“Screw you.”
“You’re in way over your head.”
I broke free from his grasp. “You don’t get to say that. You don’t get to tell me where I belong.”
“You should go back to Tennessee,” he said, “before you end up dead.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know enough. And I’m telling you—get out.”
I didn’t move. The street around us was quiet, like the city itself held its breath. A gust of cold air swept past, stirring the snow at our feet and tugging at the edges of the peacoat.
“You think Delgado is just a Manhattan thug,” he finally said in that annoyingly condescending tone of his. “But he’s not. He’s protected by men with six-figure suits and ten-dollar souls. He’s got connections all the way up to D.C.andfucking diplomatic immunity.”
He took a slow step forward.
“You think I’m the threat, little lamb? Delgado buys girls from Eastern Europe and Honduras, flies them in under fake student visas, and locks them in basements. And the men who bankroll it?” His lips twisted into something ugly. “They eat lunch with senators and sign bills about justice reform.”
I swallowed, hard.
But he just kept going. “You think twirling half-naked on a pole is harmless? Those routines you do? You work in a goddamn showroom. The Sacrifice is just a marketplace in disguise.”
My breath caught.
“Interested buyers watch you up there, decide if you’re worth owning. Delgado lets them make their picks in the VIPlounge. That’s what your little sparkly costume is for—window dressing.”
I stared at him. The words didn’t just land—they detonated. My mind spun, trying to reject them, but the puzzle pieces were clicking into place—things I’d noticed but brushed off. A sick feeling rose in my chest, bitter and hot.
“The cameras backstage…” I said slowly. “The men who linger too long… Carlos dragging that guy’s body off like it was no big deal…”
Mr. Stalker didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to.
And suddenly I couldn’t pretend anymore.
I thought about the way the other dancers wouldn’t meet my eyes. About the girls who never came back. About how Danielle always changed into baggy clothes the second she walked offstage. How I did too. Instinctively.
I’d been so stupid.
Something cracked inside me.
“I didn’t know,” I whispered.
“No,” he said, tilting his head. “You didn’twantto know.”
Shame burned through me like acid. I wrapped my arms tighter across my chest and looked away, blinking hard.
He let the silence stretch before delivering the final blow.
“And you’re right about one thing,” he said coldly. “I am a killer. I’ve ended lives without flinching. But there’s a difference between violence and violation. I don’t touch women who can’t say no. I don’t trade flesh for profit. And I sure as hell don’t parade innocents on a stage so monsters can place their bids.”
His eyes locked onto mine, unblinking.
“I’m no saint, but I have a line. Delgado doesn’t. Men like him smile while they sell your future. To him it’s just business.”
My pulse stuttered.
“I’m not one of those girls,” I stammered. “I’m not even really a stripper. Not that there’s anything wrong with that—a girl hasto do what she has to in order to make a living. But I don’t take my clothes off. I do aerial work—performance art. It’s like a sexy circus act. That’s what he pays me for. I’m not…” My hands were flying around as if they had a mind of their own. “No one would want to buy me anyway.”
