No time to think about the threatening man from earlier.
No time to think about the way Carmine had looked at me.
No time to think about Mr. Stalker.
No time to panic.
I was now officially a paid actress.
And tonight, I would play my most important role yet—a girl who wasn’t scared.
Chapter fifteen
The moment I burst through the back door of The Sacrifice, the noise swallowed me whole—bass thrumming like a pulse, distant laughter, muffled shouting from the stage.
I didn’t slow but flew down the hallway.
Carlos barely looked up from his phone as I passed. Good. I didn’t want any trouble. I was already cutting it too close.
I took the stairs two at a time and reached the dressing room in under thirty seconds, yanked open my locker, and stripped fast. I shoved my clothes and bag inside and slammed the door shut, then turned to my rack of costumes, grabbed the skimpy black silver-trimmed two-piece, and hurriedly pulled it on. At least the club supplied the costumes.
My fingers trembled as I clipped the top. I twisted my hair into a tight knot and wrapped it in the black tie I always kept around my wrist when it wasn’t in my hair. After a quick application of stage makeup, I was ready to go on. On time, thankfully.
I padded barefoot down the hallway to stage left, where one of the crew handed me the aerial pole without a word. My musclestensed as I gripped the smooth metal, and I took a deep breath, my mind relaxing. I could do this routine with my eyes closed.
The spotlight blinked on, and the music started to play.
I ran two steps and vaulted high.
The pole swung me in a wide arc, catching the light as I rotated into center stage. The crowd blurred beneath me—silhouettes of men with drinks in hand, their heads tilted upward in hungry fascination.
Every pose, every rotation, every slow descent was designed to make them squirm in their seats. My body knew just what to do.
So I performed. Let the music guide my movements, let the lights blur the edges of my fear. The spotlight tracked my every movement. I extended my legs, tightening my core as I hung inverted and began to spin.
Then I saw him.
Ciro Delgado—here in person!
He was seated directly in front of the stage, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Even sitting there relaxed, he loomed like a king. The lighting accentuated the deep scar over his right brow. His jaw was thick, his face craggy and brutal. Not handsome. Not even close. He oozed power, wealth, and violence.
Flanked by his men, he didn’t need to say a word to make the entire room nervous.
My stomach dropped.
I missed a grip with my inner thigh and slipped—but then caught myself. Turned it into a spin. Tried to pretend it was planned.
My pulse throbbed in my neck.
Focus, Lyla.
Don’t think. Don’t panic. Just move.
I’d only seen him once before, from a distance.
But now…he was here, right in front of me.
My mouth grew dry as I wrapped my legs around the pole again and smiled. I swallowed my fear. Forced it down.
