Borgata - Book II #wattys2016

Chapter 1: Sassy Little Thing

Hi, this is Book 2 of the Vendetta series! It's a combination of romance, the mafia, and some mature scenes meant for a New Adult audience. It can be read as a standalone! Hope you enjoy! :)

xoxo

Gossip Kat

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Sam

When I was seventeen, I dropped out of high school, changed my name, chopped my hair off to a pixie cut, moved, and became a stripper.

That's right, I'm the real life version of that theatrical Tweet you sent out, when you were tired of doing your math homework.

Just for the record, I didn't just wake up one day, burn my backpack, take my clothes off, and decide it was time to be super slütty to earn my income. I dropped out of high school because I was in trouble, and my boss at the strip club, Orlando, didn't ask me any questions about my past when I approached him, desperate for a job. In fact, he just asked me if I could work the pole and waitress once in a while. It was measly pay, but I took it.

Had I ever waitressed before? No. Had I ever pole danced before? No. They both didn't seem too hard to get the hang of...

Well, I was wrong.They were hard to get the hang of, especially because I came to Orlando with minimal athletic background. When I was at home, I found myself working out and trying out yoga to strengthen my core and arms. I started seeing progress within weeks. At work, I started staying extra hours and practice my dancing. And when I wasn't doing that in my spare time, I was balancing plates full of wet rags in the back kitchen, until finally, I began to get the hang of the whole waitressing thing, and got recurring costumers as a stripper. At the end of my training, I was the Rocky of waitressing and stripping.

When I just turned eighteen, my life wasn't chardonnay and caviar, but it also wasn't a greasy cheeseburger and heart-attack salty fries, either. It was barely making enough money for my rent and sometimes putting my body-my source of income-before everything and anything. It was constantly being on edge and on the edge, depressed and slowly going insane, wondering when my past would catch up with me again, and I would need that packed suite case in my apartment with another fake ID in the front pocket.

In my world, friends were out of the question. At any moment, I would have to ditch whatever life I had and start over, and nobody wanted a friend like that.

Plus, I didn't have friends because I was a huge bîtch.

At least I admitted it. Sometimes being a bîtch was a defense mechanism; most times it was because I hated people. All they seemed to do was scréw me over and chase me down for another stab at it. Can you blame me?

Family-wise, there's not really much to say. I had no siblings growing up. I'm glad I didn't, too, because they would have loathed their childhood as much as I did. My mother became addicted to crank when I was four and overdosed when I was twelve. My father isn't worth a full-conversation.