Devil Woman

Chapter 1

Nyra 

You'd think after dancing these past few years that, you'd get used to the arrogantly flashing lights of purple, pink, red, and blue. But somehow, it only made me loathe them more. Lights blinding me aside, they never talk about the stench of stale beer and sweat in strip clubs.

I mean, being a stripper seemed to be trending nowadays because most of the girls that danced in this club were barely over eighteen. The sore feet and ankles, the dirty heels, and the groping men were all just a fucking, cheery bonus too.

Men thought no meant yes and don't meant don't stop. It didn't help that our manager was a fucking bastard and did nothing to protect us or the other girls dancing.

We had a few security guards assigned around the club, but they didn't do anything unless they absolutely had to. Some girls would get held down, bruises marking all over their bodies, some would get raped in the alleyways when their shift was over, and others...others were struggling to survive.

The strip club was rundown and located on the highway that connected to the airport. The pop and sensual music loomed behind me like a dark cloud, and I looked over to see a few of my girlfriends working the three poles on the three stages.

Other girls were working the crowd, the tables, the drunken men who came for their bachelor parties or to blow off steam because their wife was pregnant and had gotten fat. Whatever story it was, repulsing and degrading, I'd heard it all.

The person looking back at me in the mirror was strong enough to endure everything life ever threw at her, but what was underneath all the glitter and fake lashes? The fake multi-color wigs I wore every day to hide my own personality only did so much for the creeps out there adamant about knowing everything about me.

My natural hair color was beautiful, black like night, and as soft as silk, and when let down, my bangs framed my soft features ever so well. I looked like my mother. It was something I held close to my heart, knowing I was the spitting image of her. I added more blush to my cheeks and swallowed down the sob that lodged itself in my throat at the memory of her.

I couldn't have my makeup smearing; it took me forever to perfect my eye-look and find colors to make my simple brown eyes shine. The purple glitter and the thick obsidian black liner gave me that seductive look, yet almost sensual, that had men coming back.

Over the years, I had formed my own customers. They weren't clients as this wasn't a sophisticated joint, but I had repetitive customers, and I was sure it wasn't just because of my body.

I had beauty, brains, and a killer body. My worn-out heels clicked boisterously loud on the floors as I walked out of the locker rooms and down the hallway to the private room area. It wasn't VIP or anything or something flashy.

They were six rooms with curtains instead of doors. Three on each side and smaller than the apartment I was rotting in. I hated private dances more than I hated winding my body and legs around a stripper pole. It was supposed to be something temporary.

I guess temporary meant years, and I guess I had somewhere somehow forgotten how I'd even gotten here. I was twenty-two years old and have been working here since I was nineteen. It wasn't as long as the other girls, but time didn't really feel like something to boast about around these parts.

Stripping wasn't a bad job, nor was it something to look down on, but in this club with our manager, it was horrible. It made you hate the job, hate the men, just hate everything. It didn't matter how beautiful you were or how confident you felt coming into this job.

It only took a few men to make you hate your self-worth and make you want to cut their eyes out for even looking at you, to begin with. Sighing, I reached for the end of the curtain and tugged it to the side before walking in. It wasn't anything special. Just a two-person busted-up sofa backed up against a wall, with a dirty mirror behind it.