"Well?" Emily said expectantly when JJ left the sentence hanging in the air unfinished. "What did happen?"

A moment of ominous silence followed, during which JJ took the time to pour them both a glass of vodka. Then, she finally announced, "I told Will the truth."

A beat.

"The truth about what?"

JJ rolled her eyes because, well, what else could she have possibly meant? "That we're strippers," she replied pointedly.

Emily's eyes went wide and she froze with her glass of vodka halfway to her lips. "Please tell me you're kidding."

JJ just maintained her pointed stare.

"You can't be fucking serious! He's a fucking cop, Jayje!" Emily hissed.

"I'm aware," she snapped. "But he's also my kid's father and he deserves to know the truth."

Emily put down her glass, then rested her palms on the counter. For several long moments, she stared down at her tattered cuticles, then looked up to meet JJ's gaze. "Did you also tell him we're robbing people while you were spilling your guts?"

She scoffed. "Yeah, I told a police officer we've been committing crimes," she said sarcastically. "Because I really enjoy only having supervised access to my son..."

It was Emily's turn to roll her eyes. "As much as I appreciate your sarcasm, I need to know that you're not going to spill your guts to him one day because you feel guilty. He might be willing to overlook your involvement, but I hardly think he'll feel so charitable towards me."

"I'm as guilty as you are, Emily," JJ said, "And I've stood by you this far, it's kind of hurtful that you think I'm so fucking fickle that I'd turn you in so easily."

Emily shrugged helplessly. "It's not like I've got a great history of people not letting me down..."

"I'm not John fucking Cooley," JJ snapped. "Okay? I am not like him. I've stood by you through every damn shitty thing that's happened to you! I even forgave you when they took Henry away because of you, so I think I've earned a little trust!"

She sighed, nodded slowly, tongue flicking out over her top lip. "You're right," she admitted in a whisper. "You're right."

Several long moments of silence followed, during which both women seemed to shrink in on themselves in awkwardness and shame, both wanting to make up for their seemingly overgrown tempers.

Eventually, JJ spoke up, asking, "So, what did I miss at work today?"

Emily shrugged. "Same shit, different pile," she said flippantly.

JJ gave a snort of laughter at that because, well...it was an accurate descriptor afterall.

"One of my regulars showed up," Emily continued. "I haven't seen him in a few months, I was starting to get worried."

Raising a brow, JJ asked, "Which regular is this?"

"Sean," Emily replied. At JJ's continued curiosity, she explained, "Sean Hotchner – he's some bar back, but he's trying to save up and open his own restaurant. Unfortunately for his savings account, he has a habit of blowing all his money on lap dances." She smirked mischievously at that.

JJ's eyes went wide. "Wait... Hotchner? As in Aaron Hotchner, that crazy successful criminal defence attorney who's always on the news for getting scumbags who are obviously guilty out of jail?"

Seemingly wary of where JJ was going with this, she said, "That's his brother."

"So, what you're saying is you've got a super rich regular who we haven't robbed yet?" JJ continued pointedly.

Emily laughed.

Raising a brow, JJ said, "What about that sentence was so hilarious?"

"The idea of Sean Hotchner having two dollars to rub together," Emily replied. "His brother may be crazy successful and probably raking in the dough, but Sean Hotchner is kind of the family screw up. He might actually have less money than we do."

It was kind of a well-known, but unspoken fact that among certain girls working the club, drug use ran rampant. Even Rossi knew, but he didn't do anything about it, preferring to turn a blind eye to the problem for the sake of keeping his nose clean should things ever go south.

Emily and JJ, of course, never partook. But that didn't mean they'd never been offered something. Certain clients liked to 'enhance' their experience with drugs – usually ecstasy – and it's not like Emily was going to complain because it made her job easier and, often, the tips bigger.

Sean Hotchner was one of those clients.

On that particular evening, by the time Emily finished her turn on the pole, Sean had clearly been having a little too much fun with some of the other girls, judging by the way they were flocking to him like hyenas to a fresh zebra carcass.

When he spotted Emily, his eyes lit up and he reached for her wrist, pulling her down onto his lap. His hands slid along her sides and up to her breasts, but she stopped him before he could reach his targets. "Baby, you know that costs extra," she reminded him.

He smirked, pulled a little glass vial out of his pocket. "How about I pay you with this?" he suggested.

She quirked a brow, obviously unimpressed with his offer. "Sugar, you know I'm not about that."

He opened his mouth as if to protest, but before he could say anything, one of the patrons across the floor could be heard shouting, "What the fuck!?" He pushed the stripper who was grinding against him away and stood suddenly, jumping back as if burned.

Almost as one, everyone turned to see what the commotion was.

That's when Emily saw it...blood pouring from the girl's eyes. She wanted to scream, but the sound caught in her throat as someone tapped on her shoulder, startling her. She whipped around to see who it was to find another girl, also with blood dripping down her face.

"Help me..." she begged, then immediately collapsed in a heap on the floor.

Emily didn't need to check her pulse to know that she was dead. She turned back to Sean, about to ask him what the hell was in the vial he'd offered her, but once again the words died in her throat as blood began pouring down Sean's face as well.