him going, make him agree to everything she asked. ‘I’ll give you the ride of your life, but no touching me while I’m doing it.’ She smiled temptingly. ‘Still, ask for what you want and we’ll see what we can do. It’s going to be $500 straight up.’

  ‘I’ll give you a grand if you blow me,’ he said immediately.

  Skye shook her head. ‘Sorry, baby, I’m no hooker.’

  ‘Two grand?’

  She shook her head again, marvelling at someone who was willing to shell out two grand for something he could buy on the street for a twenty.

  ‘Tell you what,’ he said, grinning up at her. ‘You take off your G-string when you give me that ride, and I’ll up it to a grand. How’s that sound?’

  ‘I’m not supposed to get naked . . .’ She slid the finger into her own mouth and sucked on it, hoping to get him to up his offer.

  His pupils dilated, and she could feel his cock move under her. But he wouldn’t budge on the price.

  ‘A grand. Come on! I’m not paying more than that unless you get my dick out and get working on it.’

  Charming, Skye thought. This one’s a prince.

  ‘OK, baby, you got yourself a deal,’ she said, rising so she could slip off her tiny golden mini and her matching G-string.

  He groaned at the sight of her naked lower body, shaved and
smooth.

  ‘Oh, baby, yeah,’ he said, licking his lips. ‘That’s what I’m talking about! Come here and rub that dirty-girl pussy all over me!’

  Ugh. This guy is not rocking my world. I’m going to make this fast and furious, Skye decided, as she flipped one leg over his lap to straddle him again.

  ‘Put the money in my bra, Gary baby,’ she said, licking his ear as she ground down on him.

  He fumbled for his money clip, dragging out a fold of greenbacks that he fed into her bra, getting a good feel at the same time. That way she got the money in advance, but gave them a little thrill. Gary actually squeezed her left tit hard enough to hurt before dropping his hand. Jesus, this one just didn’t give up.

  She started work now in earnest, running her hands up and down his shirt, twisting and shifting cunningly, working her naked crotch against his trousered one, feeling the size and angle of his cock – small, right-hanging, tangled up a bit in his boxers. She was really good by now at feeling out the tip through a pair of trousers, working herself against it, putting maximum pressure precisely where the guy wanted it, sliding herself up and down the shaft.

  Making him feel like he was getting the closest he could get to fucking her with his clothes on.

  ‘Hey, hey,’ Gary started to chant, his head thrown back, his eyes closing.

  What? Skye thought, pausing momentarily, wondering if he was trying to tell her something.

  ‘Don’t stop, baby, don’t stop . . .’ he panted, and she realized that it was just what he said when he was getting close.

  Some men really are fucking freaks, Skye sighed. I mean, who says ‘Hey, hey’ when they’re getting laid?

  ‘Hey, hey, hey, hey . . .’ Gary chanted, as if it was a mantra or something. ‘Hey, hey, hey, HEY—’

  His eyes snapped open, wild and staring. He bit his lips, thrusting his bottom up, trying to get as much contact as possible between her naked crotch and his small cock.

  No wonder he’s such an asshole, Skye thought almost sympathetically, with a tiny little pencil between his legs. Poor bastard.

  ‘Oh, yeah! You dirty little – ugh – dirty little slut – hey, hey, hey—’ Gary spluttered.

  Skye had her hands twined up in her hair, arching her back to make her boobs look bigger, humping him frantically, desperate to get this over with. From the frenzied jerkings of his hips, she was sure he was about to come, and it couldn’t happen fast enough for her. She had a bad feeling about him.

  And just then, she felt something scrape painfully up inside her. She screamed, and jumped away, but awkwardly, because of her high platform heels. Everything happened in a rush. She looked down in horror between her legs and saw that this dickhead had sneaked his hand between their bodies while she was working away at him. He had managed to get a finger up inside her.

  He had done it deliberately. He’d shoved his finger up her, hooked it, and scratched her deliberately.

  ‘Fuck!’ she screamed. ‘That fucking hurt!’

  But Gary, or whatever he was called, was oblivious to her protest, because he had started to come in his trousers.

  ‘Dirty little, filthy little whore . . .’ he was moaning.

  His arms flailed around, grabbing for her, and she slapped at him as she scrambled uncomfortably off him. Unbelievably, after what the fucker had pulled on her already, he was still going for her crotch. She lurched back from his clawing fingers, tripped, and fell on her ass.

  Gary was still convulsing on the banquette when DeVaughan shoved open the door and stomped in, six foot six of solid muscle in a suit as dark as he was.

  ‘Heard you scream, Skye. Everything cool?’ he barked.

  Then he took in the scene: Skye on the carpet, legs in the air, flashing her naked crotch; Gary collapsed on the banquette, a stain spreading over the front of his suit trousers.

  DeVaughan’s eyes widened. ‘Jeez, girl, you OK?’

  He reached down one huge hand and pulled Skye to her feet.

  ‘The fucker hurt me,’ Skye said furiously, bending over to grab her G-string and miniskirt. It was incredibly hard to get back into the flimsy G-string with her platform heels on, and she had to grip DeVaughan’s jacket sleeve for balance. Gary watched her with a sly smile as she teetered and swore, her heel catching in the elastic.

  ‘Hey, asshole, you push the lady so she fell over like that?’ DeVaughan said to Gary.

  ‘Lady?’ Gary grinned smugly. ‘Little whore, more like.’

  ‘No need for that, man,’ DeVaughan said, folding his arms across his chest. ‘You making a bad situation worse, know what I’m saying?’

  ‘No,’ Gary said, throwing his arms wide on the back of the banquette and giving DeVaughan a big, cocky, I’m-a-rich-banker-and-you’re-just-a-bouncer smile. ‘I’ve got no idea. What are you saying, man?’

  ‘I’m saying that you gotta pay up, dude,’ DeVaughan said firmly. ‘You got one of our top girls fallen on the floor. You lucky she’s OK. If she’d turned an ankle or something and couldn’t dance for a while, you’d be in deep shit for sure. Manager’d have a fit if I told him what happened.’

  That was a hundred per cent true. The manager didn’t care about the dancers’ welfare, but he got very steamed up if any of them were off work for any reason.

  Gary sighed and pulled out his wallet. ‘OK, let’s make this all go away, shall we?’ he said. ‘Five hundred for the little whore and a hundred for her big black pimp.’

  ‘Man—’ DeVaughan started towards him.

  Skye grabbed his arm, as much of it as she could; DeVaughan’s forearm was bigger than one of her thighs. ‘Five hundred for him too,’ she said levelly to Gary. ‘Since you got personal with him.’

  ‘Ah, fuck it.’ Gary got up, throwing some money on the banquette. ‘There’s another grand. You fight it out between you.’ He winked salaciously at DeVaughan. ‘Spend it on getting her to go for a ride with you, man. She made me come like a geyser. And hey, baby?’ He looked at Skye. ‘Nice tight pussy. Congratulations. Might even buy a piece of that next time. Glad I got myself a sample, eh?’

  Now it was Skye who took a furious step towards him, and DeVaughan who threw out one enormous arm to hold her back. Gary sauntered out, and Skye looked over at the money on the banquette.

  ‘We’ll split it,’ she said.

  DeVaughan picked up the hundreds and dealt off five for Skye. ‘Go have a drink,’ he said. ‘Put it on the club tab.’

  Skye nodded, winding all the bills up into one tight curl, tucking them safely just above the wire of her sparkly bra.

  Out in the club again, the noise and brightness, the faces turned to her, the men pressing her for lap dances, were as overwhelming as a slap in the face. She crossed to the bar and ordered a double shot of vodka.

  I’ll feel better when I’ve got some liquor in me, she said to herself. DeVaughan’s right.

  But she didn’t: she felt worse. Instead of warming her, it was as if the neat vodka sank promptly to the pit of her stomach, a cold, solid mass. She could feel that bastard’s finger up inside her, and she wanted to douche herself with bleach to burn his touch away. Clients were always trying, of course. But usually, once you’d negotiated a deal with them, they kept it: they didn’t want DeVaughan throwing them out, didn’t want to be barred from the Lounge. The problem came from men like Gary: rich cocky ones, who thought they could buy anything.

  She couldn’t feel his fingernail inside her any longer. The vodka might be helping with that, she supposed. The truth was, it hadn’t been a bad scratch, nothing even to draw blood: she’d checked. But she felt invaded. It was a shitty, shitty feeling. You spent so much time telling yourself you were an exotic dancer, not a stripper, and certainly not the whore that Oksana had called her.

  But then a man did something like that to you, showed you that, in his eyes, you were a whore, and it made you question everything. Because if the johns saw you like that, then maybe, just maybe, that’s what you really were.

  ‘H
ey, honey!’ A man reared up next to her, big and sweaty, his eyes eager. ‘I saw your act – wow! Come give me a lap dance, OK?’

  ‘Hey,’ boomed a deep voice behind her, and the would-be client instantly backed off, looking so terrified that, without even recognizing the voice, Skye would have known it was DeVaughan looming over them both.

  She swivelled to look at him. He jerked his head, indicating she should follow him, and strode off through the crowd.

  ‘Hold that thought, baby. I’ll be right back,’ Skye said to the man, and slipped down off her barstool.

  In his cramped little backroom, the door locked behind them, DeVaughan pulled out a Baggie of white powder from his trouser pocket.

  ‘Took this off some asshole earlier who was so loaded he was trying to do lines on the table, can you believe it?’ DeVaughan said, tipping some of the coke out onto his desk top. ‘I was like, man, you think you’re still in the nineties? We can’t even smoke inside no more, and you’re doing blow out in the open? Come on.’

  He cut two fat lines with a card as Skye extracted a hundred from her bra – the one curled up inside the others, so it wasn’t too damp – and rolled it up into a neat little tube.

  ‘Thanks, DeVaughan,’ she said gratefully, bending over the desk top and inhaling one of the lines.

  ‘No problem.’ DeVaughan took the hundred from her; it looked tiny in his huge hand, like toy money from a Monopoly game. ‘I figured you could do with a boost.’

  She sniffed deeply, tilting back her head, feeling the sharp chemical rush of the cocaine flooding her bloodstream, fizzing her up, instantly wiping out the resentment and anger she’d been feeling a bare minute ago.