THEY ALL KNEW.
Not a soul breathed; they didn't need to, the music did the breathing for them.
Her long black hair frames her face, curly and wild.
But she's wilder.
Crazy in love by Beyonce, the fifty shades version, rung out.
Her hips swing sensually to the music, claiming the stage.
Not a soul objects; they give it to her freely.
And God what a great decision.
The chorus starts, sending her into a shock of wild rhythmic sensuality.
She swings her hair, holding it back, throwing her head back, blood red nails pulling her bottom lip down her neck.
Her back arches, she bites her lip.
The music commands her body, making her tantalizing body lurch forward and backwards, swinging her sensually.
Her eyes don't open, not once.
She swings on the pole, upside down, inside out; whichever way the beat moves her.
Murmuring has stopped, small talk is nonexistent.
It's just her and the music.
Until it stops.
The beat possessing her leaves her body, and she snaps her eyes open.
She caught his eye right away.
The hypnotic mood dissipates, and she leaves as gracefully as came.
She will do nicely, the man thinks.
Esperanza exits the stage, her heart beating out of her chest. This wasn't just the thrill of the stage; that man.
Something about that man...
"Siren," Her boss pants, "Private dance. Room 1."
Esperanza's brows raise.
"What? I didn't agree to this-!"
Hudson nods frantically, his breath still laboured.
"They asked for you specifically, Siren."
He breathed normal long enough to warn her.
"They are dangerous men, Siren. Please them, but not too well."
Saying nothing, Esperanza embodies Siren and glides to room one.
The man blew out a huff of smoke, filling the room with the smell of the cigar.
He was impatient; he had things to do.
And watching a whore fuck a pole wasn't one of them.
He was going kill that motherfucker when he got his hands on h—
A strip of light flashed, signaling the opening and closing of the door.
Sitting back in the leather sectional, he watched with her with cold eyes, a dangerous smirk on his face.
But her eyes were just as cold, her face just as blank and her heart just as numb.
He simply didn't scare her.
Salvatore watched the small woman saunter in, and for a moment he wondered if she'd seen him.
She didn't say anything that would suggest she did.
The music began, Crazy in Love, same song as before.
She was lazy and she was supposed to be at home anyway.
Seductively, she glided over to him, standing between his legs.
Salvatore eyed her, but otherwise regarded her coldly.
A whore's a whore.
A pretty whore just means she costs more.
"How long will this take?" He said coldly.
"I can leave. I'd much rather, actually," she responded just as coldly.
It didn't bother nor intrigue Salvatore. At least not yet.
"Do what you were paid to do, and leave."
Saying nothing further, she danced to music, disregarding him.
She danced in front of him, careful not to touch him.
She couldn't see his face, not completely, but she completely didn't care.
Salvatore looked on in bemusement and slight horror, as the woman danced in front of him, staying far from him.
Narrowing his eyes, he grabbed her waist, only to find his hand brushed away.
"No touching." her monotone voice informed him, her body moving on its own.
"How much to touch?"
He smirked. Everyone has a price.
But instead of answering him, she continued dancing until the song ended.
When it the last note died, she left the room.
Salvatore fumed. He didn't get dismissed, and he didn't dismiss her.
Fury rocketed him to his feet, following her into her little changing room.
She said nothing about his six foot five presence.
"Did I dismiss you?" he seethed.
She said nothing. She wiped off the makeup on her face in relief.
Salvatore glared at the back of her head. He took a fist full of those black curls and pulled them back.
"I asked you a question, whore. Answer me!"
Her face remained blank. His eyes bored into hers, the emptiness making him look away feeling guilty.
"Go. You're fired."
He watched her take all her accessories off, take her bag, and leave without a word.
Not a sound.
What she did do however, was smile.
She smiled at him.
Genuinely, as if he'd done her some huge favor.
His brows furrowed and his eyes shifted until they stung.
He felt guilty. He could kill ten men point blank while they pleaded for their lives, with no remorse.
Now, he felt guilty, remorseful, regretful.
He felt awful.
He felt like a piece shit.
Rightly so, he was a piece of shit.
He had to get rid of this stinging behind his eyes, this pain in his chest.
He barged into Hudson's office, her boss, his club owner, demanding to know what her name was, where she lives, anything.
Sadly, he shook his head.
"I don't know, sir. She came here a year ago, covered in bruises and smiling; I asked her if she was okay, she said she was fine. Just asked if she could dance."
Salvatore's stomach dropped. "Dance?"
"Yeah. She loves to dance. She asked if she could, without anything else; No papers, no names, no striping or sex just dancing. She looked she needed help; food, somewhere to go, so I agreed."
"So she...she just dances? The whole time?"
Hudson nodded confused. He had just said that.
"Yes. She dances, thanks me with a smile and leaves."
Salvatore felt his head throb, his eyes burn. He closed then, a foreign pressure building behind them.
He called her a whore; why did even he do that?
And to make matters worse, she wasn't. She didn't say anything?
Why didn't she tell him?
He scoffed at himself. I wouldn't tell me either.
Still, he knew she was probably going to go somewhere and get hurt.
He'd probably killed her.
Most likely, that woman would be dead within a week in this city.
"What do you know her as?"
"Siren. But she didn't even choose that name. The crowd gave it to her. She answers by it, so..."
She was alone. She was by herself, didn't take anything. Not a flashlight, a jacket.
Salvatore sank down and in the chair.
What had he done?
God, what had he done?