Ch. 1: The Strip Club

“I need you to be a stripper,” Jubilee announced.

Isaac choked on his milk. Not figuratively but literally. He was drinking a cup of milk when his best friend dropped the news like an atomic bomb during World War 2. He was unprepared.

“Excuse me?” Isaac croaked, hastily wiping the creamy liquid coating his lips.

They were sitting on his living room floor, which was also his bedroom and kitchen. Isaac lived in a ten-square-meter studio apartment room originally rented to college students on a low budget, which would have been him if he hadn’t dropped out in his second year. The rent was cheap, and even if he could hear rats crawl behind the thin walls, it was better than sleeping on the unshakable layer of grime coating the New York streets.

“I SAID I NEED YOU,” Jubilee shouted, pointing at Isaac. “TO BE A STRIPPER.”

She stood up, swaying her hips and shaking her booty, mimicking the moves she pulled off during her late-night shifts at the strip club. Isaac gave his best friend a funny look.

Isaac had always known Jubilee was an extrovert with a penchant for wild ideas, but he never imagined they would escalate to this level.

“I heard you the first time. I just don’t understand why,” Isaac elaborated.

Jubilee reclined on her elbows, her gaze drifting upward to the cracked ceiling as she explained, “Thottiana caught a bad flu and can’t make it tonight. Everyone else is busy working second jobs or hanging out with their sugar daddies.”

“Thottiana?” Isaac raised an eyebrow.

“Stage name,” she replied casually, crossing one slim leg over the other.

“I’ll pass.”

“But this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!”

“To be called Thottiana?” he snorted.

“To be the center of attention of a handful of powerful men and women!” she exclaimed enthusiastically.

“Jubilee, I’m a terrible dancer.”

“I’ll teach you! If you cover for Thottiana, you can keep the tips you earn. Strippers earn more than you think, especially if they know how to shake their booty.” She tilted her head back, lowering her gaze. “Which you definitely have. You aren’t working tonight, are you?”

Isaac hesitated, torn between his two other part-time jobs.

“Not tonight,” he admitted reluctantly.

“Perfect!”

“No, not perfect. I can’t fill in for her.”

“Can’t or you won’t?”

“Take your pick.”

Isaac knew how chaotic nightclubs could be. Anything that involved alcohol, rich people, and questionable substances rarely ended well.

“Don’t you want to meet a rich, hot daddy who’ll spoil you?” she pried.

“No.”

“Li-ar,” Jubilee sing-songed, playfully bopping Isaac’s nose. “You’ll be paid double whatever you earn at your other jobs.”

Isaac pursed his lips when she mentioned money. Jubilee knew he was in desperate need of it. Her grin widened and she reached into her purse, handing him an envelope of cash. Isaac took it tentatively, his brow furrowing in confusion.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” Isaac asked.

Jubilee chuckled and replied, “Smell it. Throw it in the air. Glue ’em to your nips! Whatever you want, baby boy. This is your pay if you cover up for her. Didn’t you say you were running short on money this month? What will you do if they come knocking at your door again? He won’t let you off easy if you miss another deadline, y’know. I swear, that thug has nothing better to do than to pick on guys like you,” Jubilee muttered angrily. “I hope he burns in hell.”

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“Careful. Hound has eyes and ears everywhere,” Isaac grumbled.

Hound was one of New York’s most notorious mafia leaders. No one wanted to get involved with him. Unfortunately for Isaac, he didn’t have a choice. He owed him money. Lots of it. And Hound wouldn’t let him off the leash until he paid back every dime.

“He does?” Jubilee queried. She raised her middle finger and waved it in the air, shouting, “Fuck you, Hound!”

Isaac bit back his laughter, quickly pulling her hand down.

“Shhh, I’m serious.”

The tension eased between them, and Jubilee cautiously asked, “So, you’re coming tonight?”

“Do I have to wear a skimpy outfit?”

“Of course, you have to wear a skimpy outfit. You need to make the crowd want you. It’s all about giving them a fantasy. You have a nice body, use it to your advantage! Those thick thighs and strong arms will make the crowd scream your name.” She chewed her inner cheek thoughtfully. “Well, Thottiana’s name.”

Jubilee unzipped her bag and tossed him an outfit.

Isaac caught it with a puzzled expression. “Where’s the rest of it?”

“The rest of what?”

“The outfit.”

“That is the outfit,” Jubilee stated matter-of-factly.

Isaac stared at the latex speedo. He scowled when it emitted a strange rubbery noise, the tightness of the material leaving little to the imagination. How was he supposed to even fit into it? It was as if it was intentionally made not to fit.

“This is not an outfit,” he stated.

Jubilee rolled her emerald eyes.

“It covers your private part, that’s more than enough. Latex speedos are so in at the moment! Do you know how hard it was to get my hands on that? The strippers in the club are catty as hell. I felt like my aunt on Black Friday.” She shuddered. “You’ll look great in it!”

But Isaac wasn’t as enthusiastic about the latex speedos as she was.

“Fine.” She huffed, rummaging through her bag and pulling out a pair of ripped jeans. “You can wear this.”

“No shirt?”

“I gave you pants, don’t be greedy.”

But Isaac frowned and Jubillee groaned.

“Fine,” she huffed, pulling out a white shirt she had brought just in case. “You can wear this, but if you want a coat and scarf, Alaska is over there.”

***

Isaac spent the rest of the afternoon learning how to dance. He didn’t have a metal pole to practice on, so Jubilee taught him how to lap dance instead. When they arrived at the strip club, there was already a line of people waiting outside. They skipped the line and were about to enter, but the bouncer stopped Isaac before he could get through.

“Who’s this?” he asked, his gaze scrutinizing Isaac with suspicion.

“Relax, Bojo. He’s filling in for one of the girls,” Jubilee reassured.

“He doesn’t look like a stripper.”

“He’s wearing latex speedos underneath his pants,” Jubilee whispered suggestively, her voice low and teasing. “He’s covering for Thotianna.”

“Who’s that?”

Isaac’s brows furrowed, wondering if Thotianna was even real.

“You’re asking too many questions,” Jubilee quickly said, laughing a bit too loudly.

When Bojo fixed his eyes on Isaac again, she wrapped her arm around Bojo’s meaty shoulder and pulled him closer to her.

“C’mon, let him in. He’s with me,” she purred. “Who knows? Isaac might give you a lap dance after his shift ends.”

Jubilee batted her eyes playfully. Bojo stepped aside with a grunt. “You know where to find me,” he muttered, his gaze fixed straight ahead.

Jubilee fist-pumped the air, pulling Isaac past the large man. Once they were out of earshot, Isaac hissed, “A lapdance?”

“I had to do what I had to do.” She shrugged. “Oh, but you might want to leave through the back door tonight.”

They changed into their outfits and met in the hallway.

“You ready, Thottiana?” Jubilee grinned.

“Does my stage name have to be Thottiana?”

“You can be Thotty Mc’Thot if you want.”

Isaac grimaced. “I’ll stick with Thottiana.”

“Thought so.”

They pushed open the twin doors, and the loud music filled their ears, the thumping bass beats vibrating through the floor. The strip club was dimly lit, with neon lights in various colors casting a hazy glow over the room. The walls were lined with mirrors, reflecting the stage in the center of the room where the strippers performed. Jubilee disappeared into the crowd, and Isaac was left alone, but he knew he couldn’t stand there all night.

A job is a job, Isaac thought to himself. If there was one thing Isaac was good at, it was making money. He put on a smile and went to a group of men who had just arrived.

“Can I get you anything?” he asked. The three men turned towards him, studying him from head to toe with less excited eyes. They weren’t impressed by his outfit.

“Aren’t you overdressed for a stripper?” one of them grumbled, tilting his head to stare at his ass.

“Aren’t you too sober for a client?” Isaac asked in return, and the man’s brows shot up. “Order a drink, and I’ll take something off.”

The man flashed him a wolfish grin.

“Now we’re talking,” the man chuckled greedily. “Get us a bottle of champagne.”

Isaac didn’t hesitate to comply, heading to the bar to fetch the most expensive bottle of champagne he could find. But his plans were abruptly derailed when a drunken patron carelessly pushed him aside to get closer to the front stage. Isaac stumbled, but he felt a strong arm wrap around his waist, preventing him from falling. But the bottle slipped from Isaac’s grasp, shattering into pieces and spilling its contents at Isaac’s feet and someone else’s. Dread filled his stomach. That bottle was worth two thousand dollars!

Slowly, Isaac raised his gaze, his breath catching in his throat as he locked eyes with the striking figure standing behind him. Handsome was an understatement—he was gorgeous. This man exuded an aura of danger and mystery that sent a shiver down Isaac’s spine. Black hair, sharp, angular features, and his icy gaze seemed capable of peering into anyone’s soul.

Intricate tattoos adorned his hands and wrists while a delicate flower tattoo graced the center of his neck. But the man’s mismatched eyes captured Isaac’s attention most—one black as night, the other a piercing grey. His left eye had a horizontal scar that stretched from his brow to his lower lashes as if someone had slashed a knife down his eye. He couldn’t have gotten it from a normal fight, and considering his heartless gaze and intimidating presence, Isaac wouldn’t be surprised if he had committed a crime or two.

“Two thousand,” the man stated, his deep voice making Isaac’s chest tighten. How did he know how much the bottle was worth? But then he added, “My shoes are worth two thousand.”

Isaac narrowed his eyes, something bitter filling his chest.

“Apologies for ruining your shoes, sir,” he growled. “I’m sure you can wipe them with some tissues.”

The man’s gaze swept over Isaac from head to toe, his calculative eyes assessing him as if estimating his body’s worth before concluding, “I can think of other ways to make up for this.”