Skeletons In Your Cupboard

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"Red?"

Miguel's voice snapped her back to the present.

She was breathing hard. Her hands were clenched into fists. And she was suddenly, violently angry.

"I'm not for sale," she bit out.

Miguel blinked. "What?"

"You don't get to decide where I dance or who looks at me." She stood up quickly, her body vibrating with anger. "You think because you throw money around, you can just... what? Own me? Control me? Decide what I do with my body?"

"I didn't say..."

"It's typical man behavior!" Her voice was rising now, all the professionalism stripped away. "Every single man I've ever met treats women like objects. Like things they can buy and negotiate for. And I will not fucking have it. Not from you. Not from anyone."

Miguel stood too, his face darkening. "You're overreacting!"

"Am I?" She laughed bitterly. "You just told me you want to restrict me from the main stage. That's not overreacting. That's you treating me like I'm something you own."

"Maybe if you didn't parade yourself around half-naked for money, men wouldn't treat you like an object!"

The words hung in the air like a slap.

Red went completely still. "What did you just say?"

Miguel's jaw clenched, but he didn't back down. "You heard me."

"Say it again," she demanded, her voice deadly quiet.

"You're being treated like an object because you parade yourself as one." His words were cold, precise. Cruel. "The men out there think you're a sexy tool to jerk off to and tip with a dollar bill because that's what you've decided to be."

Red felt like she'd been punched in the stomach.

"You have no right to judge me," she whispered.

"I judge a book by its cover." Miguel's eyes raked over her body still topless, still exposed. "And your cover tells me everything I need to know."

That broke her.

Red stepped forward and grabbed her bra from where it had fallen on the floor earlier. She yanked it on with shaking hands, not caring how it looked, just needing to be covered. To not be naked in front of this man who looked at her with such contempt.

"I'm done," she said, her voice trembling with rage. "Not just with this session. With you. Whatever deal you have with Uncle Clifford? It's over. You can ask for a refund for all I care, but don't you ever request my service again."

She headed for the door.

Miguel moved to block her path. "Wait."

"Get out of my way." Her voice was ice. "Or I'm calling Diamond."

"Red, I didn't mean like that."

"Oh, you meant it." She laughed harshly. "You think you're so high and mighty because you're some rich punk with money to burn. But in case you forgot, this neighborhood is nothing like the rich garden you come from."

She stepped closer, getting in his face. "And you frequenting P-Valley says a lot about you. About a part of yourself you're probably hiding from everyone in your perfect world. But here you are, judging me like you don't have skeletons rotting in your own closet."

Miguel's face went pale.

"I'm done with your arrogant ass," Red finished.

She tried to push past him, but Miguel pulled out a thick stack of bills from his jacket pocket. He grabbed her hand and pressed the money into it.

"This is your tip," he said roughly. "And I'll give you more if you just stay a little longer. Please."

Red looked down at the money in her hand. Hundreds. Probably two thousand dollars. Enough to cover this week's repayment and then some.

She should take it. God, she should take it.

Instead, she threw it back at him. The bills scattered in the air.

"Go to hell," she said. "Consider tonight a freebie. And the last session you'll ever get from me."

She shoved past him and yanked open the door.

"Red..."

She didn't look back.

She walked down the hallway on shaking legs, past the other VIP rooms, past the dressing room, straight out the back entrance into the cold night air.

It wasn't until she was standing in the dark parking lot, breathing hard, that the reality hit her.

She'd just rejected two thousand dollars.

Money she desperately needed. Money that would've bought her time. Money that was now scattered on the floor of VIP Room Three because her pride and her rage had made her stupid.

Red pressed her hands against her face and tried not to scream. She'd just put herself a thousand steps further from freedom.

And worse... she'd burned her bridge with her best-paying client.

Her phone buzzed in her bag. She pulled it out with trembling hands.

[Unknown Number: Payment due tomorrow morning. 8 AM. Don't be late. Or we come find you.]

Red stared at the message. Then she looked up at the dark sky and laughed. Because of course, she'd just thrown away her only way to pay Nacho. And now he was threatening to come find her where Miguel lived.

She was so fucked.