SUNDAY

"Nope." The word hung heavy in the air. I'd never asked because I knew it wasn't legal, and being too curious in this business could get you killed. My eyes had seen enough illegal activities at the Bunny Rabbit to understand when to mind my fucking business. But Jon was family, so I had to push. "Now I'm wondering, how did you start your business?"

"I made a damn deal with Jeremy four years ago—"

"Damn you, Jon." The name Jeremy made bile rise in my throat. I'd never met him, had no idea what he even looked like. But I'd heard enough whispered conversations among the staff. He controlled the drug trade in Boston, operating like a shadow—rarely seen but always present. Cross him and you disappeared. Period. "Tell me about the deal you had with Jeremy."

"Cerci... I—"

"You what? Let me guess. He gave you a loan to start this business, and in return, you let him use your club to make illegal money. Tell me, how did you run out of cash? What went wrong? You can't make his payments?"

"How come you know all—"

"Jon, you're an idiot, but I'm not," I snapped, fury building in my chest. "How much do you owe Jeremy?"

"I can't tell—"

"What do you mean you can't tell?"

"A lot."

"Give me a number, Jon!"

"Three hundred."

"Three hundred?"

"I mean three hundred ten thousand."

The room seemed to spin. "Could you please repeat that amount?"

"Three hundred, ten thousand—"

"How the hell—?"

"I helped him move some of his products here."

I forced a smile and reached for my purse with trembling hands. "Thanks for the information. It's been nice working with you Jon, but I'm out. I have to leave before I get dragged into trouble—"

"You're already in this mess," he called after me as I turned to leave.

"What did you say?"

"I put your name down as co-founder."

"Holy shit! You did what?"

He swallowed hard, his throat working. "When this club was established, I had to list you as co-founder, just in case anything happened. You'd be there to fight and support me. You're the only family I have—"

The second those manipulative words left his mouth, something snapped. I lunged forward, pulled my arm back, made a fist, and punched him as hard as I could in the stomach. He toppled off his chair, gasping.

"Ah damn, Cerci!" he wheezed, clutching his gut. I grabbed the counter for leverage and kicked him in the side. "Cerci, please stop! It hurts! Stop!"

"Fuck you, Jon!"

I kept kicking until Ken, the bouncer, wrapped his arms around me. But I wasn't done—I fought against his grip, still trying to land kicks. "Let go of me! I want to kill this piece of shit! Let me go, Ken!" My whole body trembled with rage. "Not only have you been cheating me with shit pay, but I'm actually a co-founder sitting on massive debt! You motherfucker! I'm completely screwed!"

"Cerci, please calm down." Ken pulled me away from Jon's crumpled form. "Just breathe! You'll be fine."

I drew in ragged breaths, my chest heaving like a cornered animal. But damn, hitting Jon had felt good. I'd been wanting to do that for ages, and now I finally had.

"Ken, I'm fine."

"You sure?"

"Yes. Thank you." He slowly released me and helped me sit.

"Cerci—"

"This is the last time I want to hear from you. I mean it," I snarled, pointing at Jon as he staggered toward me, blood staining his light blue shirt. "Go handle your business with whoever you want! Fuck! Fuck! And you better get me out of this mess, Jon, or I swear I'll hunt you down. You understand me?"

"Okay."

"You fucking coward!" I snatched my bag and stormed toward the main door, pausing only to turn back one last time. "Before I forget—I quit! Fuck you!"

Mary Poppins was officially done with this shit.

Monday:

"Sandra, please, any job you have is fine!" I was so desperate for work that I had to beg. "I'm ready to do anything, run errands, whatever you need. Nothing too far, but I need a job badly."

"Cerci, I love you and you know I do. I really appreciate how you helped me escape from Max—"

"But..." I knew there had to be a 'but' coming after those meaningless words.

"But you get angry easily when someone provokes you."

"I don't think that's true!"

She fixed me with a serious look before answering her ringing phone. "Hello, Sandra's Sparkling Maids, how can we help you? Of course... yes. Not sure... I'll check and get back to you. Thank you."

Three years ago, Sandra went by 'Spice' at the club, the only dancer who could do an aerial split while spinning in seven-inch heels. Looking at her now, you'd never guess her past. She wore a crisp ruffled shirt and sweater, glasses perched on her nose, hair pulled back in a neat professional bun. She could pass for a school administrator. I felt proud of who she'd become.

"Sorry, what were you saying?" She asked after hanging up.

"I was saying I don't get angry easily."

"Cerci, you pointed a gun at my ex-husband's face."

"Yes, but it wasn't even real! He was abusing you, for Christ's sake. How can you use that against me now? I was just trying to protect you!"

"Okay, remember when you fought that guy at the club for touching your ass?"

"I... oh God, Sandra."

"Or the time you threatened that dancer who was stealing from the club?"

"Please stop making everything I did sound like I'm some violent criminal. Everything I did—"

"I know you did it all to protect us. I know, Cerci. You're a wonderful person... You're also one of the most decent people I knew at the club. But this isn't a strip club—this is my business. I can't risk you attacking my clients or being hostile if they complain. If someone says their windows aren't clean enough, you just need to clean them again. I've worked hard to build this brand. It's all about reputation."

"Sandra, I swear none of that will ever happen here. I'll work as hard as I can. I really need this job."

"Okay, fine," she said, looking at me before letting out a resigned sigh.