His eyes narrow. “He didn’t tackle me. He threw his damn body at my knees.”
“And he started laughing when my cousin punched the shit out of him.” Viktor looks over to Jackson. “He might be worse than you and Killian with that masochistic bullshit.”
My friend’s not entirely wrong. I messed around with Raiyne after we ran into each other at a club one time.He can suck a cock and make you see stars, but he doesn’t shut the hell up. And gags aren’t my thing.
Not anymore.
So I choked him with both my hand and my dick, and he came untouched.
Having fucked around with Raiyne is another reason I was okay with letting him in on my plan. As much as he talks, he’s never divulged what happened between us. Or at least not in a way it ever got back to me.
I do respect those who respect my privacy. Though, the NDA he signed gave him more incentive to shut the fuck up, especially not when he doesn't have the money to pay for a third of what I would've sued him for. And doubt he'd want to have his grandmother to sell her house to bail him out.
I stare out the window of the plane.
The contracts are something my father insisted on after an incident at a BDSM club. He hadn’t known I’d been going, and when I’d gotten too rough with someone—well, more like I didn’t read their body language correctly—she tried to sue me. Turns out that a quarter of a million dollars made the problem go away.
Could’ve done without the lecture, but my father’s insistence on making those I play with sign NDAs wasn’t a bad idea. Regardless, I always make sure I only fuck with people I couldn’t give less of a shit about.
Except for Viktor.
My fingers curl into fists. He’s the one regret I have. The one I will take to my grave. If only he’d never shown up that night.
The flight attendant stands in front of us. “Gentlemen, please fasten your seat belts. We’ll be on the ground shortly.”
And not long after, my stepbrother will pay for everything he almost took from me.
Chapter 2
Merci
The bass thumps through the room as I hook my leg around the silk, then arch back until my spine curves like a wild cat mid-pounce, my thighs burning deliciously as I hang suspended above the crowd. The air always reeks of jasmine and money at these parties.
And the Horizon Palm Estate is no different.
This is the kind of place where the rich gather to flex their wealth as if it were a competitive sport. Tonight, it’s all hidden behind velvet shadows and a jungle of fake foliage. Golden cages hang from the ceiling, filled with dancers whose feathered costumes shimmer under the lights, moving like living art.
The theme of tonight’s event?
Velvet Safari.
Pretentious as fuck, but whatever. Tips are tips, and my landlord doesn't take IOUs. Plus, getting hit with the flu earlier this month completely wrecked my savings.No insurance equals pure chaos when you're a broke stripper, now sex worker, trying to stay afloat in Miami.
Welcome to my life—hustle, survive, move, rinse, repeat. No time to waste on dreams. It doesn’t pay the bills.
Speaking of, I’ve only been in Miami for two months, and the humidity’s already a mortal enemy. It turns my hair into a riotous mess. But I’m only here temporarily, so I’ll suffer through it for a short while.
Moving around leaves no time for getting comfortable.
Or caught.
Five years of constantly starting over still feels like piecing together IKEA furniture without the manual. The Obsidian Rabbit events, though, are my one constant. They crop up in different cities, offering the closest thing to stability this life allows—and a paycheck that doesn’t make me wince.
Plus, it's not just another gig. It's actually artistic, which is why I’m painted as a sleek panther tonight—black leggings hugging my ass so tight it’s nearly obscene, onyx body paint on my bare chest and arms along with splashes of silver paint to highlight my lean muscles. My face is hidden behind a bejeweled feline half-mask.
I hang above the crowd, unreachable and untouchable. This is my zone where I’m free, where people look but never get too close as I spin, spiral, and stretch my bodyin impossible shapes. And five years of using my body as currency has taught me exactly how to get their attention.
How to make them want what they can't have.
