My best friend’s happy energy along with my high is playing a significant role on my courage right now as we walk through the deadly quiet room. Stoned and buzzed white eyes follow us as Pyro leads us to the pole stage in the middle of the room.

He helps us on the stage while some others bring out a man who’s wearing a black bag, and they sit him in the main front seat. The bag over him is so large that it practically covers his arms too.

“Lights,” Pyro calls out. “Music.”

As the main lights flick off and the stage lights come on, it’s clear this setup isn’t here on a temporary basis. It’s permanent, but it thoroughly eases my nerves. I can see no one, not even the president we’re here to entertain.

“Star, let’s do this.” Hazel smiles.

“Prez, for your thirtieth birthday the brothers and I felt you needed a slice of heaven.” Pyro chuckles as I hear a sharp intake of breath. “Meet Star and Hazel.” And then the music gets louder as we begin our routine.

We’re on our last trick. With my legs extended out, Hazel is holding me in a superman roll. Someone grips my ankle, pulling my body around so hard that Hazel slides down, and I almost tumble off the pole. So many things in that moment could’ve gone wrong from that one little touch. Like landing on my shoulder and breaking my collarbone, or Hazel falling and breaking her neck; we help one another down, both seething with anger.

“Music off, lights on now motherfuckers,” she screams. If you rent out Rich’s girls, you know you respect every word out of their mouths.

I turn in the direction I felt the grip, and there is a drunken f**ktard smiling at me while people are groaning. I walk slowly over to him and crouch down with a fake smile as I run my fingernail under his dirty ass chin. He’s not wearing a cut, so while I make my point, I hope I don’t disrespect anyone of importance. The thing about being sweet back before my life went to shit was that even though my father is a raving lunatic, he made sure I knew how to defend myself.

“Are you the one who touched me?” I purr.

When his head bobs up and down like an excited Three Stooges character, I know this ass**le almost hurt my friend and me.

“Do you know why there are no touching rules?” I ask sweetly.

“Star, I’ll handle it.” Pyro walks up behind me on the stage.

“Pyro, she’s got this,” Hazel hisses at him.

I feel him behind me; he is about maybe a foot away. At least I know I have my distance as I make my decision.

“There’s so many rules baby, so many, but the main reason you don’t touch during a dual performance,” I say, standing up slowly, “is because it takes every bit of strength each partner has to do those sweet little tricks of ours. So when your nasty hand gripped my ankle, and almost cost me and my best friend a broken bone, I get a little f**king pissed,” I scream as I hop off the stage. That dirty drunk just gulps as I stand in front of him. “Do you know who I work for? I work for Rich. Do you know what would happen to you if I told him I was involuntarily touched while doing a performance? No? Well it would be a lot worse than what I’m going to do to you.”

“Oh shit,” Hazel breathes as I dig my stiletto into the guys junk, causing him to yelp out in pain.

“I consider all of my body parts precious, and my best friend’s too. Seeing as you like touching, and you almost f**ked shit up, I’m gonna make sure your no doubt small penis doesn’t work for a terribly long time,” I growl as I pull my stiletto out just enough to let him breathe before kicking with all my strength. Groper goes flying backwards, skidding across the floor.

The room erupts, and I am boiling mad as Pyro grips my shoulder and squeezes. I don’t turn around; I just close my eyes as I say, “I need a second.”

“Yeah baby you do,” he chuckles as he leans down into my ear. “In my room in the cabinet above my microwave is a bottle of bourbon. Go do a few shots.”

I’m about to ask why I can’t just go up to their bar in the corner, but I realize he’s trying to give me a breather.

“Don’t let anyone touch her while I’m gone Pyro, so help me,” I grit out.

“She’s good with me sugar; go cool off.”

I don’t even look at anyone as I walk away angry. If anything happened to Hazel, I would lose it. I didn’t even take a peek at the mysterious president. My eyes are that clouded with hate.

3

I fling the cabinet open. There sits the bourbon and a couple of shot glasses with enormous boobs painted on them. Well at least he has some class and doesn’t drink from the bottle. I flop down on the bed with my back towards the door and smile when the music turns back on. I know that Hazel is quieting down the chaos. She’s been doing this since she was eighteen. Six long years, she always says. My anger starts subsiding as each shot goes down. If this gig gets screwed up, I will be in so much trouble. I flop backwards and stretch my legs up the window, breathing in and out. I got twenty minutes maybe before I need to be back out there.

Five songs play as I lay backwards, my head finally cooled off, and my vision comes back to life. I don’t hear the door open, so when a chair is turned backwards, set next to the bed and Pyro speaks, I’m relieved it isn’t someone else.

“You good?”

“I’m good; I’m so, so sorry,” I apologize.

This is my thing. I’m a nut job. I do something, and then I regret it somehow. I don’t regret putting that jerk in his place, but I do regret making a scene. What happened with Allen has me so messed up in the head that I don’t ever think I’ll be right again.