Makayla groans but smirks. “I can’t believe we’re doing this. Someone record it before she inevitably falls on her ass.”
Charlotte buries her face in her hands. “I’m leaving. Someone send me a postcard from the land of poor life decisions.”
I grin at them, already psyching myself up. “All right. Let’s go be ridiculous.”
3
LEANNA
I’m wearing a tiny,tiny dress tonight, paired with expensive, sky-high heels that dare anyone to challenge me. I flip my hair, square my shoulders, and strut to the front door with the kind of confidence that makes people move out of the way.
When I reach the bouncer, he looks me up and down with absolutely zero expression on his face. Wow, I hope he plays poker—he could totally bluff his way to a win.
“I’m new,” I say. “I, uh, wasn’t sure where to go to check in.”
His eyes narrow, but he nods and punches a keycode into the door, opening it for me.
“Vasiliy will be in the office. Third door on the left. He will get you settled. Next time, use the employee entrance located at the back. He will give you a unique code.”
The man’s accent is thick, his voice low. I swallow down a ripple of anxiety and step inside.
The club is exactly what I expected—dark, pulsing with secrets. A short hallway leads into a cavernous room, dimly lit with a deepamber glow. A sleek bar stretches along one wall. Semi-private booths, carved from rich, dark wood, curve in a circle around a central stage
Onstage, a woman dances.
She’s tall and willowy, her limbs long and graceful. Her costume is as ornate as one on the Las Vegas Strip, featuring crystals, fringe, and a large headpiece that appears to weigh as much as she does.
She’s a lovely dancer. I watch her for long minutes, kind of transfixed, not just by her movement, but also by her wide, perfect smile and her bright blue eyes, which cut through the darkness, shining in the glow of the stage lights.
Well, shit.
I can’t just stumble up there in my tiny, silver dress and my red-bottomed Louboutins. But, it needs to be said that I also don’t back down on a dare.
So I just need a new plan.
I see a hallway along the wall opposite the bar. This probably heads backstage. If I can get back there, I can probably slip on a costume and take the stage between performers.
I’ll probably have about thirty seconds before security comes and kicks me out. I’ll just admit I’m there on a dare, just a drunk college girl being silly.
Once I’m in the hallway, I realize I’m in an area reserved for private dances. One door is open, and in the middle of the room stands an ornate black velvet chair, illuminated by a red spotlight —the only source of light I can see.
Some doors are closed, and the dampened sounds of music are coming from within. I pass at least five doors before I see one slightly cracked, a masked man sitting fully clothed on a red velvet chair. I poke my head in further, trying not to alert the man that I’m there.
There are various pieces of equipment in the room. A black leather sex swing suspended from the ceiling. A massage table, draped with a black, satin sheet. A red velvet chaise stacked with pillows.
Curiouser and curiouser. I grab my phone and snap a quick picture, sending it to Rylee with a text:Gonna dance on this guy real quick.
New plan indeed. A slow smile plays across my face as I step inside and shut the door with a quietsnick.
I take slow, deliberate steps toward the man without fully looking at him. I guess I expected something… off. Burly, maybe. Ugly. Creepy, even.
He’s none of those things.
At least, I don’t think so.
He’s big. Tall and broad-shouldered in a way that screams fitness.
His posture is tight like a predator, like he might pounce at any moment.
