Chapter 2 2

And just like that, she whirls, and she's out the door, leaving me lost, shocked, and trying to figure out what the fuck just happened.

Oh, and hard. She leaves me achingly, confusingly, damningly, sinfully hard.

Brynn

If life were a movie, this would be funny. It'd be one of the scenes they picked for the trailer, probably. The guy would be someone cute but harmless like Paul Rudd or Seth Rogen or something, and I'd be... I don't know. Someone quirky and fun? My mask would drop, the music would record-scratch, and one of us would say some sort of hilarious catch phrase like "I did not see that coming!" And the whole thing would be hilarious to a movie theater full of viewers.

...This, however, is not the movies. There is no catch phrase in real life, no perfectly timed music pauses or funny pop song in the background. There's only the horrible, cold, heart-clenching moment of clarity and shame.

I mean, it's not every day you walk into the champagne room of a strip club to give your first ever lap dance, only to find your Principal sitting there looking like pure sex in a white dress shirt and dark jeans.

...Thank God.

My face burns, and I cringe as I stumble into the backroom that doubles as a changing room for the girls. The door slams shut behind me as I stumble over to the disgusting sofa in one corner, slumping down on it and burying my face in my hands. And it's only then that the full weight of what's just happened really sinks in, and the tears start to brim my eyes.

No one was supposed to know. No one was ever supposed to know what I'm doing. I cringe as I sink into the crummy sofa, tears pooling in the corners of my eyes as my gut twists. And for the millionth time since I walked into this club tonight, I try and piece together how the hell I got here. How my life turned into this.

Thanks, dad.

Some people's parents get them a car when they turn eighteen. Okay, it might be a beater if you don't come from the kind of money mine comes from, but a car's a car. Some people get an investment in their future-maybe money for college, or a fund set up in their name for way later in life when they want to buy a house or something. And if nothing else, most people with parents or even a parent who loves them get a smile, or a hug, or even just a song and a birthday candle to blow out.

My parents, though? On my eighteenth birthday, four weeks ago, my parents got me a divorce and federal corruption and racketeering charges.

Happy birthday to me.

Not everyone really gets what their parents do for a living. Like, there are plenty of kids who go to Winchester with me who's moms or dads "work in finance" or "work in politics." But the specifics are vague. That was my dad to me. Frequently gone on business or locked in his office on a call of some kind. Not necessarily absent, but not exactly available, if that makes sense? And my stepmom? Well, my mom's a whole story by herself.

But you tend to overlook your parents being gone on business in China or shopping excursions in Paris when your father brings home an annual income that rivals the GDP of some countries. When you don't just have a horse stabled at the country club, you own the stable. When your first car at sixteen wasn't a hand-me-down Toyota, but custom-painted Ferrari. When vacations mean private jets, and watches, and whole floors of luxury hotels in exotic locations.

You overlook a lot when your silence and blindness is paid for from an early age. Maybe that's why I ignored all the warning lights and sirens. Maybe that's why I was blindsides when my father was pulled away from the dinner table while I was home for my birthday four weeks ago, in handcuffs by Federal Agents who'd just busted our front door in.

But hindsight is twenty-twenty. And now, it all makes complete sense to me.

I always knew my dad worked in investing. He was a money manager of some kind, I guess. Except you don't get hauled away by the FBI for managing people's money. You get hauled away for mis-managing it.

Or stealing it.

You hear the words "Ponzi scheme" a lot, but when you hear it in the context of charges being levied at your dad, it takes on a whole new gravity. And in the span of twenty-four hours, my entire world changed.

First, Geraldine, my stepmom, bailed. And she bailed fast. She emptied as much as she could from their joint accounts, took one of my dad's planes, and flew off to the Mediterranean to one of his yachts moored at Mykonos to start ramrodding through a divorce on the grounds of "mental distress and financial abuse." Whatever the fuck that means.

Then, right after he posted his fifty-million-dollar bail, dad bounced, too. And to where is the great mystery that I, Geraldine's lawyers, his own lawyers, and the United States Government would love to know the answer to.

But absent or not, dad hired some amazing lawyers who managed to bring gag orders down on the entire thing until he can be found. So, it's not in the news. No one at school knows that my father is behind one of the largest Ponzi schemes ever, or that possibly even some of their own parents are affected.

No one knows that one of my father's lawyers finally reached out to me to let me know that "my father and them" had agreed that the best place for me was to just stay at school until they could "resolve the misunderstanding."

Right, "misunderstanding." Like someone got their facts mixed up about my dad embezzling billions from the fund he ran.

So, stay at school. Keep my head down. Keep smiling and pretend everything's fine? Well, that sucks, but it's doable. Or, it was doable, until the other shoe dropped. Because you know what happens when you're wanted for fraud, embezzlement, and securities crimes and you skip out on bail?"

...They freeze your accounts. All of them. And all of a sudden, you start to realize how meaningless those little plastic cards in your purse are with nothing behind them.

I got one call from one of his lawyers telling me what was happening. But his only advice was to "keep my head down" until they reached out. A week after that though, I sort of stopped hearing from them. No one answers my calls. No one returns emails. Nothing.

I know, poor little rich girl, right? But when your entire life is credit cards and shopping accounts, it can fall apart real quick, let me tell you. I wasn't in immediate danger. I mean, I was at boarding school, which has a Michelin-chef-run dining hall. So, it's not like I was going to have to sleep on a park bench or go hungry. But, that's only good through the end of the semester. And after that, I'm not exactly sure how I'm supposed to pay the fifty grand for the second half of the school year at Winchester.

Oh, and if that wasn't enough to worry about? Well, it turns out it wasn't just rich country-club types my dad stole from. He also, in his infinite wisdom, decided to steal money from-

"Well well well! Look who we got here!"

I cringe, shivering as I look up at the sound of Lorenzo's voice. The greasy, scruffy, portly Italian man in the ill-fitting suit with a cigar hanging out of his lips, eyes me in a way that makes my skin crawl. It's that look that makes me want to wrap a shapeless blanket around myself or take a shower.

"Is it break time already?"

I swallow thickly, my hands twisting in my lap as I look at him.

"I-I just-"

He smiles wickedly. "You just... what, decided to renege on our deal? You want to pay up the other way we discussed?"

I want to throw up, and he sees the disgust on my face and starts to laugh.

"No? You sure?"

"Sorry, I was just-"

"You were fucking off is what you were doing!" he snaps, the grin vaporizing as he glares at me. He's got two of his goons with him, lurking over his shoulder, and the two of them eye with me with about as much subtlety as Lorenzo.

Lorenzo as in Lorenzo Tonelli. As in, top of the food chain in the Tonelli crime family. As in, the mob.

As in, my dad stole money from the fucking mob. And now that he's hiding out God knows where, and now that my mother is off in Greece, and now that all of our accounts are frozen?

...Well guess who's come to me to collect on what my family owes him.

So, that's where I'm at. I'm broke, my father and stepmother have completely abandoned me, I've got the mob breathing down my neck, literally, and I just gave my first ever lap dance in a fucking strip club to my fucking high school Principal.

Shoot me, please.

"Listen sweetheart," Lorenzo hisses, glaring at me. "We had a deal."

"Lorenzo-"

"Mr. Tonelli!" One of the goons barks, making me tremble.

"Mr. Tonelli," I say quietly. "I don't know where my dad is, but I know when he comes back, he'll-"

"When he comes back, it'll be in fucking leg irons," Lorenzo sneers. "And you know who they're going to make him pay back first? It'll be the IRS, then the other rich country club assholes. Then the lawyers. You see who's missing from that list?"

I swallow. "You?"

"Smart girl!" he chirps, glaring at me. "So, like I said before, there are two ways here. You work that debt off shaking that nice little jailbait ass up on that stage and in those private rooms. Or?"

He grins lecherously, and my stomach turns. He's already made it abundantly clear how else I can pay off the debt.

"This might be your first fucking night, but you damn well better know by now that walking out on a private show is a no-no," he snaps.

"He paid for two songs, and they were ov-"

"Uh-uh," he mutters. "Almost over isn't 'over.' You stopping at 'almost over' means complaints, and guys getting pissed about cheap whores like you stealing their money."

My jaw tightens, fire sparking behind my eyes, and Lorenzo spots it. He grins widely, wagging a finger at me.

"Oh, there it is! There's that fire! You mad, sweetheart? Not used to being talked to like that, huh? Rich girls don't get called cheap whores, do they?"

He moves closer to me, and I stand, shivering as he steps right up to me. The sour smell of body odor and cheap cigars wafts over me, and my stomach tightens as he grins lecherously.

"You know, maybe dancing just ain't for you. Maybe you don't want to perform for all those guys out there. And hey, sweetheart," he smiles a sickly smile. "I get it, really. So how about we go with our other deal, huh? No more dancing for all those other guys. No endless private rooms. Instead?"

He winks, and I almost throw up.