THE TOKEN Read Free Page B

her head back, keeping a death grip on the doorjamb. “Every time you come down the pole, 'kay?”
    I nod as the music begins for my set.
    “Use your good hand, hon,” she reminds me.
    There's no way I could use the bad one. It'll be the wrist for balance and faking using both.
    I don't fall apart until it's over. Then I'm at the commode throwing up my meager lunch.
    I don't notice anyone watch as I race out of the club.

~ 3 ~
     
    The hundreds fan out like a deck of perfect cards, and I move as though I'm in a dream. I scoop them up from Ty’s desk, and he stays my hand by wrapping my wrist with his large hand. My eyes skitter up to his, and I blink.
    “What?” I feel filthy every time I'm near him. He seems to know it by some pervert instinct and capitalizes on it by treating me like dirt whenever our paths cross.
    I’d tried to tell Kiki, and she flung her hands up dismissively. “No touchie!” she said and sashayed off. It's easy for her to say because he doesn’t watch her .
     
    But he touches me now.
    It's easy for her to say because I don't see him watch her .
    He tightens his hold to just shy of bruising, and I fight my natural urge to pull away.
    Ty has a hold of my bad hand, and anything can happen. As it is, my heart tries to escape my chest. I can't stand for a man to touch me. Every time it has happened in the past, it ended one way.
    His eyes linger on mine then scan to where my coat is cinched at my waist. “There's more where that came from.” His eyes hold some kind of question I don't understand. I don't want to.
    I ignore the overt innuendo. “Let me go.” All I want to do is whimper like a scared little girl. Because I am. I’m so scared. I've been doing this job for a week. The money I hold is enough to pay for half of my mom's care for the month. The entire month. It sits in my bad hand. My pinky finger pokes straight out, unable to bend correctly, and sweat dampens the dirty money.
    “No,” he says
    He squeezes imperceptibly harder, and a low sound of pain escapes my throat.
    He smiles, and I realize he's a predator. Like my stepfather. The saliva in my mouth disappears as my breathing picks up.
    The door opens, and he drops my hand as if it burns. The money floats to the floor because my hand can't hold it.
    Ty says loud enough for whoever walks in to hear, “You're such a graceful dancer, but you can't hang onto your money.” He chuckles at his joke.
    I don't think it's funny. I scoop up the money with my good hand, and the bad one throbs where it's been held too hard. Too long. I know from experience it won't work well for a solid hour.
    “Hey, boss.” Ty sounds nervous, and that makes my heart lighter.
    “What's happening here?” a man asks, his voice a deep rumble. Melodic. It vibrates through my body though my bare knees are planted on the plush carpet. My bones thrum with it as though it’s a tune that sings without permission inside the recesses of my soul.
    I don't lift my face. I don't want anyone to witness my misery as I stuff the bills in my purse. I begin to rise as a large hand cups my elbow. Warmth leeches through my thin coat and flows through my body from his touch. I gaze at the beautiful leather shoes that shine in the soft light. My eyes rise to his wrist. Vintage cuff links wink back, a sapphire the only witness to my insecurity.  My desperate need for indifference.
    However fleeting, however untouchable.
    I turn without offering thanks or a reply. His hand releases me, and I grow cold from its absence. I nearly run from the office, but I hear Ty comment about how strange I am, how all dancers are.
    The only reply I hear before that burning gaze leaves my back is, “Shut up, Ty.”
    The door clicks and I leave as quickly as I came. 
    The heat from that stare follows me.
     
    *
     
    Kiki's curls dance as she moves her head to the music in her ear buds. She looks like a duck, her head jutting and retracting to some awesomeness only she can hear. Her long