Page 4

I drive, feet turning into yards that turn into a mile, and I finally relax a little. I know the day is coming. Hugo is right. It’s just waiting for it that’s hard.

She eats the donuts, sitting lookout as we do this three more times. I hop out, collect payments, and get us out of there as quickly as possible, tackling the easy customers first, in case I run into trouble that takes the rest of the night on the harder ones.

Heading out onto the highway, I take the next exit and a couple of turns, driving into Wicked’s parking lot. The club is technically in Shelburne Falls, but they like to pretend it’s not within the limits of their nice town.

This is one of the harder ones. I put the car in Park and look over at Tommy. “Same as before.”

I leave the car running, pull off my hood but leave my ski cap on and reach out, opening the door.

“But I want to come in,” she argues.

“Stay.”

And I slam the door, looking around me as I head through the cars crowding the parking lot.

Music vibrates against the walls of the club, and I pause a moment.

The smell already hits me. The scent of cheap body lotion mixed with heavily worn six-inch heels caked in sweat, spilled beer, and Coke syrup.

Sometimes there’s a hint of piss or puke, depending on the time of year. Bachelor parties and frat boys home for summer vacation make June my least favorite month to step foot in this place.

But it’s August now. The traffic coming in and out has finally died down, but the summer heat has baked the desperation and despair into a foul stench I can’t imagine ever getting used to.

I pull the baton out of my jeans and slide it up my long sleeve, holding the cuff so it doesn’t fall out. Walking for the club, I pull open the door and give Angel Acosta a nod as he mans the entrance.

“Hey, babe,” he says.

I keep walking, the bass hitting hard, making the floor shake under me as I make my way past the bar and glance at the girls on stage.

Lights glow across their skin, hair flipping and barely any real dancing going on. Just slinking up against a pole and crawling all over the stage.

I give them credit, though. I can’t imagine a harder job. Maybe there’s no math involved or as much risk, like there is being a cop or a soldier or a doctor, but I’d rather do anything else than fake it like they have to.

“Aro!” someone calls.

I see Silver waving from one of the platforms, nearly naked, and muster a wave when I really just want to break something. We were in middle school together.

I head down the hallway, the dull thrum of the music fading a little more, but then I hear Skarsman shout as I approach. “Do you know how easily you can be replaced? Girls are aging up every year, and they don’t have kids who constantly get sick!”

I sigh, slowing as the door to his office sits open.

I’m sure my mother would’ve gotten the same lecture years ago if she hadn’t had me to worry about her kids when they were ill. She never missed work. Built-in babysitter here and all.

I round the corner into his office, leaning on the door frame and see his eyes flash to me. Short-cropped salt and pepper hair and clean shaven, he’s as well-dressed as he is groomed. Black suit with a dark purple shirt underneath, he does a good job of hiding how fucking nasty he is on the inside.

He blows out smoke and snuffs out his cigarette in the tray. Some girl sits in front of me with her shoulders slumped. She’s dressed in a black sequin bikini top.

“Great,” he bites out, glaring at me. “Just go fucking sit down out there. I don’t want to deal with you right now.”

I clutch the end of the club in my hand, keeping it hidden behind me.

When I don’t move, he jerks his chin at the dancer, telling her to scram instead. She pops up from her chair, her red hair curly and pulled out of her face with a barrette. She’s gorgeous, which is why he hasn’t fired her yet.

“Insulting that they send a kid to collect from me.” He snickers, moving around his desk.

The girl brushes past, and I stay there, staring at him.

He approaches me and takes the handle of his office door, waving his hand. “Come in,” he says.

I relax my hand, the baton sliding out of my sleeve, and muster every muscle, swinging it back and then forward. My heart jumps into my throat as the attack lands on his shoulder, making his knees buckle, and sending him to the ground.