I exhaled.
Shoulders back. Chin up.
I felt good. Better than I had in months. But there was no time to bask in the afterglow.
A quick glance at my phone sent a jolt through me. I was running late for my shift at The Sacrifice. Now I would have to sprint halfway across Hell’s Kitchen to shake my ass for a crowd of drunks under a different kind of spotlight.
I grabbed my belongings and bolted out of the building.
By the time I stepped out of Playwrights Haven, the sun was long gone. I hustled northwest through the Theater District and into Hell’s Kitchen, weaving past piles of trash bags, busted neon signs, and guys on corners shouting at ghosts. Half the streetlights were busted. The other half buzzed like they were about to give out at any moment. A siren wailed a few blocks over. Someone was shouting in Spanish. The scent of fried food and something vaguely like piss hung heavy in the air. I hadneither the time nor the cash for a subway or cab. My shift at The Sacrifice started in twenty minutes, and I still had to sneak in the back before Carlos lost his shit.
Chapter four
Imoved down the alley that ran behind The Sacrifice, raced up the steps, and pressed my hand to the palm scanner beside the back door. It flashed green and beeped. The lock clicked, and I hurried inside.
The hallway was dim and humming with the bass from the club. The door slammed behind me, sealing out the chilly night air.
Dammit, I was late.
I made a beeline for the dressing room, jogging up the narrow stairwell to the second level. The club had been open for hours. Music pounded through the walls, drowning out my thoughts, but it did nothing to alleviate the nerves crawling up my spine. Carlos was going to murder me. I should be going on stage at this very moment.
I burst through the door of the dressing room, breathless. Two other girls—Nina and Jade—were halfway through their costume changes after performing their first double.
“You’re late,” Nina muttered, tugging on her sheer corset and eyeing the clock. “Carlos is gonna flip.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” I said, stripping off my hoodie, T-shirt, and jeans. My body ached from the long day, my knee still throbbed, and I was starving, but there wasn’t time to dwell on any of it. I threw on the outfit laid out on my dressing table—a barely-there hot pink bikini trimmed in sequins and paired with a gauzy sheer skirt that wouldn’t survive a single grope if I got close enough to a handsy patron. I yanked my hair into a high ponytail, grabbing my false lashes and liner.
That was when the door banged open behind us.
Carlos Hernandez stepped inside without knocking.
The other girls scattered, slipping out of the room like smoke.
I froze, clutching my top while I held my bikini bottoms halfway up one leg.
His eyes dropped to my bare chest, then to my ass. “Jesus Christ, girl. You got a watch?”
I yanked the bottoms up and snapped the top into place, turning to smile at him like nothing was wrong. “Sorry, Carlos. The audition ran long. But I’m ready. No worries.”
He took two steps toward me, real slow. Then he lifted his hand and slapped me across the cheek.
I reeled but didn’t fall. The sting flared hot.
“You make this club look bad, you make the boss look bad,” he said through clenched teeth. “You know what happens to girls who make us look unprofessional? They end up in a fucking dumpster in Jersey.”
I blinked and forced a tight-lipped smile. “Right. Of course.”
“Get your ass downstairs. Now.”
He turned and slammed the door behind him.
For the first time since performing here, real fear gripped me. My hands trembled as I painted on my stage face—liner, lashes, lips. I’d been wearing stage makeup since I was four years old,but I’d never had to apply it with my hands shaking and my heart beating this fast, my cheek still stinging.
I didn’t look in the mirror for long. Just long enough to breathe.
And then I bolted.
Carlos stood by the stage stairs, scowling. “Don’t fuck this up,” he sneered.
