The beat hits, thick and sharp like a slap across the face.Bola Rebolaby Tropkillaz, J. Balvin, Anitta, and ZAAC plays so loud I can feel the music vibrating through the floor. Energy courses through my body like a shot of adrenaline. The lights flare crimson, then fade into an inky violet haze as I step into my alter ego. Alma’s gone. In her place is a woman desperate for answers. A woman who was left nothing but confusion and lies from her mother’s inheritance. Up here, I’m all instinct. All hunger. All mask.
My fingers grip the cold steel, and I roll my hips slowly,moving mechanically to the beat, giving the audience what they want. My body knows the routine better than my mind does now.
Arch.
Twist.
Drop low.
Split.
There’s nothing like the rush of being on stage. I feel alive when I’m here. Maybe alive isn’t the right word. No, powerful—that’s what it is. Dancing on this stage makes me feel powerful and in control. I love the feeling of the prying eyes, and the way I get lost in the performance.
Claudi took a chance on me and let me train with the best who came before me. Within two years, I earned my spot as his top dancer. Even with the security of Calavera Hotels and my promotion there, this is where I thrive. A few nights a week here earns me double what I make working nine-to-five at the hotel.
My hands find my breasts, and I open my mouth with a soundless moan. Bills fall like rain to the stage. The control I possess over the men in this room is addictive. With every bill they throw, I feed off their lustful thoughts like a vampire. The thrill of dominating their emotions turns me on.
My wings shimmer under the lights as I twist my hips and drag my fingers up my thighs. The back corner booth calls to me, and I look their way, hoping to find Doctor Curtis Anderson, an old friend of my mother’s.
He’s the only one who will trade me small bits of information for a private dance. He knows more than he’s willing to share, taking advantage of what he can, but in the end, we both leave satisfied. He gives me names of old lovers, addresses she frequented, and even small details about how Missy would spend her free time. It’s more than any of the private investigators gave me.
I don’t see the man I’m looking for, but my eyes naturally stray to the back of the room. Dropping to my knees, I crawl to the edge of the stage and glance up as my gaze collides with a dark figure seated at the bar. I can’t make out his features under the bright lights, but I can tell by his silhouette that he’s wearing a hoodie pulled over a hat.
My body turns rigid when I finally see his eyes. Quickly, I turn my back to the audience and close my eyes. My heart beats out of my chest, but my body stays in line with the performance. My ass bouncing up and down to the beat, my hips rolling forward, but I keep my eyes closed, afraid to turn around. Afraid because I’ve seen eyes like those before. They belong to the only person who knows my past. The only person who could expose me for who I really am.
Chapter 4
Efren
Present
Houston, Texas
Acada santo le llega su hora.It’s a saying my adoptive father, Bud, used often to remind me that everything hidden would come to light. Like the woman dancing on the stage in front of me. She thought I’d never find her, but she was wrong. Our worlds are too closely aligned, our paths destined to cross again and again until she realizes she belongs to me.
What happened the night Esteban died wasn’t an accident. If anything, it had been premeditated on my end, even if the plan didn’t go as planned. Even if the woman I was trying to protect isn’t staring at me like she’s seen a ghost.
I’m not supposed to be here.
In her space.
Watching her.
But I know the real her. I know every broken fucking piece of her, and I know what she’s searching for. Time hasinevitably changed us both. But trauma? That motherfucker sticks around like a stain neither of us can scrub clean. Like the blood that covered her that night.
Alma turns her back to me, and continues the show. My jaw clenches at the sight of men shoving dollar bills into her leather thong. Pulling out a fifty, I throw it onto the bar and take off before the song’s over.
“Damn, what took so fucking long?” Ricky says when I get to the van.
“Claudi was busy,” I lie and throw the black duffle bag filled with money into the back.
“Fuck, I could’ve gotten a lap dance if I knew it was going to take that long.”
“Keep driving, we got four more stops to go.”
Ricky lets out a sigh, and I nod for him to get going. I hate these late night runs as much as he does. I never wanted to come back to Houston. Not after Bud dragged me here. He and Angela started having problems after Esteban’s death.
I met Adrian Ibarra my sophomore year when we both took to the streets to survive. Slinging dope to the rich kids at Saint Rita’s had been our full-time job until Adrian was set up, and I was taken down with him. We were seventeen years old, trying to survive prison, and forced to make decisions that would forever alter our futures, like taking up an alliance with the prison gang Los Antros.
