Chapter One

Nora

“The Celia Young disappearance has now been declared a cold case. I’m sorry.”

I stared at detective Reed, my hands clutching the chair so hard it hurt. I’d been expecting him to ask us to identify my sister’s body, or at least for him to say that he had a lead. Having him say instead that they had given up looking was… a mind fuck, to say the least.

All we had was a pile of questions and no shovel to sort them with.

The not knowing was the worst.

“I beg your pardon?” my grandma said. I looked in her direction, seeing how she was clutching her purse, and I knew she was just as close as I was to flying off the handle.

The detective sighed. “Whatever happened to her, the trail has gone cold. I’m sorry.”

“You’re… sorry?”

The detective was looking at me with fake regret in his eyes. He was putting on a show, which was even worse than the fact that they had given up. It had only been six months since my sister’s disappearance. What did they mean, the trail had gone cold?

He shook his head. “The department has limited resources and—”

“Fuck your limited resources! This is my sister you’re—”

My grandmother clutched my hand, her nails digging into my flesh. “Leave it, Princesa. They are doing their best.” She turned to the detective. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Reed?”

He nodded, still avoiding our eyes. “Of course, we are. We understand that this is your family, but as I said, limited resources. We are doing everything we can.”

“I don’t think you are,” I blurted, my hand on my hip. I might have been petite, but I wasn’t going to let this man get away with this. There was something more at play here. Something he wasn’t telling us, and I was going to find out what.

“That British girl, the one who disappeared years ago… What was her name, Lita?” I turned to my grandmother.

“I think it was Madeleine. Madeleine McCann.”

There was no ‘I think’ about it. My grandmother and her friends happened to follow that case obsessively. Conspiracy theories abound.

“Yeah, Madeleine. Fifteen years later, they’re still looking for her, and you give up after six months? How is that fair?”

Detective Reed rolled his eyes. “I can’t speak to what the British police do, ma’am. Here in New York—”

“Don’t speak to me like I don’t understand,” I snapped sticking my finger in his face. The urge to slap him was almost overwhelming.

A flicker of annoyance flashed across his face, but he suppressed it. “Ma’am, I am going to have to ask you to leave. This conversation is no longer produc—”

“No!” I said desperately, “Wait. I’m sorry.” I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “I want us to resolve this amicably. So, let’s begin again, okay? Celia was working at Club Pandemonium. Did you speak with all the workers there?”

Detective Reed gave an exaggerated sigh. “Yes, we did.”

“And what about the owner? Her boyfriend was a bouncer for the club. Did you talk to him?”

“Miss Young, you know very well that we have spoken to all those people.”

“What about her neighbors? Did you get to all of them? Someone must have seen something.”

“That neighborhood is not well known for cooperating with the police.”

“I wonder why that is.”

“Nora,” my grandmother whispered admonishingly.

I met her eyes, taking a deep breath. She was right. Snarking at the cops wouldn’t get us anywhere. “I’m sorry. Just… I don’t think you’ve run down every lead. There are still avenues to pursue.”

“Is that so?” the detective’s mouth twisted in derision. “You know better than us?”

“I know that my sister didn’t just disappear into thin air. She’s twenty-two years old, and a whole hell of a lot of things could have happened to her. We just want to know what.” I fixed him with the most pleading puppy dog eyes I could manage. “Please, Detective Reed.”

He blinked at me and then shook his head. “I’m sorry, Miss Young. We’ve done everything we can.”

Simply put, I did not believe that he was telling the truth. There was something shifty about him. I couldn’t quite put my finger on what… but yeah, for sure. He was hiding something. I tried to think of a way to get it out of him.

“What did Igor say? Her boyfriend? Have you informed him that you’re stopping the investigation?”

“According to him, they broke up before she disappeared.”

“And you don’t find that convenient?”

Detective Reed shrugged. “She’s not exactly a housewife. We’ve had lots of women like your sister follow the same patterns of behavior—”

I almost leapt over the table to strangle him, but my Lita held me back. “Like my sister? You mean strippers? Are you calling my sister a whore?” I yelled.

“No. Of course not. But you must have known what sort of lifestyle she lived.”

I growled and he sighed, shaking his head.

“Look, all I’m saying is that there is nothing unusual about what happened before she took off. Nothing that would indicate your sister didn’t just skip town on her own. She’s an adult and she can do as she pleases. As someone who has seen this play out over and over, I would really suggest you focus on other things. Your sister will more likely than not show up when she feels like it.”

I just stared at him, my heart pounding. Thank God my grandmother was there. Celia wouldn’t just disappear. Sure, we weren’t as close as we once were, but we were the only family each other had. She wouldn’t just leave without a word.

Something had happened to her.

Something bad.

And if this stupid detective thought I was going to just roll over and let it go, he had another thing coming.

I whirled towards the door, pulling my grandmother along with me. “Alright then, thanks,” I said brusquely as I banged the door to his office open and stormed out. We were halfway down the hall when I heard my name called, much to my surprise. I turned to see Detective Reed following us.

“What now?” I snapped.

He came to a stop in front of me. “Please…let this go. For your own sake. This is doing nothing but causing you, and your grandmother, a tremendous amount of grief.” He turned to nod at her. “Don’t you see that?”

I narrowed my eyes at him, suspicious at his insistence. I didn’t say a word, hoping he’d fill the silence and incriminate himself.

“Again, we’ve done all we can. We have no power over what comes next. Do you understand me?”

I stared mutinously at him.

“Nora?” He raised an eyebrow at me.

“When did we get on a first-name basis?”

He sighed. “Fine. Miss Young, last warning. Drop this. It isn’t going to go anywhere.”

“Thank you very much for your input, detective. Your warning has been noted.” I turned and resumed walking, my grandma by my side, watching me with her cloudy eyes. She didn’t say a word and neither did I, but I guess she knew as well as I did that I wasn’t going to drop it.

Chapter Two

Nora

It was dark and freezing. I could feel every muscle in my body shivering—shaking with both cold and fear.

“Nora?”

Her voice was so tiny in the dark as her small hands grabbed at me.

“Shh,” I whispered, more afraid than I could ever remember being. Then it hit me.

Celia, clinging to me. We were in a dark, enclosed space, claustrophobia closing in on me like an evil cloud…

This is a dream.

I tried to wake up, but all I could hear was Celia crying softly, almost soundlessly; her small body shaking at my side. We were used to that—not making a sound. Papa didn’t like it when we cried. Even when he beat us. We couldn’t stop the tears rolling from our eyes, but we could stop the sounds in our throats. Celia, in particular, learned to be very quiet.

I wanted to get away from the dream, from the shouting I could hear outside the dark space we were in, from the cold… I wanted to be back in my own bed, warm and safe and grown, but I couldn’t make myself wake up.

With a cry, I was suddenly sitting ramrod straight up in bed, my eyes wide open. I blinked a few times and wiped my wet cheeks. My shoulders dropped as I sighed, remembering.

Real life wasn’t much better than my nightmares. Not with Celia missing.

Where are you, Celly? God, I will find you.

I blushed even as I thought it, knowing how much I’d let her down. Getting up, I stomped to the bathroom, staring at myself in the mirror. I couldn’t stand the girl staring back at me. That girl had sunk into complacency, being content with one phone call a week, letting her sister get further and further away from the little family she had… I shook my head, looking away, unable to face myself.

My sister was in trouble, and I hadn’t known until it was way too late to help her.

I’ll go to the ends of the earth if I have to. But I will bring you home.

I grabbed my toothbrush, aggressively brushed my teeth, then washed my face. I didn’t have to be on duty until an hour later, and the bike ride to the hospital took twenty minutes, so I had some time. I got in the shower, standing under the spray and letting the hot water dissipate the grogginess I was feeling.

A horrible night’s rest, no doubt brought on by too much whisky, meant I was in bad shape. I closed my eyes, trying to think about any clue I might have missed. Celia had failed to mention Igor in our weekly talks—frankly, she rarely mentioned anyone in her life—so maybe Detective Reed was right, and they weren’t important to each other. I wasn’t going to assume anything, though.

Maybe the police hadn’t known the right questions to ask, or maybe Igor wasn’t interested in talking to Five-O. He might tell me something he wouldn’t tell them. It was a start at least. Then I could approach the other strippers at the club. All I had to do was get close enough for them to start talking.

I stepped out of the shower. The difference between the warm steam and the cold air made me shiver. I took my brush, standing naked before the mirror, and combed my dark hair while giving myself a once-over.

The best way to get to speak with Igor and the girls was to get a job at Pandemonium.

My eyes raked over my body. I had an okay cleavage. My waist was fairly small, and I had ample hips—thank you, Spanish heritage. I could dance well enough and had made my way through nursing school on the pole when money was tight. I wasn’t a professional by any means, but I knew enough to fake it.

My muscles were kept tight and toned by the hours of walking in the wards that my nursing career demanded. Plus cycling everywhere of course. I wasn’t a health nut or anything. Riding a bike was just that much cheaper than driving.

My goal had been to get the three of us out of the hood one day, save some money to pay for Celia to go to designer school like she’d wanted… Basically, save my family.

Things were going well. Until they weren’t.

The ER was bedlam. I was so happy I’d had time for breakfast—coffee and avocado toast from Starbucks—before I had to deal with some guy’s gunshot wound to the chest, followed by a kid with a bean stuck up his nose. The kid was fine; his mother, on the other hand, had needed a sedative.

“Do you want to wait thirty minutes for the doctor, or would you like me to extract it?” I asked her. It was a fairly simple procedure, and I had the forceps to do it. The bean thankfully wasn’t very far in.

“You do it! Please, just do it!” she almost screamed, and I could see how freaked out she was.

“Alright. But I need you to calm down, alright? Have a seat. Everything is going to be fine.”

She nodded frantically and sat down—curled up on herself, swaying back and forth, self-soothing. I felt sorry for her, but I knew the best way to help both of them was to get the bean out of the kid’s nose.

I turned to him and smiled. “So, Julius, I’m gonna get that bean out of your nose, alright? It won’t take long, and I don’t think it’ll hurt. Will you be a brave boy for me?”

He nodded slowly, his brown bangs bouncing on his forehead. He reminded me so much of Celia at that age. So cute and responsive, and very quiet.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and picked up the forceps. I talked to him as I burrowed in his nose, clamping onto the bean and pulling it out carefully. He didn’t so much as flinch.

“What a brave boy you are!” I hummed. “There, all done.”

I sprayed some antibacterial mist up his nose just in case, cleaned up the snot, and handed him good as new to his mother. She burst into tears, clutching him close. Julius was unmoved by her hysterics, and I had a feeling she freaked out often enough that it wasn’t new to him. I waved awkwardly and left her to it.

My next patient was more… complicated.

Claudette Stevens, twenty-three years old. Her dark brown hair did nothing to hide the bruises on her neck, and her downcast eyes were tired. I could hardly bear to look at her, but I had to smile and be professional. All my patients were bringing Celia to mind that day.

I felt as if someone was trying to send me a message.

Claudette was five foot six and a hundred-and-ten pounds—way too thin. Her elbows stuck out like tiny spears, sharp enough to pierce her concave stomach. Her collarbone was stark, and her cheeks were slightly hollowed. But she stood straight and unbowed, looking at me with defiant eyes.

Just like Celia.

“So, what brings you to the ER today?”

Claudette looked away. “I fainted and my stomach aches.”

I cocked an eyebrow in disbelief, staring at that bruise around her neck. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

I expelled a breath and turned away, shaking my head as I picked up the blood pressure cuff. She pulled back her sleeve so I could get an accurate reading. More bruises. To nobody’s surprise, her blood pressure was on the higher side of normal.

There were so many times I stood to the side while my mother told a nurse or a doctor about her own “accidents”: running into a door or falling down the stairs. I glanced towards the curtains separating the cubicle from the rest of the corridor and saw a man peering in. His eyes were steady on Claudette.

“You know, the hospital has certain resources that can help you in case you’re in… a tricky spot,” I whispered.

She shook her head, still not looking at me. “Thanks, but I’m not in any sort of spot.”

“Do you have kids?”

Her eyes slid along the floor and then flicked towards the curtain. She shook her head. I didn’t know if I believed her, but there was nothing in her file to indicate she was lying.

“Well… if you change your mind, you know where to start,” I whispered.

She nodded, not lifting her head at all. With an inward sigh, I walked out of the room with her file, eyeballing the man lurking in the corridor.

“Excuse me, sir. You can’t be back here unless you’re a patient.”

“It’s fine,” he said, not deigning to look at me. “I’m waiting for someone.”

I hesitated, wondering if I should insist. He was a big guy, at least six foot three, with wide shoulders. His hair was cut close to his skull as if he was in the military. He wore cargo shorts and a striped blue and white shirt. I could describe him to the cops if needed.

I walked away, perfunctorily knocking on the GP’s door before entering the room and placing the file on the desk. “Hey, doc. You need to watch out for this one. Might be some domestic abuse going on.”

The doctor sighed, shaking her head. “I’m guessing she’s not admitting it?”

“Nah. Walked into a door.”

We exchanged commiserating glances before I shook my head and left. One thing I knew for sure: nobody could help Claudette until she was ready to help herself. Being that broken, that damaged, was something I could definitely relate to, so it filled me with guilt to just have to walk away… again.

I checked my watch and saw that it was almost noon. Late enough for me to take my lunch break. I was already sick of this shift, so I alerted the front desk and took off for the taco truck across the street.

Buying two tacos and two coffees, I headed down to the morgue where my friend Jodie worked as a pathologist. I found her in her office, transcribing her notes, and held up the brown paper bag.

She immediately stopped typing and grinned at me. “My Lord and savior.” She held her hands out wide, and I stepped into them and let her hug me before she snatched the bag of food. She opened it and peered inside.

“Mmm, tacos. It’s like you read my mind.”

“Yes, I’m psychic.” I collapsed into an empty chair with a sigh.

She stared at me, her bright blue eyes taking me in. “Rough morning?”

“Ugh.” I covered my face with my hands.

“Is it the clinic or your sis?”

“Both. Got a domestic violence case just now. Chick is denying it and not even trying to do a good job of it.”

“Maybe she needs a knight in shining armor.” Jodie shrugged, taking a bite of her taco.

I snorted. “Yeah, well, best of luck getting through her meathead boyfriend.”

“Is she like… hot?”

I opened my eyes to glare at her. “Did you not hear the part where I said she’s in an abusive relationship?”

Jodie shrugged. “You know I’m a sucker for a damsel in distress.”

“You’re a sucker for any damsel.”

“Hey!”

I grinned at her, feeling a lot better. “What? You know I call them as I see them.”

She shrugged. “Fair.” She handed me a taco, “Now eat and tell me what else is bothering you. You look rough, and I know it’s not just because of this.”

“Jeez, thanks. Always good to know that I look as bad as I feel.”

“You know what I mean.”

I sighed. “Yeah. I do.” I bit into the taco.

“So, what’s up, doc? Is it your sis?”

I sighed, leaning on my hands before telling her about our visit to the detective. She was outraged on my behalf and totally agreed with me that the detective was hiding something.

“Dick. Do you think he’s on someone’s payroll?”

I stared at her. I hadn’t even thought of that. I just thought he was being a lazy son of a bitch. “You think so?”

“Hey, Jeffrey Epstein had some cops in his pockets.”

My eyes widened further. “She’s too old to be caught up in something like that.”

“Would you prefer to think that she’s dead?”

I didn’t want to think about that.

“Well… anyway, I’ll find out soon enough,” I said.

“What do you mean by that?”

I gave Jodie a side-eye. She was my best friend, and she had my back, but I didn’t feel comfortable bringing anyone else into my plan. If I told her what I intended on doing, she might have insisted on helping me… or changing my mind. If I knew one thing for sure, it was that my plan was dangerous and possibly stupid. I wasn’t going to drag anyone else into it.

“Let’s talk about something else. I need a distraction from the bad dreams and the worse thoughts. What are you up to?”

“Nothing fun. Madly swiping left on Tinder, trying to find my soulmate.” She shrugged but her blue eyes twinkled.

I had to laugh. “Maybe lower your expectations a bit?”

“Okay, fine. I just want a hot girl with a sharp mind and one hell of an ass.”

“Ah, much more attainable.” I grinned as I took another bite of my taco. I sat back and we ate in silence. I felt the peace of the morgue wash over me, the deep quiet, the sense of profundity brought about by the fact that we were surrounded by the end of life. It was impossible to think petty thoughts while I was down here.

Jodie finished her taco and wiped her hands on her tissue. She straightened up, grabbing her latte and sipping at it with a frown on her face. She flicked back her dark hair and focused on me.

“So… to return to your Detective Reed. What are you gonna do? Report him to his superiors?”

I gave her a look. “Does that ever work?”

She shrugged. “No idea.”

“I’ll figure it out.”

She lowered her head. “What does that mean?”

“It means I’ll figure it out.”

Jodie shook her head at me. “What are you planning, my dear scheming friend?”

My mouth twisted as I took a sip of my coffee. “Something stupid, obviously.”

Chapter Three

Alexei

I threw my head back, almost hitting the wall behind me, and I bit my bottom lip to suppress any sound. Jules’ mouth was a godsend, sucking the soul out of my dick like it was her job. She was nothing if not a pro—a valuable resource to have when I was feeling stressed.

My hips jerked as I grunted, coming down her throat.

She pulled away with a soft moan, giving me a lustful look from beneath her lashes. She was kneeling on the floor of my office between my legs, my desk at her back. It was a great look for her, but I knew she was about to start some shit. Asking for a performance review or when we could see each other again.

I had a feeling she was starting to get the wrong idea about us.

The door opened, and Kirill, one of my Brigadiers, came in. “Papa, we have a problem in the club.”

All my brigadiers called me Papa or Pakhan to show their respect. After all, I was the boss. But Kirill and I had grown up together in this business, so it felt weird when he called me that. When we were alone, he stuck with Alexei, but as soon as anyone else was around, he shifted into formality.

I liked that about him. When people saw someone as close to me as Kirill giving me my due respect, it didn’t even occur to them not to do the same.

“What problem?” I pushed Jules off me, buttoning up my fly as I got to my feet.

“Fight broke out on the floor. One of the girls is involved. You want me to take care of it?”

I was tempted for a moment. Blowing my load always left me with a pleasant high for a few minutes. It would have been nice to bask in it.

But then conflict spurred a different but equally attractive kind of adrenaline, and I could walk and chew gum. I shook my head. “Let’s go.”

The Pandemonium was a private club. It had nothing to do with the mob business. It belonged wholly to me, all above board and legal. Almost. Aside from it being an excellent place to launder money, the club was also great for hearing things. My clientele was a mixed pot: other gangs looking to party on neutral ground; rich kids wanting to flirt with danger; Wall Street types wanting to relax somewhere they didn’t have to put up a front; politicians too, mostly those looking to make deals with criminals.

As a result, I expected a certain level of professionalism from my workers. This wasn’t some hole-in-the-wall place. It was a classy joint. I expected my employees to behave accordingly.

Pandemonium had three levels, the first being a dance floor, with a DJ booth and a bar, strobe lights, house music, the works. I had a few girls working the floor, supplying the Wall Street types with every drug they could dream of.

The second floor was the strip club—we had theme nights. Monique, my entertainment manager, set them up. There were cowboy nights on Mondays, where anyone who could stay on the mechanical bull for two minutes got a free, private, lap dance.

We had a live band that played all the country songs.

Tuesdays was BBW night where our plus sized strippers did their thing. It’s been surprising to see what a draw they were. Wednesdays was drag queens. Thursdays, college nights. And Fridays, was free for all.

The third floor was more exclusive—I call it, VIP. Admission was by appointment only. Patrons could order dinner, have their secret meetings, drink the night away, order up strippers, dancers, or drugs, a stenographer, videographer, fax machine… Whatever they wanted, the butler would supply. It was swept for bugs twice a night and no phones were allowed.

I took the elevator down to the second floor, Kirill by my side. It was still early on a Monday night, so thankfully it wasn’t packed yet. There were two men in the open space surrounding the stage, beating the shit out of each other. I sighed, squared my knuckles, and dove in. Taking each man by the scruff of their shirts like dogs, I shook them apart.

“Alright, fuckers. Either of you wanna tell me what’s going on?” I demanded.

One of the men growled, trying to break free of my hold and come at me. I didn’t spend six days a week with a trainer bench pressing three hundred pounds so that some punk in my club could attack me.

I let go of the first guy and punched the second one in the face. Then, quick as a flash, I resumed my hold on the first guy and brought him right up to my face, his feet almost hanging off the ground.

I was never one to display my physical power for fun. But now and then, just to remind the hoi polloi who the hell I was, I did let myself go.

I shook him a bit as he looked at me with wide, scared eyes. “You think this is some piss-soaked back-alley fight club, huh? Nah—here, you drink under me.”

The guy started stammering a reply. He looked to his right where one of my dancers was standing, her arms crossed, shoulders hunched over and looking stressed.

I curled my lip in disgust. “You’re fighting over a girl?”

He blubbered a little more, nothing intelligible, before I threw him on top of the other guy. I looked up at my security that was standing around, ready for anything. “Throw these shitbags out, would you?”

I stepped over the two sprawled bodies before my men picked them up and heaved them off, stalking the girl. I could see her beginning to hyperventilate, her face pale, hands trembling. I came to a stop, looming over her. “Care to explain yourself?”

“I’m sorry, sir. I told him not to come. But my boyfriend gets so jealous and—”

I snorted, lifting a hand up. “Save it. I don’t have time for this.” I raised my voice so the other dancers could hear me. “When you come here to work, you leave your domestic bullshit at the door. I don’t wanna waste my time breaking up fights. You think this is Coyote Ugly? My patrons come here to have a good time, not to be subjected to your baby daddy bullshit. Last warning.” I snapped my fingers before pointing at the stripper in front of me who was trying to sneak away. “Not you. You’re fired.”

She actually whimpered before going down on her knees. “Please, sir! It’ll never happen again. I’ll tell Rob to stay away, I promi—”

“If I had a dime for every time I heard ‘it’ll never happen again’, I’d be rich enough to retire. Go on. Get out. Tell Rob thanks from me.”

She began to cry.

Honestly… I could only roll my eyes. “Come on, stop with that. I’m not gonna hire you back. Collect your things and go.” I pointed sternly towards the door.

“Sir, please.” She came closer, looking me in the eye and trying to bat her eyelashes. “I’ll do anything,” she whispered.

“Yeah? Then leave.”

It annoyed me when girls thought that their pussies could get them out of anything. I turned my back on her as one of my security men took her by the arm, trusting that she got the message.

But something made me look up towards the bar. There was a woman there, staring at me, her dark eyes laser-focused and bright with interest. I found myself changing direction as if a literal magnet was pulling me towards her. She wasn’t the prettiest girl I’d ever seen, but something about the way she stood, the look in her eyes, set her apart from all the other girls in this place.

“Hey,” I said confidently, leaning on the bar next to her. “Sorry you had to see that.” I waved vaguely towards the middle of the now cleared room.

She shrugged. “Don’t apologize. Seeing you pick up that guy so effortlessly was something else.”

Her eyes twinkled with… something. Not really mirth, lust, or interest. More like an amalgam of all those plus some other, undefined emotion. It had me intrigued.

Who was this girl?

I held out my hand. “Alexei Levin, at your service. You have a name?”

She looked at my hand for a moment, as if making up her mind about something. Then she slid her much smaller hand into mine, looking me in the eye. “Nora Walsh—at yours.”

I shook her hand slowly, drowning in her dark eyes. Unlike most people who met me, she didn’t seem the least bit afraid. Maybe, she didn’t let her fear stop her from holding my gaze. I could see the wariness in her eyes, how watchful she was of me, which let me know she knew who I was.

“So, Nora, come here often? Haven’t seen you before.”

Her eyes slid to the place where the dancer had been standing. She looked back at me with a quirked eyebrow. “Yeah, well,” she threw me a one-shouldered shrug, “this isn’t my usual beat.”

“Oh yeah? And what is?” I clicked my fingers at the bartender, indicating that they should replenish Nora’s drink. They did so and brought me my usual—a white Russian. Puns be damned.

“I thought I was out of the business.” Her mouth twisted, “Been out of town, doing the domestic thing. But that didn’t work out.”

My mouth turned down. I gave her a disappointed look. “Damn, don’t tell me. Crazy ex?”

She laughed and then leaned in, beckoning me to do the same. I gave her my ear, eager to hear what she had to say. “The gag is, I’m the crazy ex,” she whispered, her warm breath ghosting against my skin.

I actually laughed out loud. I was not expecting that. I leaned back, seeing that she was smiling up at me. And she had dimples… kissable dimples.

This might be a problem.

“Do tell,” I said.

She inclined her head, mouth turning down. “He made me quit my job all of a sudden… which means no references, right? Took me to this town in the middle of nowhere and substituted my birth control with sugar pills. Blew through my savings while he was ‘looking for a job’, all the while selling me this line about happily ever after. My sister just died, so I wanted to believe him so bad.” Her voice broke and she swallowed hard but didn’t burst into tears or anything. I reached out and squeezed her hand. It would work in my favor to console her.

She gave me a quick, humorless smile. “Finally woke up. Skipped out of town with the one thing he loved. A Harley-Davidson. Mint condition. Sold it when I got back into the city, but I kinda need to get some work… fast.” She looked at me and smirked. “You know what I mean?”

I couldn’t help raking over her body from head to toe. She wore a white chiffon blouse which was practically transparent in the neon lights. I could see the twin peaks of her breasts pushing into a black lacy bra. There was nothing extraordinary about them and yet my palm itched to curve beneath the swell of them and squeeze. My mouth watered at the thought of suckling her nipple through her shirt, wetting the material so it clung to her skin and rendered her practically naked.

I could feel my body react to my fantasies. I wasn’t used to feeling so out of control.

What hoodoo even is this?

“You want to work for me?” My voice was fairly level, which was gratifying.

“I wanna work in your club, if you’ll have me.”

The way she said it… I was ready to plow her right there.

I cleared my throat. “Let’s talk in my office.”

She nodded, following me as I made my way to the elevator, parting the crowds like Moses did the Red Sea.

I know this is stupid. I know it.

I hardly knew anything about this girl—she was an unknown quantity. For all I knew, she could have been a Fed. Yet there I was, letting my dick lead me into trouble for the first time in my life. She stood in front of me in the lift, turning her back on me. I could smell her. She smelled of mint and strawberry. It was a pleasant scent. Not intoxicating. And yet I wanted to lean forward and bury my face in her neck.
There was another smell. One I knew well. One that fascinated me more than the rest.
It was the smell of fear.

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