The song shifts, darker, deeper, filling the air with tension. The bass pounds against my chest, vibrating through my heart and rattling my bones. Glancing up, I spot the top box, its opaque windows revealing only shadows. The owner watches from there, but somehow I can’t bring myself to worry.
I’ve been coming here for years, since before my father, Ferguson O’Brien died, and just because my sister Maeve was now Captain, didn’t mean I would be changing my schedule. If Roman Bruno didn’t like it, he could come tell me himself.
Twisting, I use my middle to pull myself up, sliding down the pole with practiced ease. I keep my back to the crowd, slipping one strap off my shoulder as the tempo increases. Men cheer, a few whistling and blood rushes to my face, dusting my pale cheeks crimson.
The attention, the applause—this is why I do it. I want to beseen. I want to give into the darkest parts of my soul and lap up the depravity. Because this is safe, this feeds that darkness and doesn’t hurt anyone else.
This stage is my sanctuary—safe to be me, to give in, and to keep others safe.
The other strap falls and the cheers grow more rabid. I’m not very creative in making new routines, trying new things, but I’ve got a dedicated following that doesn’t seem to care.
Unlatching my top, I toss it to the side, turning so the light hits my midsection the right way. Years of doing this, I know how to flaunt my body and hide the bitter parts. Under the coldblue lights, my body glows, breasts appearing larger than they are, sharp bones hidden in the shadows. A shot of thrill strikes my gut and I smirk.
I’m a queen to these people—and they want to worship me. This doesn’t happen anywhere else.
Running, I catch the pole, swinging around as one leg extends out. It’s quick work as the third and final song plays, and I snap the ties on my hips, bottoms falling to the floor. Those cheers turn to shouts, men slapping the tables and their friend’s backs. I might hate my body, unable to look most days in the mirror, but they enjoy it.
Maybe evenheenjoys it. I won’t think about why that excites me.
Or why it’ll never go past childish fantasies of temptation.
Sliding down the pole, I spread my legs, leaning back as the lights shut off, turning the stage black once more. Finished, I grab my clothes and leave the tips. Someone else will collect them for me and I’ll share them among the other girls. The ones who will take them, anyway.
Bruno runs a tight ship with the girls he owns. If they don’t get enough, they’re punished. This is my way of helping.
Sliding behind the curtains, I pull on my robe, security keeping their eyes firmly ahead. They’ve all been instructed to ignore the girls who come to work. The only ones they can touch are Bruno’s girls.
Fluffing out my wig, the blue strands catch in my fake eyelashes, and I watch as Charity throws her arms around me. “You did amazing, like always!”
I pat her back awkwardly. “Thank you. You’re up next, right?”
“Right,” she agrees, a fake blonde wig cut into a bob around her chin. Charity is one of the girls Bruno doesn’t run and therefore, the only one who talks to me.
The others? They know who my sister is. Most know not to associate with me if it means facing Bruno’s wrath.
I give her another smile, turning to the dressing rooms. I don’t get to stay as long as the others, coming right before my set, performing and sneaking out. I have to now that Maeve has the house being watched with guards stationed at all the entry points like some dictator. Tonight, I had to climb the broken iron spikes outside my window.
If I had been caught—well… that’s not a conversation I want with my sister.
The only one who seems to know my secret is Hayes Monticello, her best friend, and my not-so-secret admirer. He comes in, watches and waits for me when my dance routine is over. When I caught him here months ago, we had it out at Sloane’s charity auction, right before she was kidnapped. I yelled at him to keep his mouth shut.
He threatened to tell Maeve—just to be a dick.I could’ve killed him.
But he never told her, just kept coming to watch me. It’s been months and I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop, where he tells Maeve and I’m locked in my room until the day I die.Pops would’ve done it.
“Hey, before you go,” Charity calls out and I stop. “Roman wants to see you.”
Cursing mentally, I don’t let the smile slip. I’ve been here for years with very little interaction with Roman, for obvious reasons. I came in one morning to audition after a terrible night that resulted in a broken mirror and the Madame that runs the girls took me within thirty seconds. Ever since, I’ve kept to the stage, ignoring his presence on the upper floor.
Now he wants to see me. After what happened between his family and my brother-in-law Alessio’s, in which he backedDom’s failed coup and Lex refused to pay the toll, I can only imagine he’s coming for me now as a way to even the odds.
Being in the crime family, even adjacent, comes with a lot of landmines you have to navigate. Mine is keeping track of which family pissed off whom.
Sighing, I get back to the dressing room, throwing on a pair of grey sweats and a white tank top. An unassuming outfit, I can usually convince Maeve that I was out for a run if I come home too late. It’s not a great excuse but it does the job.
Thankfully, having the reputation of being the perfect daughter, no one questions me.
Whipping the wig off, I throw it into my duffle, shoving all my extra bits in there. The expensive makeup, the heels, and the various outfits I keep in stock in case I need more. Looking in the mirror, I fight the cringe and focus on my face.
