"I'm not a stripper," I corrected, my voice calm but I knew my face held a thousand emotions.
"I never asked. Besides, clients already saw you. They want to see what a southern belle can do."
"I refuse! You can't make me go out there."
Eli leaned against the door frame. "Either you go out there and dance for them, or you stay in here and do it for me."
Chin up. Smile wide. And most importantly, don't make a scene when someone gets shot. That's what they told Anastasia Merritt, a twenty-six year-old waitress at the El Royale, one of New Orleans most decorated Gentleman's Club. And by decorated, we mean in the blood that's constantly splattered on the walls. The owner was a lesser known mob gangster who didn't even make the ranks. That didn't stop him from constantly trying to prove his worth, and when he takes it too far one day, the El Royale falls into new management.
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