I hate this.
I hate them.
All their eyes are glued to my ass and my boobs, and I know what they want. It repulses me—I think I threw up a little in my mouth. Some are humans, some are werewolves, but both are disgusting.
It smells like alcohol and pussy in here. I'm hot and hungry, and my thong is riding up my ass. At least the dim lighting is soothing, and the music is good.
Lost in my thoughts, I move slowly, avoiding eye contact with these disgusting creatures.
I can feel Andrew watching me. He wants me to dance a little sluttier so he can make more money. He takes more than half of my earnings, but what I have left in my pockets is okay. At least I can eat, which wasn't the case a few years ago. I was so poor that I could go three days without a proper meal. Now, I have an apartment. It's unsanitary, a tiny one-bedroom place. Sometimes, I don't have hot water, and my window isn't sealed. But I have bookshelves, a bed, and a fridge. So, there's that.
Fuck, I got lost in my thoughts again.
I move around a bit, trying to stay out of sight, and spot a wolf who just downed three bottles of champagne. He has tattoos, jewelry, and expensive clothes. Jackpot. Maïa is dancing on his lap, but he's looking at me. With my long, curly light brown hair and blue eyes, I know I'm pretty decent-looking. But he's eyeing my curvy body—thick thighs, a thick ass. Men like that. But I won't lie—I know what they're REALLY looking at. My scars. My back is covered in them, and my body has a mosaic of them here and there. They see a wolf who's potentially submissive. I gamble on that every time because it makes me more money.
Maïa finally snaps out of her daze and notices he's no longer interested. With all the drugs she took earlier, I'm surprised she can still move. She glares at me, but she knows how powerful I am. I walk slowly toward him, locking eyes, keeping my face lowered.
"Hey, baby, do you want me to dance for you?"
"Aleena, I was here first. I think he's already enjoying himself, if you know what I mean," Maïa says with a wink, but the guy is already pushing her aside. She stumbles out of the way, scoffing and searching for another prey.
I step closer, running a hand down his chest and starting to dance slowly. He places his hands on my hips, brushing his thumb over my skin.
"You can't touch, sweetheart," I murmur, pushing his hands onto the armrests. I slide my body against his, looking up, making sure he gets a good view of my backside. I bite my lip and move back up. His eyes darken, and he grips the armrests tightly. If he keeps going, he'll break them. I bet Andrew would deduct it from my paycheck. This guy needs to calm the hell down.
"But your skin is so soft, and you feel so good... If you want more money, you could come home with me. I can offer you real money. I'm sure your manager takes most of your earnings. Come on, I won't bite, I promise."
I don't know if it was his predatory smile or his cologne, but suddenly, I wanted to run. My shift was almost over, so I stuck with it.
"I don't sell my body—only my moves. Thanks for the offer, though."
He wanted to add something and tried to grab me, but I changed positions, slipping just out of reach. He stayed in his seat, so I danced in front of him, running my hands over my body as I moved. In just one hour, he doubled what I had earned the entire night. He tried to touch me a few more times, and the way he looked at me made me uneasy.
I was relieved when I heard Andrew calling the end of the night and thanking the clients. More than half the girls left with men, surely making even more money. I was one of the few who refused to sell my body. After what I endured ten years ago, I don't think I ever will.
"Wow! You had quite a night! Here, take this—it's on me!" Andrew slides a shot toward me at the bar, and I down it immediately.
"Thanks."
He proceeds to count his money. I'm dismissed. He'll probably jerk off to it later. Pig.
I head to the back to change. It's a small room we all have to share, with two mirrors and a row of lockers. I don't want to linger. I hate the other girls. I hate the smell of men and sweat lingering in the air. I just want to go home, wash myself, read a book, and curl up in my pajamas.
I slip into black leggings and a gray hoodie, pull the hood over my head, and grab my backpack. I leave through the side exit because Andrew doesn't want us using the front. He keeps saying he'll eventually hire someone to watch the side door. That was two years ago.
The air is chilly, carrying a strange scent. My wolf instincts immediately go on high alert.
Something is wrong.
And then I smell it.
The cologne.