The Rebel of Raleigh High (Raleigh Rebels #1)(26)

“Sure thing.” I hang up the phone and head through the back, stepping over a pile of empty Corona boxes that have been tossed back here by the girls. Past the kitchen, and then past Monty’s office, I hurry down the corridor and boot the back emergency exit open, throwing my shoulder into the door when it sticks.

In the alleyway behind the Rockwell, a startled girl with bright blonde hair nearly jumps out of her skin when the door swings back and hits the wall by the dumpsters. Her dark eyes shine brightly. She’s wearing a coat with a fur trim around the collar and red PVC knee-high boots with a heel that could be used as a fucking prison shank. She nearly shits herself when she sees me.

For once, I do recognize her, and I don’t know what she’s told Montgomery, but she is not eighteen. This girl is in my fucking biology class; her name is… fuck, it’s right on the tip of my tongue. She pales when our eyes meet. “Oh, shit. It’s you.”

“Likewise.” I turn to head back inside. “Look, I can’t lie to the boss. He wants to know if you’re old enough to dance, and you’re not, so…”

“Please. Wait. Alex, right? I need the money, okay. My mom’s blown her entire paycheck at the casino. Again. We can’t be late with the rent this month, or our asshole landlord’s going to kick us out. I can—”

“Stop. You have to be eighteen. There’s nothing I can do.”

Her eyes have grown round. Bright with unshed tears. This is obviously not an act; I’ve borne witness to enough of those before to see this for what it is: sheer desperation. I’m not unsympathetic to her situation. Far from it. I’ve been corralled into some seriously dark corners when I’ve been struggling to make ends meet, too, but lying to Monty is just something that I cannot, will not do. She looks like she’s about to burst into tears. “Look. I can take you in to see Monty. Maybe there’s some other way for you to earn out tonight, but I’m going to be honest with him. You read me?”

Somehow, I’ve conjured hope into her eyes with this suggestion. I immediately kick myself. Monty’s hardly a bleeding heart. Definitely not one for sob stories. Still, this is all I can do for her, so it is what it is. She follows me into the building, unsteady in her stripper heels. I have to catch hold of her at one point to make sure she doesn’t topple over. She shoots me a grateful smile, but not a single word is passed between us as I lead her back up the corridor toward Monty’s office. I knock once and wait for him to call us in before I push the door open.

Montgomery’s office is not what you might expect. It’s clean, for starters, while everything else at the Rockwell bears a patina of grease and sticky, spilled alcohol. On the wall, landscape paintings depict balmy summer scenes from Tuscany and Provence. Behind Monty’s white marble desk (completely clear, besides a computer screen and a single framed photograph of Montgomery’s dear departed mother, Babs), the man himself sits, wearing a bright red Christmas sweater with Rudolph emblazoned across the front of it.

“S’up, Kid,” Monty mutters. He’s yet to look up at me from his computer screen. His bright hair is long, tied back into a ponytail with a leather thong. Angela always says he reminds her of Brad Pitt from ‘Legend of the Falls.’ For a nearly sixty-year-old guy, he’s in pretty decent shape.

“Well?” he asks.

“Seventeen. Senior at Raleigh,” I tell him.

Montgomery huffs. He finally looks up, his eyebrows forming one, bushy line. He quickly glances at the girl beside me and sighs. “What are you doing here, sweetheart? You’re still a baby. This place ain’t for you.”

The girl takes a deep breath and shrugs. “I don’t have any other choice. This is the end of the road. I either come in here and I make money, or my family is out on the street. End of story.”

“I don’t like when need drives young women to my doorstep. If they don’t want to dance, then they’re not gonna be good at it.”

“I am good at it. And I can fake enthusiasm just like all the other women you’ve ever met, believe me.” Her voice doesn’t shake, which is pretty fucking impressive.

Montgomery leans forward across his desk. “Forgive me for saying so, Sweet Thing, but you don’t look like you got much meat on you.”

“Forgive me for saying so, but you’re wrong.” She unfastens the fur-trimmed coat and lets it drop from her shoulders, revealing a heavily doctored Raleigh High cheerleading outfit. The skirt barely covers the top of her thighs, and the cropped top had been hacked low around the neck, displaying her considerable cleavage. The girl has tits, that’s for sure. Montgomery’s eyes her critically, like he’s assessing a horse before buying it, testing to see if it’s sound.

“All right. Point made,” he concedes. “When’s your birthday?”

“December eleventh,” the girl replies.

“Fine. You can dance here, starting tonight, but you don’t get naked until December twelfth. Understand?”

She nods, covering herself with her coat again.

“And you dance upstairs only. No dancing down in the basement.”

“Why, what’s in the basement?”

Monty squints at her. He’s deciding whether or not to tell her the truth, but in the end, he doesn’t have much of a choice. If she’s gonna dance here at all, she’s gonna find out all of the Rock’s secrets soon enough. “A club. A kink club. People go down there to fuck. If you’re smart, you’ll give the place and the customers a wide berth. You stay upstairs on the bar floor, you strip down to your underwear, and then you take whatever tips you make and get out of here. I see so much as a nipple and you’re done. Have I made myself clear?”