Chapter 33: The Twilight Dancer
After everyone had agreed to the new rules, they set out looking for trouble. Razia picked the perfect place, a busier, more popular one this time, and they were going to go pick a fight and make some noise. None of the girls knew this. That was something Razia had cooked up and Quentin tentatively agreed to, if they were going to go through with it. Quentin’s debut was going to be explosive and set the tone.
That was the reason for the flashy new cloak, and it was the reason why Quentin walked down the street with his arms around Samantha and Jenna’s shoulders. Razia led the way, with Isa and Lucy trailing behind. Even on a good day Quentin was incredibly self conscious about people perceiving him. Now he was demanding it and succeeding in a way that filled him with dread.
And why wouldn’t they? They made quite the sight: a well dressed, perpetually scowling moonkissed with his arms wrapped around two busty women in tight dresses, with an honor guard of prostitutes. They moved as a group and, Quentin couldn’t believe it, people actually fell silent and got out of their way. They didn’t have to weave and dodge their way through traffic like Quentin did when alone. And all it cost was everyone watching him at all times. Ahead of him, Razia looked over her shoulder at him questioningly. He nodded; he was okay for now. She smiled widely and turned back around, leading them down another street. A minute later, they were at their destination for the night.
The Twilight Dancer wasn’t like the other places they’d used before. Most of those places were inns or taverns, doling out drinks and providing rooms for the night. No one stayed the entire night at the Twilight Dancer. You could get a drink or a simple meal, but it was famous for a number of small, raised stages where anyone, patron or employee, could get up and dance for everyone’s delight. It was exactly the kind of place where pimps paraded their whores around.
It was no Silk Lounge, but it also meant they weren’t competing against the house. Just whoever was established and comfortable there. Razia stopped just shy of the front doors. Turning around, she said, “Are you bitches ready to make some shards?” Samantha cheered, with Lucy joining in late. Razia rolled her eyes and said, enunciating each word carefully, “Are you bitches ready to make some shards?” They let out a high pitched cheer that left Quentin’s ears ringing. Laughing, they made their way inside.
The Twilight Dancer was dim inside, hanging lamps burning low. They swung gently as they walked by, making shadows dance across them. Quentin tried to keep his eyes forward and not gawk, but it was hard. There were eight stages with cushioned benches surrounding them ringing around the room, with the bar in the center and two stairways leading up on either end of the bar. Six of the stages were occupied, their seats full of men and women throwing shards up at the semi-nude men and women on stage as musicians played for them.
Razia led them around to the corner, like they had every other place they’d gone. They were lucky; the stairs were just a few feet away. Quentin sat at the table a bit behind the stage, and the others filled in around him. Razia remained standing. “Alright, I’m going to get the rooms and rent out the stage. You ready, Mr. Q?”
Was he? Not even close. Quentin’s stomach twisted itself in knots as he looked around. Around the building he saw other men like him. Men and one woman who sat at tables like his, a mix of men and women orbiting them. Predators, lounging around with a crew of their own. Somehow, Quentin ended up here too. He was far from ready, but it was time to perform.
“Let’s make some shards, bitches.” Quentin made a note to not address them as bitches again.
Razia took a handful of shards from him and went up to the bar. Quentin turned to the other girls. “Which of you wants to dance first?”
Silence, then Samantha perked up. “I’ll do it! I’ll have them coming over here in no time.”
Out of all of them, Razia told Quentin to not let her go first. Due to her extreme curves, it’d be a waste to show her off too early. That, and while Quentin wasn’t sure what he thought of her (other than vaguely fond), he knew damned well what he felt about her appearance. He didn’t need a distraction this early. “Hm. Not yet. What about you?” He gestured to Jenna.
Jenna shrugged. She was in her mid twenties and more pretty than beautiful, but she had long chestnut hair and the second largest breasts out of them. Lucy was honestly better looking but he didn’t want to put her up before anyone else for fear she’d freeze. There was also Isa, but no way in hell Quentin was going to try telling her to do anything. These were the types of things he now had to consider. Quentin shook his head and motioned towards the stage.
Over at the bar Razia caught his attention with a big thumbs up. The bartender looked at him and gave him a respectful nod before calling out loudly, “Attention ladies and lads, we got some generosity tonight. Everyone gets a round on Mr. Q!”
A cheer went through the crowd. Quentin would’ve been surprised if any of them had heard the name before tonight, even if Razia was to be believed about his growing reputation. But it would get them talking. Jenna climbed onto the stage. “Now what?” She asked, looking around. A dark haired woman with black make up came up to them, carrying a drum under one arm.
“Part of the service,” she explained, taking a seat on the bench in front of the mini stage. “Tips are, of course, welcome. I’m Beth.”
Quentin reached into his purse. He offered his hand to her, slipping her a castura when she shook it. “Pleased to have you join us. Give us a good beat.”
She pocketed the shard and bowed her head. Setting the drums between her legs, she beat out a slow rhythm with her hands, growing more complex the longer she went on. Quentin nodded to Jenna, who still looked a bit lost. The music helped. Jenna rolled her head around on her shoulders, loosening up, and began swaying to the music.
Quentin settled back. He had some distance. Razia told him it would be better like that. Close enough to be an obvious presence and far enough away to look above it all. It seemed silly to him, but Quentin was happy enough to not be right there for the dance. It didn’t take too long for Jenna to get more into it, swaying her hips to the beat while she trailed her fingertips up her body.
“Yeah, Jenna!” Samantha cheered her on, getting up close and dancing on the bench anyway. Lucy joined her, dancing without any sort of rhythm or sense to it but she looked like she was having a blast. Razia came back with handfuls of mugs. Water for her and Quentin, wine for everyone else. He’d keep his head on as best he could.
“How you holding up so far?” Razia took her seat next to Quentin. “Watching the girls strip won’t be too much, will it?”
Quentin shot her an annoyed look. “I wouldn’t have agreed to it if I wasn’t up for it. Besides, I’m...I’m not a prude, Razia. It’s not like I don’t enjoy the female form, it’s...It’s a different problem.”
“Okay, okay.” Razia held her hands up. “You’ve really gotta tell me about that problem someday.”
“Someday,” Quentin agreed. Razia smiled at him, then leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.
“What was that for?” Quentin asked, not displeased by it.
“Completing the look, Mr. Q. Now you’ve got my mark on you, making you my bitch,” Razia said, breaking out into laughter. “No, it makes it look like you’re getting some action, which will help right about...Now.” She stood up and walked away in time for Quentin to receive his first visitors.
Two of them. The first was a balding man with a beer gut, the other was older and gray haired with a lot of laugh lines. When Razia backed away, they sat at Quentin’s table across from them. “You the one to thank about a free drink?” Beer Gut asked.
Quentin inclined his head. “This place needed some energy,” he said. “Hope you enjoy it.”
Laugh Lines grinned at him. “Thankee kindly. These your girls?”
It was hard to say yes. Quentin was still getting used to the idea, but there was the part to play. He leaned back against the wall, doing his best to look relaxed and alert at the same time with a predator’s languid grace. “Sure are. Any of them catch your eye?”
Their eyes shifted over to the stage. The girls took up some of the seats, but by now others had wandered over and watched Jenna lift her dress up just enough to be indecent and shake her ass in their direction, wiggling in a circle like she was proud to show off to everyone. Then the dress dropped and she was cupping and squeezing her tits.
“Well, yes,” said Beer Gut. “All of them, but…” he chuckled. “She’s looking pretty good on that stage. How much?”
This was the part that Quentin and Razia had argued about a bit. He’d really wanted to make the negotiations up to the girls. They knew what they were doing and how much to ask for. Some men would still go to them instead of Quentin, but that didn’t help him now. “One castura for a fuck. Five qala for a blowjob or other quickies.”
The two men looked at each other. That was the going rate across most of town, as far as Razia told him. Private escorts and courtesans could afford to charge more, while streetwalkers tended to go for less. This was the happy medium. “And if we, uh, want to share her?” Laugh Lines asked.
Well, that sure was a mental image. “Three castura,” said Quentin, meeting Laugh Lines’ eyes. He made a conscious effort to not blink. “One for each of you, and another for wearing my girl out so early in the evening.”
They looked amongst each other, having a silent argument while Quentin sat back and watched. They looked back up to the stage, where the drummer was going in overtime and Jenna had the top of her dress lowered, displaying large creamy tits with light brown nipples. They jiggled with every motion. Her face was flushed and she was laughing as the other girls cheered her on.
“Okay, that sounds good,” Beer Gut said. “Thank you. Mr…?”
Quentin sighed internally. “Mr. Q. One more thing. You are to ask her first.”
“What?”
He leveled his stare at the man, drawing on years and years of being uncomfortable for most people to look at. “It’s their choice. If they say no, then it means no. If you keep trying after a no, then I break bones. That goes for any time spent together. No means no.”
His tone never changed from aloof but polite, and maybe that made it worse. Beer Gut and Laugh Lines conferred quietly for all of five seconds before nodding. “Thanks, Mr. Q.” They went up the stage, and a few seconds later Jenna hopped off, not bothering to put her dress back. Together, they headed towards the stairs. Right before they headed up Jenna turned to Quentin and winked at him.
“Already a twofer, huh?” Razia was back at his side, quick as a flash. “How much?”
“Three.”
Razia made an appreciative noise. “She’ll certainly be earning it, but one or two more clients after and she’s probably set for the week if she wants to be.”
Now that Jenna was done, the girls argued over who was going to go up next. Samantha stood up, and Quentin was about to call and tell her to wait just a bit longer, but she pulled Lucy to her feet. Shy little Lucy climbed to the stage. The drummer changed the beat into something slower, while Lucy swayed in place.
“This’ll be interesting,” said Razia. “Lucy does pretty well because she’s young and small. I wouldn’t put her up to perform until she’s more experienced, but maybe she’ll impress us.”
The fact that there was apparently tons of learning and sharing between the girls surprised Quentin, though he supposed it shouldn’t have. There was a lot more to being a whore than just spreading your legs, Razia had told him. She herself had received training from a professional, and she said they all did their best to give each woman the tools she needed to do well. From what he heard, Lucy had a long way to go.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
He believed it. The flickering shadows did interesting things across her pale skin. Her simple dress wasn’t as revealing as Jenna’s was, with its plunging neckline, but it didn’t have to. It was tight on her petite body and her unsteady, unconfident movements were less sexy and more cute. It was enough to bring more people to the stage.
Now there were only a few empty spots on the benches surrounding the mini-stage. There were a number of women among them, and Quentin couldn’t tell if they were patrons who just wanted to find someone to fuck among the others who came here to party or if they were shopping. Samantha remained standing in front of the bench, dancing as well. It was the encouragement Lucy needed; she directed her dancing, more teasing than revealing, to her.
“Have you seen Isa?” Quentin asked, realizing she wasn’t among the others. Razia pointed towards the bar. Isa sat there, chatting up a slender brunette woman. Her hand was on the woman’s thigh. Isa moved it upwards, wearing a smile as the other woman shuddered. Quentin’s main takeaway was good for her. The other was that it was strange to see her smile. “Right, great.”
“She’ll pay her cut,” Razia said.
Quentin shook his head. “I really don’t care if she doesn’t. She’s not beholden to me and she’s free to leave at any time.”
“No, see, that would be quitting and letting you win,” Razia laughed.
“Can’t have that.” Quentin took a drink of his water, putting it down as another person showed up.
This one wasn’t a potential customer. He had the predatory look of another pimp, and was dressed...better(?) than those around him. He wore a dark red leather jacket that would be miserable come summer, and gaudy rings littered his hands. “You new around here?” He demanded.
Quentin caught Razia’s eye. She shrugged and slipped away. He could hear her laughter in his head. He didn’t need her help for this. “Something like that,” Quentin drawled. “Why?”
“That’s my stage,” he growled.
“Not right now it isn’t,” Quentin returned pleasantly. He faced the man. “Who are you supposed to be?”
He might as well have politely asked the man if he wished to engage in some casual violence. The rival pimp’s face turned red. No doubt he was used to a bit more respect. That wasn’t Quentin’s problem. “Darriq Qorals. How about you get the fuck up and get your skanks off my stage?”
Quentin made a show of yawning. “How about no.” He stood up. That’s when Darriq saw how much larger Quentin was. He had at least half a head and forty pounds on the man. “We got here first. How about you take your ladies and go to the last open stage before someone else nabs it?” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
Darriq laughed and nodded. Quentin saw the punch coming from a mile away. It was nothing to turn out of the way and grab hold of the pimp’s wrist and shoulder and slam him face down onto the table, arm wrenched up until he let out a squeal like a dying lamb. The music stopped.
Quentin looked around. His girls were watching him. Darriq’s girls were nearby, and they were watching. The entire bar was watching and waiting to see what he’d do. Razia was watching. Quentin grimaced, wondering if he was really about to do what they’d planned. “Here’s your chance to apologize and walk away like nothing happened,” he said to Darriq. “I’ll buy you a drink and we’ll laugh about it.”
“Fuck you, you moonkissed son of a AYYYYY --” Quentin pulled on the arm until he felt it creak dangerously. Darriq fell silent. It wasn’t violence Quentin liked, it was winning. And the way to win here was to go all out and hurt a man who probably deserved it. Someone he knew without a shadow of a doubt wasn’t innocent by any stretch of the imagination. That didn’t mean Quentin wanted to follow through with it.
“Last chance,” Quentin said. Maybe it was his imagination, but the entire place felt like it was holding its breath.
Darriq tried to pull away again, but he wasn’t going anywhere so long as that arm was still attached. “F-fuck you,” he wheezed again. Quentin tightened his grip on his arm. He could just throw him to the ground, if he wanted to just quit while he was ahead. People might forget about it, but they’d still see it as weakness in a place like this. All Quentin had to do was go for it.
And be the violent thug his father said he was, before cutting him out of his life entirely. Be just mindless muscle, like Amicus at length claimed him to be. And why not? Quentin killed everyone they put in his path without question. Unlike the Colosseum, this was completely his choice. He looked up and met Razia’s eyes. She shrugged. His choice. She wouldn’t judge him either way. But she was counting on him.
“Oh well.” Quentin wrenched the arm. The sound of the bone snapping was honestly terrible. One of Quentin’s least favorite sounds in the world, and he’d broken a number of (others’) bones in the past. The sound of Darriq’s high pitched scream was more immediately painful, but there it gave him a sick satisfaction. Quentin released him, and Darriq dropped to his knees, cradling his useless arm to him.
“You,” Quentin said to one of the nearby girls that had come with Darriq. “Get a couple of you and get this pissant away from me if you want him to survive.” Darriq had six girls. Three of them came up to him and helped him to his feet, whispering soothing words of encouragement. One of them shot him a disgusted, murderous look, but they worked together to drag him away and out of the Twilight Dancer.
Quentin wasted no time in going up to the bar. People got the fuck out of his way faster than ever. He pulled out some more shards from his bulging purse. If he lost an entire execution’s worth of money that night, he wouldn’t be surprised. He dropped them down on the bar. “Apologies for the commotion,” he said to the bartender.
The bartender stared at him. Without looking away he scooped the shards up. “You going to be trouble?” he asked.
“Only if others come looking for trouble. I have no interest in starting anything.”
The bartender grunted and went back to work as if he wasn’t there. As far as Quentin was concerned, that was good enough for him.
Back in his temporary territory, a thin, willowy blonde girl stood near his table. She was one of the ones with Darriq. Quentin walked past her and sat down. When she didn’t leave, he said, “Can I help you?”
The girl looked to be about Lucy’s age, which put her at a little too young for Quentin to be entirely comfortable working with. She had her thin arms crossed over a nonexistent chest. “I hope so. Where the hell am I supposed to work now?”
Once more Razia came back to speak up. She was doing a hell of a job letting him get the heat while she managed things. “If you can lose the attitude, you can share our stage. Our cut is a measly…” Razia led her off to the stage, discussing terms.
Quentin didn’t have time to get comfortable before a cry got his attention. One of the many men around their stage was standing and had his hands on Lucy’s legs. Quentin was on his feet before he realized it. He went around and put his hand on the man’s shoulder. He squeezed. The man turned to him and did a double take. He released Lucy and sat back down, hands up in surrender. Quentin gave his back a light pat and returned to his seat.
As silly as it seemed to him, that was all it took. A woman ended up renting Lucy’s time, and they went up to the second of three rooms they booked for the evening. That left Samantha to take the stage. Back at the Silk Lounge, she’d been the star whore. Here in the Twilight Dancer, she proved it. Her lower half and upper half moved as if they were independent of one another. Quentin had no idea that Samantha, or any woman that size, could move so fluidly.
Before long their stage was packed, and Quentin had more people coming up to him. A woman, who was friendly and wanted to compliment him on dealing with Darriq. Isa, who came by just long enough to throw a handful of qala pieces on the table near Quentin. A few different men who wanted time with Samantha and nearly came to blows over it.
“Auction,” Razia whispered in his ear. Quentin nodded and motioned for her to go for it. She was better at being heard. “The only way to settle this gentleman, is to let your purses doing the talking!” Razia got up on stage with Samantha. The redhead hadn’t removed any of her clothing, or even needed to. “Let the bidding start at two castura.”
Two became three became four and ended at 6, provided the client could have some extra time. Quentin was happy to allow as long as Samantha deemed it acceptable. Samantha was, as usual, agreeable. They left together and Quentin had the task of handling money and making notes of who had who much coming to them.
Razia helped, naturally. They’d brought the little chest, which was easy enough to carry and latch shut. Quentin expected there to be more problems popping up, but...nothing did. Breaking a rival pimp’s arm for trying to hit him kept away trouble for the next couple of hours, and after that the stability he’d bought was self-sustaining. People came up to him with money and a girl they wanted, and Quentin would make it clear they were not to be mistreated. He even ended up being the one to give his blessing for Darriq’s former girl Lynne.
Three rooms proved to not be enough, so Razia grabbed a fourth. As much as Quentin thought the girls dancing would be distracting, he had too much to keep track of to notice or ogle. There was more bare skin and sex around Quentin than he was normally comfortable with, but it slid right off him. At least until it was just Quentin and Razia there, and Jenna, who very much needed a break after her time upstairs.
“So what do you think we do here,” Razia asked, pointing to the empty stage. The drummer was taking a break, smoking a cigarillo with her back up against it.
“Well, I’d guess that we wait until the girls are back,” said Quentin shrugging. “I figure it’s either that or we get more girls. Not exactly sure how to do that.”
Razia put her hand on his arm, stroking it idly. “That’ll happen with time. Wouldn’t surprise me if Lynne asks by the end of the night. She was getting along really well with Samantha. But no, we gotta keep the heat going. If we let the flame die out, we have to start all over again. I think it’s time I get to work.”
The entire night thus far, Razia had flitted back and forth between Quentin and the other girls. She’d taken care of all the administrative stuff that was supposed to be things he did while performing the role. Not only was Razia more knowledgeable (obviously), but she was passionate about it. She truly cared. Now, watching her go up to the stage, Quentin really would be on his own.
More than that, things were slowing down a bit. There was nothing keeping Quentin from just watching her. And judging from the smile on her face as she ascended the stage, Razia was counting on it. The drummer quickly put her smoke out and stood to confer. Razia whispered in her ear, and they came to an agreement.
Suddenly, he was too far away in his aloof seat at the table. Quentin desperately wanted to be right there at the stage with everyone else, but he couldn’t move. He could barely breathe. As the beat, a complex stop and go sound, started up, Razia spread her arms and bowed.
She raised up quickly, arms above her head and her hips gyrating slowly. She wore a tight, short top that left her midriff bare and she showed off the silver piercing through her bellybutton. It was there Quentin found himself staring as Razia rolled her hips, slowly and teasingly until she reversed direction and was shaking her ass so quickly it bounced.
His heart pounded in his chest. Ever since he’d first met the strange islander woman with the shaved head, he’d been enamored. There was no denying that. Razia wasn’t the most beautiful woman Quentin had ever seen, or any nonsense like that. She was striking, and something about the way she smiled, the way she moved, her confidence, pulled at him. Constantly, inexorably making him want to get closer, almost silencing out the horrible whispers in the back of his mind whenever he thought too much about her.
Seeing that the stage was occupied, stragglers came back. There was no one there who looked even remotely like Razia. The one other islander Quentin saw had dozens of tight braids, going down to her ass. Razia was unencumbered by braids. She was bare, open and begging to be seen by everyone. And with a smooth motion she undid and pulled off her top. Looking over her shoulder, right into Quentin’s eyes she threw it backwards at him.
The rest of the Twilight Dancer melted away. Someone could’ve come up and shanked Quentin and he wouldn’t have noticed. As much time as they’d spent together over the last couple of weeks, he’d never seen this much of her. Quentin found himself wanting more. She turned, and his eyes immediately went to her chest. Her breasts were small, but the dark nipples were pierced through with silver bars. Quentin shivered.
Razia didn’t have to do much to get the crowd howling for her. The simple roils of her pelvis, her hands caressing her chest and teasing her hard nipples, her sly, wicked smile at those she made eye contact with; they did it all and then some. Quentin was suddenly grateful for the distance. Others weren’t hiding their arousal. One man reached out for her.
Quentin slammed his fist down on the table. Those nearest to him flinched, including the would-be groper. He sat back down and behaved himself. Razia met his gaze, and Quentin froze. What was that in her eyes? It was almost like her usual playfulness, but there was something sharper there, something Quentin couldn’t quite recognize. She smiled and bowed her head to him before turning away, performing for the crowd. That was when Quentin understood: that dance wasn’t for them, it was for him. He downed his water, swallowing hard.
“She’s good, isn’t she?” Samantha had come back and joined Quentin at the table. She had a pleased but tired look on her face. “And those piercings. When I first saw those, I...You okay, Mr. Q?”
Quentin grunted and unclenched his hands. Frustration would do no one any good, but he didn’t see it ending anytime soon. “Yeah. Fine. Just a bit of a headache.”
Razia hopped off the stage, still topless and came over to their table with a man in tow. Quentin fought to keep his eyes on hers. She knew, and he could see amusement on her face. “This kind gentleman wants to fuck me,” she said to him. “Any objections?”
Quentin had a million. He took a deep breath. “You know the rules?” he directed at the eager looking young man Razia had by the hand.
“Yessir,” he replied. “No means no, and you’ll break my arm if I push.” His eyes remained locked on Razia.
“Good. Then...go.” Quentin made a shooing motion. Razia wasn’t fooled. When she took her client towards the stairs, there was an extra sway in her step. She stopped for one last infuriatingly teasing look before they climbed up the stairs.
“I’m gonna wait a bit until I dance again, Mr. Q. Is that okay?” Samantha asked him. He nodded, only half hearing her words.
This is who Razia was. Quentin had no issues with what she did, or who she did it with. But for the first time since meeting her, there was an unfamiliar ache inside him. He brushed it off. There was still plenty of night to go and despite the ache, he was enjoying himself.
He’d thrown himself into the deep end and went for it instead of hiding in his home and doing nothing all night. Ache or not, he could be proud of trying. And this was just the first of many. Maybe one of those times, he’d do something about that ache.