As quickly as I can, I slip out of my ripped jeans and t-shirt and into a sheer, black lace corset. It’s revealing, while also covering everything I need it to. A garter belt fastens over my waist, holding my black fishnet stockings in place. I disconnect from myself a little bit more with each snap of the clasp.
It’s just another routine, a performance just like all the rest, practiced and perfected to draw therightkind of attention from the audience.
Sheer ruffles of lace flare off my hips, delicate and teasing, softening the dark look I picked for tonight.
Leaning into the mirror, I darken my makeup. The bold, dark liner and burgundy lips feel a lot like slipping on a mask. Typically I wear little to no makeup, a little eyeliner, a sweep of mascara—anything else would be washed off in sweat by my second class. But inside these walls, inside Wonderland, I’m notBriar. I’m who I need to be to survive. I’m playing a role—a character— I’m Bella.
AndBellais all sinful curves, coy smiles, and is just elusive enough to keep the men out there drooling and opening up their wallets.
My rigorous ballet training has honed my body to my control and now I’ve weaponized it; choreographed every mannerism so as to better manipulate men. Every movement has purpose; every toss of my hair, every swing of my hip, and every curl of my lips meant to charm, tease, flirt…
And as long as I keep hold of that—that control—I can make it through this. I can do this.
Disassociation is my new best friend.
Temporary. It’s only temporary.
I try to push away the thought that it’s not just tonight. It’severynight, until Gio finally decides to let me go. If he wanted to, he could have me thrown in the back of a van again and brought to another warehouse that I’m sure he has waiting.
Finished, I stare at myself in the mirror, barely recognizing the girl staring back.
Good. I don’t want to know her.
Celeste barges through the curtains, giving me an assessing look and subsequent nod of approval. “Sierra, you were supposed to be on stage five minutes ago. Move your ass.” She glowers at Sierra a moment longer before her eyes fall back on me. “Bella, you’re on bar.”
I give her a quick nod to let her know I’ve heard her and she disappears back through the dark curtains.
Looking back into the mirror, I push away an errant strand of dark hair from my face with trembling fingers as I rise, retreating into myself as I head out to the floor.
34
WE’RE ALL MAD HERE
KOEN
Now
“We should wait for Aidan,” Liam says, a look of unease in his eyes as we arrive outside of Wonderland, the strip club Giovanni uses like it’s his personal conference room.
“Aidan’s not coming,” I say. “He’s staying at the Lake House with Rory. You, me and Alex can handle Giovanni Moretti. Aidan needs some time to sort shit out with his new wife.”
“I’m sure they’re getting in plenty of cardio,” Liam muses, shooting a wink at Alex who rolls his eyes.
We step into the club and immediately are approached by a blonde with huge tits. They’re spilling out of the tight black dress she’s squeezed them into. “Mr. O’Rourke,” she says, her smile eager. “Mr. Moretti is expecting you. Please come this way.”
It’s a Friday night and the place is busy. As we get closer to VIP, I notice they have some high roller football players in. It’s causing quite the stir among the dancers in the club as they try and hustle their way into the lap of one of the professional athletes.
The blonde leads us to a private table, off to the right of the center stage, in the VIP section.
Another blonde is curled around the pole in front of us, her body contorted in ways that defy gravity, but my attention is on the Italian in a sleek navy suit headed our way with a huge smile on his face.
“Koen! Good to see you.” Giovanni offers his hand and I take it. “Welcome to Wonderland.” He winks at me but I just scowl at him. I’m not known for my warm personality.
“Giovanni.”
“Come, come.” He smiles, motioning for us to sit.
We take a seat. Liam and I on one of the couches opposite the one Giovanni sinks into. Alex slides into one of the arm chairs.
