Candy’s the only one back there, typing furiously on her phone. The metal tin sits open on her vanity, empty now. She looks jittery, hands trembling as she sets her phone down.
“You okay?” I ask, changing into a black satin bra and matching panties for the floor.
Her nod is jerky. “Yeah, fine. Just waiting for someone.”
“A customer?”
“No.” She leans in, voice dropping to a whisper. “My dealer. I need more pills.”
“Your dealer? He’s coming here?” I remember what Katie said about Alessio’s drug policy, and I have a bad feeling about this.
“Not inside. I’m meeting him out back in five minutes.” She picks up the empty tin. “The boss won’t even notice I’m gone. And you better not say a word to him about it.”
I remember Alessio telling me earlier that there was no reason for us to speak one-on-one. “Don’t worry. I won’t be talking to him at all.”
I head back out to the floor where Cherry’s on stage in a schoolgirl outfit, slowly unbuttoning her shirt. I scan the room and spot a guy near the bar with his eyes glued to me and a noticeable bulge in his pants. Not my first choice for a lap dance, but the other girls made it clear that’s where the real money is.
The club takes fifty percent, but even with that cut, I can make decent cash if I do this right. I can do this. I have to do this.
I strut over to his table, pointedly not looking for Alessio. I don’t care where he went. I really don’t.
“Hey, handsome, did you enjoy my show?” I ask, channeling every sultry movie I’ve ever seen.
The guy licks his lips. He’s not terrible looking, receding hairline aside. Strong jaw, blue eyes. If my first lap dance has to be with someone, at least he’s not hideous.
“Hell, yeah. You looked hot in red.” His gaze drops to my barely covered breasts. “But black looks good, too.”
I’m about to trail my finger across his shoulders when the club’s front door bursts open. Four men swagger inside wearing leather cuts identical to the ones I saw at the cafe. Different guys, same patches: a skeleton riding a motorcycle with “Devil’s Brood” circling it.
This can’t be a coincidence.
My blood turns to ice. They shove past the bouncer at the door. The guy’s big, but not big enough to stop four huge bikers.
The security guys Alessio stationed around the club move toward the bikers. Alessio appears too, his voice carrying across the room, cold as winter.
“You’re in my territory. Time to leave.”
“What the fuck?” one biker snarls. “We just want to watch some sluts dance. Why should we leave?”
“I know why you’re here. You picked the wrong place to make a statement.”
“Too late!”
One of them grabs an empty beer bottle from a nearby table and smashes it. Glass flies as he swipes at Alessio, too fast for him to dodge completely. The jagged edge catches him across the chest. Blood beads across Alessio’s shirt, bright against the stark white. The sight jolts the whole room into motion.
Alessio moves like violence is his second language. His fist connects with the first biker’s face with a wet crunch that drops the man instantly. No wasted motion, no hesitation.
The sound of bone snapping carries even over the music, and the other men stumble back, suddenly less eager to test him.
It’s not just security versus bikers, either. Drunk customers throw wild punches, one guy stumbling into a table hard enough to split his eyebrow open before he even lands a hit.
While chaos erupts around him, Alessio remains controlled. He grabs a second biker by the throat, drives his knee into the man’s solar plexus, and watches him crumple. The cut on his chest doesn’t slow him down. If anything, it seems to piss him off more.
The music keeps blaring overhead, bass vibrating through the melee like nothing’s wrong, while bodies slam into tables and fists thud against flesh.
The smart girls are already running backstage, away from the violence. There’s a voice in my head screaming at me to follow them, but my feet are glued to the floor. I can’t move, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but watch the chaos unfold.
One of the bikers spots me and lurches in my direction. His unsteady gait and predatory grin send me spiraling back to nights I’ve spent years trying to forget. Eric used to move toward me with that same look, that same intent.
