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.
The floors were carpeted with stains all over, and it wasn't even three hundred square feet. There wasn't a bar here since Hanson, our manager, thought people wouldn't pay for it. What sucks is that this place could be something more. It had potential; it had the space.
If only Hanson wasn't a complete fucking tool, he could really get this place renovated, and it would make working conditions better. But other than him being a douche, he was a cheap bastard too. There was a man sitting on the sofa, a man I hadn't seen around before, and he looked unamused.
He had a glass cup in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He looked like he was in his late fifties and was tailored in a dark blue suit that screamed expensive and posh. He looked out of place, like he didn't belong, and it had me questioning if I was even in the right room.
He lifted his eyes to me and took a sip of his drink, and patted the spot next to him. I walked over to him and sat down as he asked. He had a wedding ring on, gold, not silver, but it wasn't uncommon for married men to be here. In some perverse way, they were even more aggressive and revolting than the unmarried men.
"What is your name?" His voice was firm and resilient.
I was confused about why he wasn't groping me or trying to get me to dance. No man ever came to this club, requested a private room just so they could talk to you. No man was that chivalrous.
"Fairy." I gave him my stage name.
Most girls made up their stage names or went by the color of their hair or another distinctive marker. I had fairy wings tattooed on my back. The tattoo wasn't detailed and an overtly huge one that took up my entire back, but very simple and sexy.
I had them propositioned right underneath my shoulders so that when I danced, it looked like the wings were moving and flapping. So, instead of choosing the nickname angel, I decided on Fairy.
He chuckled, and it sounded like pebbles shaking in a jar. "Your real name."
He turned his head slightly to face me, and I was met with dark brown eyes. He exhaled the smoke and leaned his hand over to drop the butt of the cigarette on the ground. He crushed it with his shoe but kept his eyes on me.
I smiled politely, hoping that this conversation wouldn't turn for the worst. Men hated no, and more than anything, men loved power and control. Hanson wouldn't defend me if I were to scream out for help, and over the years, I'd stopped screaming.
Either I could handle it, or I'd force myself to. I'd learn over the years that no one helped anyone. Nothing in this world came easy and free, and even though it was a particularly hard lesson to learn, it stuck with me.
"I'm sorry, I don't give that away."
"How about we make a deal?" He suggested randomly, and I gave him a dubious look. "You simply give me your name, and I'll grant you a wish."
My brows furrowed as I studied his face. He looked serious. Genuinely serious.
"A wish?" I speculated.
"Yes. One wish."
"Just for my name?"
He downed his drink and played with the cup in his hand. "Yes."
"How do I know this doesn't have any strings attached or that you're not bluffing? I don't even know you. I've never seen you here before."
"I'm old. I don't have much patience for these types of institutions. I'm here passing by this town on business. My men have worked hard and tiring, and I've given them the weekend off, you see." He started, and I listened intently.
"We were supposed to be leaving Monday morning, but it's late, and evidently, I'm still here. I'm a punctual man, and nothing usually keeps me off my schedule. My men told me a story earlier today. They say that a particularly odd woman in a pink wig with glitter all over her face was beaten yesterday for trying to protect a fellow dancer.
I didn't think much of it, and my men usually never report such stories and gossip to me. I'm a fair man. I believe in right and wrong. Do you?"
I stiffened at the memory he recalled. It was one of our newest recruits. I doubted she was eighteen, and we've all given her advice, but the girl was stubborn to want to make it on her own.
Two drunken men had drugged her and tried to rape her in the booth and would have been successful if I hadn't knocked one out with an ashtray. Hanson intervened and slapped me hard, and I closed my eyes briefly at the memory of the stinging and swelling of my cheek.
I had covered it up incredulously with makeup, but his words had me feeling like it was on display.
"What's your point?"
"Your wish, my dear, what is it?" He repeated his question.
"To be immortal, but I doubt you can grant that to me."
"You have a look in your eyes. It's like fire and murder." He observed intently and then stood up. "It reminds me of myself when I was young. Sadly, a youth potion does not exist, or else I would have gotten my hands on it already, but I can grant you the next best thing."
"Which is?" I inquired.
"Power." I stood up, and he reached and pulled out folded pieces of paper. "These are the ownership paperwork for this strip club. It's a contract that I'm signing the rights all over to you. I need your name, so I can transfer it all to you."
I was stunned as he handed me the papers. It was true. It was the ownership papers to this bar, and Hanson had signed it all over to him. What the hell? Was this man joking? How in the hell did he get the paperwork?
Hanson didn't even tell us he was selling. That fucker. He probably sold it for any price, he was a cheap bastard. I couldn't stop staring at the evidence clearly in my hand that he was truly giving it all to me.
It was one strip club, one that, if fallen in the right hands, could soar and rocket high with sales and profit. I was smart, despite my not having a college degree, and I knew that this opportunity was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Nothing would ever happen like this to me ever again.
"You're giving it to me.... just like that?"
"Yes. You don't owe me a single thing. It's yours. You'll never see me again."
"My name is Nyra. Nyra Carter."
He pulled out a pen from his side pocket, and I handed him the papers back. I saw him scribble my name over the lines and then sign them himself. I signed them as well, and then he was handing them back to me.
"Good luck, Ms. Carter. You're smart, and I know with this, you'll be one step closer to power. I believe in you, and I wish you nothing but the best." He extended his hand to me, and I shook it.
"Thank you," I said, but it felt useless to thank this stranger for what he did to me.
For what he did, no thank you would ever be sufficient. This man was giving me the key to power, and I'd use it to my full advantage. I wouldn't let it go to waste.
"If I can give you one piece of advice, it's this; don't trust anyone."
"I already don't."
"Good. Be safe. Take care."
With that, he turned his back and walked out of the booth. He left me to stand there with the deed to the club in my hands and a powerful feeling surging through my veins.
A/N: Hello my loves! I hope you enjoy the slight introduction to Nyra Carter. I hope you love her just as I have. Happy Reading. Also would love to hear your thoughts, dont be shy. Comment anything, I love to see it