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My dad kept talking. “In the future there will beno moremistakes of such magnitude. If none of you chase the power your father abandoned ... we’ll all live long,happylives.”

He was promising them a truce. I was sure that deep down he didn’t mean it; my father had always spoken out of one side of his mouth while lying out of the other. I didn’t get the feeling that any of these people believed him. But I wasn’t focusing. I was distracted beyond reason in the middle of this political tension. All I wanted was to catchhiseye one more time. I had no clue how to make it happen.

Darla was the one who made guys’ heads spin. She fought off their advances with a tilted smile and perfectly timed hair flips. I didn’t have her skills—I was too shy, too afraid of making some sort of mistake. The boys I’d grown up with wanted their girls to be bold.

I was not bold.

I had never been bold.

But I wished I could be. Because I had the sense that my whole world would open up if I could be less afraid. People would look at me andseeme. I’d be capable of slouching as comfortably in my own skin as Hawthorne was. And men like him wouldn’t forget I was sitting within arm’s length.

I wanted that so much that my very being ached like a pulled muscle. So I sat there and silently made my pathetic wish. I couldn’t have known then that I was curling a finger on the proverbial monkey’s paw. My parents had told me many times that for every gain there must be a sacrifice. Nothing in life comes free. Not money, not power, and certainly not love.

I assumed that, to become who I wanted to be, I’d have to suffer.

I didn’t know I’d have to die as well.

- CHAPTER TWO -

HAWTHORNE

Was it wrong to mourn the death of a strip club?

Staring at the yellow tape crisscrossing the black, locked door of the building, I experienced mixed emotions. It was too easy to imagine the neon sign, shaped like a girl in a martini glass, never lighting up again.

No more dancers.

No more late-night rounds of tequila.

No more girls trying to charm me so they could get away with skipping stage sets or being late.

For the past eight years, I’d helped run the Dirty Dolls. I’ve never been known as the responsible one in my family, so I should have been relieved that the chore was off my shoulders.

I wasn’t.

Don’t get all psychoanalytical,I quickly told myself.I’m only bummed because I hoped to kill a few more years stretched out on that VIP couch.

Thanks to Darien Valentine, it wasn’t going to happen. Seven months ago I’d nearly lost more than a strip club because of that psycho. I’d thought he was just another suit-wearing asshole getting handsy with whatever pair of legs got too close.

I couldn’t have guessed he was dangerous ... or that he’d hurt Gina. She’d been dancing at the Dirty Dolls long enough for it to be her career. People asked for her because she wielded a healthy pair of tits. But me? I’d loved her no-nonsense attitude. She didn’t take shit from anyone.

Unfortunately, that included our lawyers.

My father had confided to me weeks ago that the club would be running once we settled out of court with Gina. Except she was dragging her feet, asking for more security, more rules, more everything. And she was right. If we’d done our jobs she wouldn’t have gotten hurt.

AndIwouldn’t be missing my cotton-candy-and-cocoa-butter-smelling VIP couch.

Sighing, I adjusted my jacket and turned away from the building. Without the Dirty Dolls, I didn’t know how to spend my days and nights. I didn’t even have my siblings around to mess with. Each of them was busy with their own shit.

Life was quiet.

Life was ... boring.

After climbing into my Escalade, I floored it down the street. A ribbon of blue peeked above, sometimes hidden by the tall buildings. The humidity was oppressive, and it had only just rolled over into June.Another reason I miss the club,I mused bitterly.The low lights and air-conditioning were hard to beat.I’d spent many a summer wasting away in glorious slothfulness on my beloved couch.

Determined to break free of my poor mood, I sped up until I exited onto the highway. Here I could drive faster than the tight city streets allowed. But my freedom was short; without any traffic, it didn’t take long to make it into Newport, where my family’s home was.

Gliding up to the huge twisted-metal gates, I tapped a button near my steering wheel. The gates split apart like a giant raven’s wings. The sun lit up the slate driveway that curved down toward the sprawling estate.