And for the first time in five years, I believed in it.
Chapter 7
Harper
Two weeks with no sign of Jess, no chance at a phone, no hint of rescue. I’d spent every night under black lights and the gaze of men who’d never learn my name, and the only thing keeping me upright was the stupid animal hope that maybe he’d come for me. I tried to burn that hope down to cinders, but it never really died. It just smoldered in the pit of my chest, waiting for something to ignite it again.
Tonight the club was packed. Wall-to-wall bankers, oilmen, frat boys in knockoff designer suits, and the businessmen who decided if they were going to be more than predictors of prey. The lighting was bluer than usual, maybe to match the night’s“Arctic Goddess” theme; maybe a cold theme was indicative of what this place was. Cold, indifferent, unfeeling.
I had a third set. I stood in the wings in my sapphire mesh and tried to breathe through the pre-show nausea, not that it did any good. Every girl in the lineup glared at me like I was the prom queen about to ruin their night. They hated me for a lot of reasons, most of which weren’t my fault. I was always the “Princess.” They still called me that when they thought I wasn’t listening. Sometimes they didn’t bother to lower their voices.
The real reason was Steiner. He made a show of favoring me—extra spa time, a nicer room, the best costumes. He wanted me bright and shiny for his high rollers. The rest of the girls didn’t get shit except broken nails and maybe a night off if they blew the manager hard enough. I’d have traded every favor for a day with a regular job and no eyes on me.
I heard a commotion at the back exit and looked out to see what was happening.
Rage, one of Steiner’s bouncers, stormed through with a girl in a headlock. She was small, brunette, maybe twenty. Not a shifter—her scent was all fear, no wolf. She kicked and screamed, shoes flying off her feet and nails scoring angry red lines across Rage’s arm. He didn’t even flinch. He just dragged her through the door.
The girl howled, “Let me GO!” Rage ignored her. He shoved her forward, hard enough that she hit the tile and skidded.
I knew what came next. They’d parade her through the back for “processing.” If she were lucky, she’d end up waiting tables or dancing on the side stages. If she wasn’t, Steiner would make an example of her.
Vespa, one of Darlene’s witches, followed behind in her little leather skirt and heels, clipboard held like a judge’s gavel. She barely even looked at the new girl. Just wrote something down and stalked off toward the manager’s office. When Rage hauledthe girl to her feet, she tried to bite him. He laughed and slapped her so hard her head snapped sideways. I felt the blow on my own jaw.
Vespa reappeared and motioned for Rage to bring the girl to her. She pulled out a tiny black vial and uncapped it, waving the open end under the girl’s nose. The girl tried to turn away, but Rage held her by the hair. Vespa said something in a language that made my scalp crawl, and the girl’s body went limp.
The girl’s head lolled, her eyes half-closed, and Vespa grinned. She pushed a strip of tape over the girl’s mouth, then motioned for Rage to take her to the green room.
“See you on stage, honey,” Vespa cooed. Then, softer, “if you last that long.”
They disappeared into the gloom. I didn’t envy the girl. Not because of what was going to happen to her, but because I’d been here long enough to know that the real horror wasn’t the pain. It was the way it numbed you, day by day, until you stopped feeling anything at all.
The rest of my shift went by like every other: a blur of hands and money and the constant, low-grade terror that one wrong step would end me. I watched from the hallway as the new girl took her first turn on stage. She wore a red mesh bodysuit and nothing else. Her movements were jerky at first, then smoother, as if she’d suddenly remembered how bodies were supposed to work.
But there was nothing behind her eyes. They were blank as marbles, not even tears left in them.
The crowd cheered, threw cash, screamed for her to go lower, bend deeper, show more. She did, because there was no other choice.
That was the part that made me sick: not the humiliation, or the pain, but the certainty that this place would eat you alive and spit out only the prettiest bones.
After her set, the girl was gone. I didn’t see her in the locker room, or in the bathroom, or even huddled outside for a smoke. Sometimes, they vanished after a night or two, “transferred” to another club or “let go.” I’d stopped asking questions. The last girl who asked ended up with her head shaved and her tips docked until she left on her own.
I didn’t even get a chance to take off my shoes before Darlene stormed into the dressing room. She didn’t knock—she just threw open the door, eyes already locked on me like I was the only thing standing between her and a five-minute cigarette break.
“Lucky night, Harper,” she drawled, lips twisted into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Steiner wants you for a VIP. Right now.”
I looked down at my smeared makeup, my hair stuck to the sweat on my neck, and tried to make sense of it. “I’m supposed to have a finale set. Two more rotations—”
She cut me off, snapping her fingers so hard the fake diamond ring nearly broke the sound barrier. “Not tonight, sweetheart. Tonight, you’re the main event.”
Darlene set a Styrofoam cup on the vanity, the heat of it already wilting the cheap plastic lid. The liquid inside was the color of pond sludge, and it steamed up a sour herbal reek that made my stomach clench.
“Drink this,” she said.
“No, thanks,” I replied, and reached for the makeup wipes instead. My hands were trembling, and I hated her for noticing.
Her eyes narrowed. She didn’t raise her voice, didn’t get physical. She didn’t need to. She just said, “Drink,” again, and this time it hit my body like a shove.
I curled my fingers around the cup, trying to resist, but it was like my muscles belonged to someone else. My wolf howled in protest, but even she couldn’t override the compulsion. Mylips touched the rim, and I tasted the bitterness before the smell even registered.
