It was early evening when Mal parked her car behind the club. The sun was still high in the sky, despite the hour, and not showing any signs of changing. She wished it was quitting hour already, so she could curl up in her bed again and just wallow. Today was not one of her better days, and tomorrow was an important day. It was going to be a nightmare navigating through all of the legal jargon on so little deep.

But when the boss says it's vital that she be there, there she had to be.

Work was a gentlemen's club called Red Lights. In simpler terms, it was a strip club, and she was one of the dancers. It wasn't glamorous, but thankfully it wasn't as scary as movies and TV made it out to be. The owner worked hard to make his business reputable and take care of all of his employees. In all honesty, Mal had no idea how she would have survived if it hadn't been for the people at Red Lights.

That's not to say this job wasn't without its fair share of dangers. There were the crazy ones who became obsessed with the women and began to stalk them. There were also the protestors: some of them were bible reading, church-going fanatics. Some were from the homeowner’s association from a nearby suburb. Some were what Mal had come to understand were feminazis. No matter the group, they always got violent with Red Light's employees.

For this reason, Mal checked to make sure that the coast was clear before shouldering her purse and getting out of her car. She was keeping a firm grip on her mace in her free hand, just in case. She'd been accosted a few times; one of them had landed her in the ER. She still carried a scar just below the hairline on her forehead.

To provide back up and security, a beefy-looking man, was guarding the club's back entrance. He kept watch as she got out of her car and made her way across the parking lot.

"Evening Ralph." She smiled as she approached. "I see they have you working the dead job today."

"Eh, you've seen one pair of tits; you've seen them all." He shrugged before grinning mischievously. "Though I will admit to yours bein’ the best I've ever seen."

"Why, thank you." She grinned sincerely, recognizing the compliment for what it was, an attempt to lighten the mood. If there was one thing the women who worked at the club valued, it was Ralph's professionalism and honesty; without there being an ulterior motive. He looked out for the women like an overprotective big brother.

"You don't have to work in the club, you know?" Mal couldn't help but grin. "You could work at the front door."

Ralph shuddered, "Oh dear sweet Lord, anything but that!" Then he heaved a heavy sigh. "Course, knowin’ my luck, I'm probably going to be stuck on FD duty until we can find suitable replacements."

"I heard about what happened," Mal winced. "Was it as bad as Nessie was saying?"

"Worse, sweetheart, much worse. I'm sure you'll learn the details inside." Ralph then groaned. "From a security guard standpoint, the whole fake ID diabolical involved with it boggles my mind and pisses me off to no ends. I now understand Clay, but how Max could ever think those were real is beyond me because they were not! I trained him better than that!"

A couple of nights ago, Vanessa (affectionately called Nessie), another dancer at the club and a close friend, practically broke down Mal's door hysterically. As Mal worked to calm her down and treat what few injuries she had, Nessie explained through sobs what happened that night.

A group of High School boys managed to get into the club. They had money to spare, but they proved to be rowdy, loud, and obnoxious boys once they actually were. However, that wasn't entirely unusual as even grown men behaved that way sometimes. But, when the boys started drinking, it got worse. They drank excessively and recklessly, which threw up all kinds of alarms. When they were cut off, they found other ways to entertain themselves, and one of them was to attack the women. One of them got up on the stage and ripped Nessie's top off, demanding sexual favors while shouting racial slurs when she refused and took a few swings at her.

Nessie ended up spending the night because she didn't feel safe on her own. The pair had spent the night with lots of tears and comfort food as they binged a comedy series to stave off night terrors.

"So, the whole thing was preplanned, and with security guards help at that." She crossed her arms over her chest. "How many were involved, and how many are fired?"

"You got it on the money, gorgeous, but it's apparently a lot more complicated than that." He dropped his voice a bit. "I have a cousin in county lockup doin' time for assault." At Mal's expression, he chuckled, "Another man got a little handsy with his wife, so he decked the guy. Anyway, there's him, as well as a cousin who wears the badge. They both confirmed that the boys went to jail, and Clay's the older brother of one of the boys who got in. It was all planned for them to get into the club for his brother's eighteenth birthday. His attorney friend informed Ethan; now he's suing all of the parents and Clay. Max's fate is, as yet, undecided."

Mal shook her head. "I don't envy Ethan's position as the boss and owner right now. I also can't say I'd do anything different were I in his shoes."

Ralph nodded. "It's the talk of the town, according to the badge cousin. As you can imagine, "the unfriendlies" are trying to make the situation more prominent than it is. Saying the boys were lured in by wicked sins of lust, debauchery, and the Devil. They want to use these boys as an example to close the club. However, the brats' parents are trying to work out a deal to keep the whole matter out of court. They don't want to call any more attention to the situation than they already have."

Mal snorted, "I can't see Ethan making that easy for them. He's not worried about the protestors; if they couldn't close this place when it was worse, they won't win now. But you're right; they will blow this case way out of proportion, ruining the parent's chance to protect their son's future. Which is what I'm going to assume safely is why they want to settle out of court."

"Never known you to be wrong, and you're right on the money again." Ralph chuckled. "Ethan's terms are simple; pay for the damages and bill, the fine for assault charges, and ten percent of their annual income. All separate settlements, none of that mercy, deducting fees from one amount. He's also asking for a public apology."

Mal gave a low whistle, then a shake of her head. "While I know it's a lot cheaper than court, that’s still a pretty large chunk of change. With the apology added in, I'm sure the parents will struggle with it. They want all of this just to go away, and a public apology would be acknowledging that this happened."

Ralph shrugged. When he looked over her head, he saw something that had all amusement leave his face. Instead, his serious nature was back in full swing. Mal knew something, or someone, was coming, and it was such that Ralph needed to focus on his job.

"Best get inside there, angel." He instructed softly. "The shadows look full tonight."

Mal clutched her purse and mace a little tighter in fear as she rushed inside. The door had no window, so Mal couldn't see what Ralph had. Needing a threat assessment, Mal asked, "I meant to ask, is your name really Ralph?"

Understanding the real reason why she was asking, Ralph chuckled. "Nah, it's Robert, but I look like that cartoon character apparently. Trina's little girl was with her one afternoon when she came to get her check, and that little thing kept screaming, I was Ralph. That led to Ethan's movie night idea; everyone agreed I was Ralph by the end of it. So, the nickname stuck. Not that I'm complaining. Speaking of which, you'll want to be here for the next one. We'll be doing a Maleficent double feature."

Mal laughed and let out a long breath of relief, allowing Ralph to close the door behind her. If he had answered with a grin saying he'd responded another time, it was code to get Ethan. Each girl had a code question; no answer meant to get Ethan. Immediately. Answering meant everything was, or soon would be, fine. For Mal, mentioning her favorite movies in some fashion meant whatever was happening wasn't a threat to her.

Resolved, Mal walked up the hall to the mass dressing room. The place where Ethan called house meetings. She just hoped that whatever was happening wouldn't take too long. Upon entering, a cursory glance showed everyone else was already there.

"Am I the last one?" She asked sheepishly. "Sorry."

From where she sat, Stacey gave her a kind smile. "It's alright, sweetie, we understand why."

Mal heaved a sigh as she hung up her purse after tucking the mace back in its assigned pocket. Only to turn around and find herself wrapped in Nessie's embrace. Mal gave in and hugged her back. "Thank you, sweets. That means a lot."

"It's been a year now, hasn't it?"

Mal nodded but said nothing.

Two years ago, her husband abandoned her the same day her family completely disowned her; the only one who didn't was Mal's sister Christie. They had always been close, and no matter what happened, their love for each other never changed. A year ago, Christie was abandoned outside a hospital severely beaten. Rumors came from the community where the sisters grew up saying that Christie had attempted to leave her husband, then ended up being mugged.

But Mal knew better. She didn't know the unvarnished truth, but she knew enough about the people and their ways to get a rough idea. The doctors and police believed the same as she did, but they were all lacking proof.

Be it their family or her husband; Christie was beaten to the point of no return. Mal would never know if it was because of some insult or because Christie was in contact with her. In the end, it didn't matter.

Regardless, because of the story about Christie leaving her husband, their family, Christie’s husband, and her in-laws abandoned Christie. Mal was the one called when no one else responded to the hospital to care for Christie. Shortly after that, the police questioned everyone else. Not that any help came from there. No one came, even as Christie was declared brain dead. It was on Mal, who had permission from Christie's husband, to pull the plug.

Mal also took care of the arrangements after she turned off Christie's machines. She donated all viable organs, and the rest was cremated. There was no funeral, as Mal would have been the only attendee. Instead, Mal took the ashes home in a beautiful rose-colored urn with gold filigree.

If it hadn't been for her friends here, Mal was sure she wouldn’t have survived this past year.

Hence why she was off much of this week until she was called in for whatever was happening. Given recent events, she felt it safe to assume it was connected to the invaders.

It was at this point that Mal took in the reactions of the others in the room. Most were the somber expressions she expected, but not the devastation. The worst of it came from a woman who was most definitely not a friend to Mal, or hardly anyone else.

"Um, Kimberly, why are you at my station?" Mal asked cautiously as she stepped closer.

Kimberly gave her a brief glare before sniffling, "As if you don't know."

"I'm genuinely in the dark here," Mal said, carefully not walking further. "Ethan called, saying I had to come in tonight. That there was a mandatory meeting, I had to attend."

"Ethan called a meeting, but that's not why miss blonde bitch queen is pissed off." The aforementioned Trina looked up at her. "Due to recent events, Kimberly's been knocked off her high horse. What's more, well, you remember that bachelor party happening here tonight?"

Mal nodded. "It's all Kimberly, Debbie, and Bertha have been able to talk about for weeks. If what they say is to be believed, they've dropped well over ten-grand into this party, and they were limelights for it. They wouldn't let us have any peace. Every time they saw us, they'd brag. After all, they were the most requested three."

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

Trina leaned forward with a knowing smile. "And pray tell Mal, how many of the last major parties have requested them?"

Mal shrugged. "I have no idea; I don't keep track. I just work when I'm told."

Trina nodded. "We know that, which is why your ignorance is understandable."

"Okay, quit beating around the fucking bush and tell me, alright?" Mal said firmly. "You know I hate your games, Trina."

Trina laughed unrepentantly before continuing. "The Bachelor Party is happening tonight, and apparently, when planning the whole thing, they had specifically requested you. They didn't even mention none of our supposed top three."

"But Ethan knew this week would be hard on you and demand a lot of your time. So he tried, he did, to make sure you didn't work this week." Stacey interjected before sighing, "However, recent events being what they are, and as public as they are . . ."

Mal nodded, understanding what Stacey left unfinished. "What does that have to do with the top three?"

"Ethan managed to convince the party's host to hire the "top three" instead of you." Trina finished, still grinning. "As Stacey said about recent events, they found out, and they refused to talk about it anymore. Kimberly was dumped, and they went back to insisting on you."

"And because of the big pay involved, he had no choice but to call me in. So that's what he wanted to talk to me about in private." Mal muttered at the end. "Now, while that is a huge blow to the ego, Kimberly can't be this distraught about that alone. What else is going on?"

"It would seem that as of last night," Bertha said, stepping forward, her arms crossed under her breasts. Every woman present knew it was in attempts to make her B-cup breasts seem more prominent, "Our esteemed leader Kimberly was knocked down from her place at the top and was replaced," Bertha narrowed her eyes at Mal, "by you."

Mal still looked confused. "Huh?"

"You can cut the innocent act, we all know," Debbie said, grinning viciously at her, crossing her legs, and leaning back, continuing with a wicked giggle, "Just how is Ethan in bed, hm? Is he a gentleman, or is he a beast?"

Debbie always put in the extra effort to appear sexy and superior; it was a fact that Mal was warned about early on when she began working at the club. Debbie's four-foot-eight stature and A-cup breasts left her looking like a lolicon. Mal wasn't surprised by the high demand for Debbie. Neither was she surprised that Debbie had the most oversized ego out of everyone, and it was also the easiest to crash. Wanting to utterly crush that statement before it could be used as a weapon against her, Mal knew she would need to hit Debbie where it hurt the most, her stature.

"I don't know." Mal said strategically, "I would ask you, but he's not into little girls."

"BITCH!" Debbie shouted, jumping to her feet.

Mal met her face to face, though it was more like face to chest. She glared down at the little woman and made sure her voice was dark and threatening. "Go ahead and try it, little girl. You may be able to claw and bite, but I've taken several self-defense classes. At the very least, you'll walk away with a broken nose. And given you rely on that pretty little face of yours, you can't afford to have it messed up."

Debbie, to her credit, did nothing more than glare.

"I honestly wondered why I bother, as it seems no matter how many times I do, you don't listen; I am not involved with Ethan romantically!"

Mal brushed the hair from her face with her fingers and looked around the room. "So, let me get this straight, Kimberly was finally knocked off her high horse, something we all wanted. Her popularity dropped, and mine grew. Now I'm the most demanded. Am I missing anything?"

Bertha's lips pursed, but she didn't answer, and neither did Trina, who was still grinning like a loon. Stacey cleared her throat from her seat in the back.

"The private dressing rooms, you remember them?"

Mal nodded, "Reserved for the top three."

"They've been cleaned out. That's why Debbie and Bertha, as well as Kimberly, are here. It's not just about a house meeting."

"So, a new three are being chosen?" Mal asked, looking around, "And what does that mean exactly?"

"It means," everyone turned at the male voice speaking from the doorway to find Ethan, owner, and manager of the club, leaning against the frame with one shoulder, arms crossed, as he looked around the room. It didn't go unnoticed that Ethan's bodyguards J and Q were behind him. "That there's going to be some significant changes around here."

He walked into the room; J and Q stopped at the doorway, the French doors closing behind them as they came to a stop. Hands clasped together in the front, sunglasses covering their eyes, they said nothing, merely stood there looking ominous. No one was leaving until Ethan had said his piece.

With the only exit well and truly blocked, Ethan pulled some envelopes from his back pocket. Mal noticed most of them were tinted a pale pink from the letter inside. He handed one to Debbie.

She slowly took the envelope and opened it in shock. Her face went white before turning red as she read the contents. "So just because I'm not the most popular anymore, I'm being fired!?" She turned on Mal, "You bitch! You did this! You convinced him to fire us so you could take over!"

"I assure you; she's not warming my bed at night." Ethan said firmly before looking at Mal. "Much as I want her to."

"Anyway," Ethan said firmly, silencing any rant Debbie or another could start, "I wasn't going to voice any of this, it's all in your letters, but now, I don't give a shit!" He glared explicitly at the former top three. "After the shit storm I've endured, I need a target for my frustrations."

He then turned back to Debbie. "On top of recent events, Debbie, you're being fired because your usual clientele has had some interesting developments. While I may have suspected before, I had no proof and, therefore, could do nothing." He narrowed his eyes. "Things have changed. Several of the men you usually dance for have asked you for private sessions outside of the club. As I said before, I suspected you had been accepting, which, as you know, is against your contract. I now have my proof. I've said this many times to our customers, and I am appalled that I have to say this to my employees. I'm the owner of a strip club, not a whore house!

"Get out of my club and do not come back. You're lucky I'm not suing your ass. As it is, I'm merely reclaiming all of the things that were credited to you through the club. Meaning: your apartment, your car, and your private bank account. Your account has been closed, you've been locked out of your apartment, and your car was towed within minutes of your arrival here."

"What!?" Debbie shrieked. "You can't do this to me! I'll be homeless!" Debbie stood firm. "I could sue you for this!"

"You're welcome to try, but you will fail." Ethan said calmly. "You signed a contract, one that was there for your and my protection. It was also more than fair. You not only violated that contract in the apartment I provided for you, I might add, but you committed several illegal acts. For God's sake, Debbie, there is a warrant out of your arrest. And you have the gall to say you'd sue me!? I've said this once already; this is the last time! Get out of here!"

He turned, leaving a broken Debbie forgotten as she ran from the room after J and Q moved so she could, returning to their original positions after she left. All Mal could do was watch dumbfounded with the others, knowing that Ethan was far from done.

Ethan then stepped to Kimberly and Bertha, who were within arm's lengths of each other. He handed them each an envelope with a pink letter inside. "You two are also being fired. Those boys may have been of age, but you also violated your contracts and abused your dressing rooms' privilege by having sex with them. You thought you were sneaky, but you forgot about my cameras with sound recording I have throughout the hallways to prevent drug deals and solicitation."

Seeing the shocked expressions of Kimberly and Bertha, Ethan laughed maniacally. "That's right; those are still active! Meaning we saw those boys go in, heard most of what happened, and saw them leave."

Ethan fixed that the two with a glare. "The moment you realized their ages, you should have brought it to security's attention! Not use it as an opportunity to have a sexual fantasy satisfied! Again, I am forced to reiterate; I run a bar and a strip club, not a fucking brothel! I put a lot of work into cleaning this place up, and I'll be damned if I'm going to let a trio of selfish bitches ruin that!"

Having realized he'd step forward more and was practically screaming in Kimberly's and Bertha's faces, Ethan took a step back. He heaved a heavy sigh before taking a few deep breaths. "I apologize for my temper, but my point stands. The same terms that apply to Debbie apply to you as well. You violated your contracts; you broke the laws by allowing them to stay and further consume alcohol. You are both wanted for questioning by the police in regards that night."

Seeing Kimberly and Bertha breaking down sobbing, Ethan's hard exterior visibly cracked. "Some good news for you two is, thankfully, you two have been here long enough that you have separate bank accounts and your own apartments. Meaning you still have money and a place to live after this. The only things still credited to you through the club are your cars. Speaking of which, you have two weeks to get them back to the dealership, and if they are damaged in any way, you will be charged for the repairs."

All watched as the last of the former core three each left the room—each sobbing and in the final departure, supporting each other. Mal wasn't surprised that only a couple of the women left watched the three leave with remorse. Most were consigned. They all knew violating the contract meant immediate termination, so they didn't feel sorry for the idiots who brought their predictable fate upon themselves.

"And as for you," Ethan said, turning to Stacey.

"Have to fire me too, huh?" She sniffed, looking away.

"Never." He said softly, "You're one of the few who I trust completely. But you are being put on paid vacation until this whole mess is cleared up. I want you back, Stacey. There is no proof that you were involved in the incident, and I know you weren't, but the police and parents are looking for scapegoats. When that fails, they'll punish everyone they can get their hands on. Unfortunately, you are cousins with Clay; he got the job through your recommendation. I know you had no way of knowing he'd do this, and if you had, you'd have fired him yourself. Working in our favor is you weren't here that night. Jimmy was in the hospital with a high fever and dehydrated, so you have paperwork and witnesses to attest to that. Our story is you are on sabbatical to focus on your family rather than taking a vacation. Inside the envelope is a check. I'll give you one each week until all of this end, or we feel that it's safe to come back."

Stacey took the envelope and nodded. She sat down as Ethan looked around the room.

"As you can see, we have some vacancies." He looked at Mal. "Yes, you were technically number one before Kimberly's stunt, and you're taking her spot was going to happen regardless. We were going to announce it after tomorrow, but circumstances pushed our hands." He looked back at the room. "After Mal, in second is Stacey, but seeing as she's leaving us for a time, the next in line is Caryn and Jessica. However, Jessica, you have a habit of not playing well with others; also, you are very close to Debbie. I can't tell you who to be friends with, but I know that will create conflict with the other in the top three because it caused problems in the past, so you won't get third place." He turned to the woman sitting at a vanity behind Mal. "That goes to Vanessa."

"This is bullshit!" Jessica screamed, jumping up. "You're only giving it to Nessie because she's black! And everyone knows you're sleeping with Mal! Regardless of what you say! Debbie was right!" Jessica turned to the women. "If we don't do something, Mal's going to see us all fired! We need to strike!" Jessica shrieked, throwing her arm up in the air.

For a long moment, where Mal was sweating a bit in fear; there was just silence.

"Oh, for fucks sake!" Trina finally sighed. "Really, Jessica!?"

"I have a point!" Jessica said through gritted teeth.

"No, you don't." Trina argued back. "Anyone with a modicum of sanity knows that Mal's not dating anyone. Those of us who know her know why."

Mal caught Ethan's worried look but otherwise ignored him.

"Thank you." Mal smiled softly at Trina.

She grinned back at Mal. "Any time, sweetie."

Jessica went to say something, but Trina glared at her. "Quit it! No matter how much you push us, we're not going to strike. This place has the best working conditions ever. Recent events withstanding. What's with you? Politically active, I can understand, but you always go straight for organizing a strike."

Mal and Stacey shared a look; they had a theory.

"We suspect that she's working with the group we dubbed "Feminazis." Stacey finally spoke up when Jessica wouldn't.

"Stop calling them that!" Jessica yelled. At the same time, Ethan said, "She is."

Jessica then stared at Ethan in shock. He nodded, "I knew."

"For how long?" Jessica asked as if she was being choked.

"Pretty much the whole time." Ethan affirmed.

Jessica could only collapse in shock. "Why -"

"- didn't I fire you upon learning the truth?" Ethan finished for her when she fell silent, unable to complete her question.

Jessica could only nod.

Ethan shrugged. "You never gave me a decent enough reason to." He turned and faced her. "Your politics and spare time are your own; what you do with them, what choices you make, are up to you. I only care about you following your contract, and you are not harming your workmates. Case and point, as Trina said, recent events."

"Still, Jessica made an accusation," Stacey held up her hand to stop Ethan's protest, "and I think it should be addressed." Stacey took a deep breath before continuing. "I've been here the longest; I've seen girls come and go. But never have I seen one who could dance like Mal." She paused to smile a bit at Mal. "You've earned your place, and you should be proud of that. I can bump and grind well enough, but I have no grace. My talent is mixing drinks that will knock your socks off." She turned to look at Jessica. "You, however, have no talent on stage, you can't mix drinks, you can't even carry a tray in flats without tripping, and you're not that good at lap dances. Plus, Ethan's aforementioned being unable to play well with others. About the only thing you have going for you is your ass and tits because I can't even say you have a great personality. While Ethan hasn't fired you due to your "group activities," I still think he should."

Stacey then looked over the room. "All of us now know that the top three women have talent, beauty, and earned their place. We also have the luxury of knowing that they are loyal to us all." With a sigh, she grabbed her bag. "And with that, I'm going home. If I'm quick enough, I may even be able to kiss my son goodnight."

"Say hi to Greg for me." Ethan said.

Stacey paused for a moment before looking back at him. "He may not want me to come back. You know we've been talking about me quitting. Greg's making decent money now; I don't need to work here. Things will be tight but not undoable. It would also allow me to be there with Jimmy full time."

"Why don't you retire then?" Ethan offered with a kind smile. "I'll send you a retirement check once a month. It will be half what you usually make, but it's the least I can do for you and Greg."

She smiled. "He might like that."

The room went quiet again as the last woman to get an envelope left.

"Well, that happened." Trina broke the silence a few moments later.

"Alright, ladies," Ethan commanded attention back to him. "New three have to move their rooms. Your names are labeled on the door. Everyone else time to get ready. We reopen in a little under two hours."