A Choking Past

"What do you want?"

Red's voice came out shakier than she intended. Miguel's grip on her wrist was tight not painful, but firm enough to send a clear message that he was in control now.

His mood had shifted completely. Gone was the man who'd just come undone beneath her. This Miguel was serious. Tense. Something dark flickered behind his eyes.

"Why did your mood change?" she asked, trying to pull her hand back. "You were just..."

Miguel looked down at where his fingers circled her wrist and released her quickly, like he'd just realized how tight his hold was. "Don't be afraid."

"I'm not afraid."

"I'm just not in the mood for all this right now." He gestured vaguely at the room, at her half-naked body, at the space where they'd just been grinding against each other minutes ago. "I came here tonight to get away from the issues in my world. I want quiet and companionship. That's all."

Red shifted uncomfortably on the couch, pulling her knees together. The air in the room felt different now. The sexual heat had evaporated, replaced by something awkward and tense.

"That's funny," she said carefully. "Coming to a strip club looking for quiet."

"Is it?"

"And I'm not exactly the best fit for a companion." She tried to keep her voice light, professional. "My job description is to make clients happy and make them spend money. Not to sit around listening to them rant about whatever shit they're going through."

Miguel picked up the champagne bottle she'd been drinking from earlier. He brought it to his lips and drank deeply, his throat working as he swallowed. When he lowered it, he looked at her with an unreadable expression.

"You can make me happy by just sitting here in this dim room with me and finishing this bottle."

Red stared at him. "That's it? You paid all that money to Uncle Clifford just to... sit?"

"Yes."

"Then why not just go to a regular bar? Why come here?"

Miguel didn't answer. He just took another drink.

Red's stomach twisted with something uncomfortable. Rejection? Confusion? She wasn't sure. But suddenly she felt exposed in a way that had nothing to do with being topless.

"If you don't find me attractive enough," she said, her voice tight, "Uncle Clifford can send in another girl. He has plenty of options. Luz would probably..."

"Stop." Miguel set the bottle down hard enough that it clinked against the glass table. "I wouldn't have paid Uncle Clifford to make you exclusive to me if I didn't find you attractive."

"Then why?"

"Actually, I'm thinking of restricting you from dancing on the main stage too." His tone was casual, but his eyes were intense. Fixed on her in a way that made her skin prickle.

"I wonder how much Clifford would charge for that. Because I don't want other men looking at you. Not in VIP sessions. Not on the public stage. Nowhere."

The words hit Red like ice water.

*I don't want other men looking at you.*

Suddenly she wasn't in the VIP room anymore.

♡♡♡

She was fifteen years old, standing in a warehouse that smelled like oil and rust and. Her father was on his knees, hands tied behind his back, blood dripping from his nose. Her mother was crying, begging. And Nacho, was sitting in a chair like a king, his eyes crawling over Inés's developing body like she was merchandise.

"I've always fancied your daughter, Carmen," Nacho had said, his voice smooth and terrible. "She's not a child anymore. Look at her."

Inés had wanted to disappear. Wanted to run. But her father's life hung in the balance.

"I'll forget the lost money," Nacho continued, never taking his eyes off Inés. "I'll release your husband. All you have to do is give me the girl. She'll be my woman. I'll take care of her. Give her anything she wants. No one will ever trouble your family again."

Carmen had looked at Inés, and actually considered it. Her own daughter.

"No," Inés had said, her voice shaking but firm. "I would rather die."

Nacho's smile had vanished. His boys had laughed nervously. No one said no to Nacho.

"The thought of you coming close to me disgusts me," Inés had continued, her teenage bravery fueled by terror and rage. "I would rather die than be your anything."

Nacho's face had gone dark. Her father had been killed two weeks later. And her mother had never forgiven her for it.

*If you'd just agreed, he'd still be alive.*

*This is your fault.*

*You killed him with your pride.*