Page 4 of Climbing Everest

With a frown, I do so, still dancing, but…something feels off. He lifts his phone and aims it at me, the flash making me blink a few times as it goes off three times. He doesn’t lower it, so I assume he’s now taking a video.

So…I stare right into the lens and pretend the camera is the one being seduced instead of the attractive dude sitting on the couch watching me through the screen on his phone.

This could always be one of those voyeurism kinks, like he feels as though he’s spying by watching through his phone instead of locking eyes with me, and I sure as hell am not one to kink shame.

The things I’ve done to survive over the past four years would make the eighteen-year-old Everest damn near clutch her pearls.

By the end of the song, I’m barely breathing heavier and not nearly as sweaty as I would have been had I either had to put on the full show or fucked this dude on the couch.

Oh, and I’m taking home a wad of cash.

Win-win, baby.

“Thank you,” he says, pushing to his feet before pulling out three more bills and handing them over to me.

I frown down at the money he’s placed in my hand, then look up into his face. What the fuck? So the stack was merely for permission to record me. I guess the three hundred is for the dance.

“Thank you,” I say, keeping my voice sexy, my expression sultry, and wait until he leaves the room before locking the door and pulling the rubber band from the roll to double check.

Holy fucking shit. There is at least a grand in this stack. That’s thirteen hundred from one man.

He might very well have just funded what I need to finally get out of my roach trap of an apartment.

I’m practically on cloud nine as Brody walks me out to my car and waits until it’s started and I’m on the road before stepping back into the club.

My money is stashed in my duffel bag sitting on the passenger seat.

I tucked it and the tips I’d earned while dancing under my clothes so as not to garner too much attention from the other dancers.

I’d love to say none of them would steal from me, but I’m pretty sure a couple of them are dancing to support their drug habits and wouldn’t hesitate to rob me blind if it got them a couple beans or lines.

I can’t take all this to the bank, but any apartment worth renting will require some form of identification and a bank account. Maybe they’ll accept money orders. I won’t know until I make a few phone calls.

Not that I can afford much, but anything is better than my one room studio apartment with paper thin walls.

I’ve even seen a mouse on a couple occasions, along with insects that I refuse to think about.

I’ve sprayed, set traps, but it doesn’t seem to matter, not as long as the neighbors all around me leave trash outside their door attracting anything and everything.

And the smell…there aren’t enough candles in the state to cover that stench.

Pulling my car into the only open spot in the parking lot, I hitch the straps of my duffel over my shoulder, lock the door to my POS – though I have no idea why anyone would want to steal it – and hurry to the front door of my section of the complex.

It’s best not to linger outside at this time of night around here.

Even if the local criminals don’t target you, there are always at least a few junkies looking for a handout or someone to rob.

Once I’m through the building and behind the locked door of my apartment, I let a smile stretch across my face. Holy shit. Thirteen hundred dollars from one client. Twenty-six hundred total tonight.

If only every night was like that. Then I could not only get a nice place but a nicer car that didn’t break down at least once a week.

I’m pretty sure the damn thing is barely held together with duct tape at this point.

Seriously. Even the right brake light is nothing more than red plastic taped over the light to keep from getting pulled over.

Dropping the duffel onto the bed, I make sure my blinds and curtains on my first-floor apartment are all closed before I strip, tossing my dirty clothes into the hamper before hurrying into the bathroom.

I scrub at my skin and rinse off, forgoing shaving for the night, then wash my hair. The water pressure sucks, but at least it’s hot. I can’t count how many times I’ve come home after a long night of work to barely lukewarm water.

Once all the glitter, sweat, and makeup is washed away, I drag the threadbare, scratchy as fuck towel over my skin, brush out my nearly waist length hair, then braid it so I don’t have to spend the time blow drying it.

I just want to stash my money for the night and sleep for the next twelve hours. Or fourteen. Either one works for me.

Wrapping a scrunchy around the end of my braid, I flip off my bathroom light, step into my bedroom to pull on some panties and a t-shirt and scream when my eyes land on a shadow in the shape of a man in the corner of my room.

Please let me be seeing shit. It’s got to be a coat rack, right?

Except I don’t own a coat rack, and I’m butt ass naked. I’m literally a lamb offered up for slaughter if this is some crackpot from the club, some stalker who followed me home thinking he has a chance in hell to fuck me.

“Get the fuck out! There’s nothing here for you!” I yell. Not that a single one of my neighbors will bother coming to my aid if they hear me.

I have no idea whether this person is here for me, for cash, or maybe he was here looking for drugs or something to pawn before I got home and I simply hadn’t noticed him in the dark.

Reaching behind me, I flip the bathroom light back on, hoping at least a little light might…

what? Not like it’ll help me win a fight against the behemoth across the room.

He looks like his head is mere inches from the ceiling, but that could be the fear and adrenaline making him look larger than life, making him look like the boogeyman in the flesh.

The light doesn’t do much. His face is still cast in shadows, but I can see the width of his shoulders, his barrel chest, his dark button down and pants, and dark tattoos running down his hand and fingers.

“I don’t know what you want, but I have nothing of value here,” I lie, because it’s none of his business. I keep myself from glancing toward the duffel bag, needing to keep his attention off it.

Because the second this beast of a man makes a move toward it, I’ll jump on his back like a fucking spider monkey and go full HAM on his face. It might be like a flea on his back, but I worked hard for that money, and no fucking way will I let it be taken by some asshole thief.

Instead of replying or moving toward me, he continues to stand there and stare, a deep, rumbling chuckle lifting in the air from his direction.

The sound makes my nipples tighten and the hairs on the back of my neck and arms stand on end.

I cannot stand here and face off with this dude completely naked. It’s one thing to strip to nothing on stage when men are throwing their paychecks at me. It’s completely different to be in this state when there’s a possibility I could be fighting for my life.

Problem is he’s way too close to my dresser where my clothes are stashed.

Fuck it. Taking a step back, I grab the towel from the back of the door, keeping my eyes on him the whole time, and hold it to my chest.

Then begin to back away from him toward the front door.

Shit. I really don’t want to walk away from that much money, but what good will it do me if I’m dead?

If this place had more than one big, open space, I might have a chance to lock myself in a room and call for help but the only door other than the front is to the bathroom, and that flimsy piece of wood wouldn’t keep a toddler out, let alone a monster the size of the man watching me from the shadows.

I can’t see his eyes, can’t see his face, but I can physically feel his gaze on me, my skin prickling under his attention.

My phone is on the bed beside the duffel bag, but surely a naked woman running through the hall or outside the complex will garner enough attention to make this asshole think twice about whatever he has planned.

Before I can reach a hand back to open the door, it swings open, smacking into my shoulder and knocking me onto my hands and knees. Which, of course, makes me drop the towel.

“Hm. I remember that ass,” a voice says from behind me. A very familiar voice.

As I turn my head slowly and sink back onto my haunches, I crane my neck and look into a face I thought I would never see again. Two faces I thought I would never see again.

Kato’s attention moves from my face to my chest, to the apex of my thighs, before it raises again and there’s nothing short of rage and repulsion burning hot in his blue eyes.

I’d always thought of them like the blue of a cloudless spring sky, so clear and bright and beautiful.

Not now. There is no emotion other than anger. No love. No affection.

It’s like he’s looking at an enemy. Or worse, like a bug he’s seconds away from smashing under his ridiculously fancy looking shoe.

Since when did my Kato give a shit about expensive shoes? Since when does he dress so much…like his father? The suit is obviously tailored to his form, and I’d been around money long enough to know it’s Italian silk.

I’m equal parts elated and horrified. Especially when I turn my head and watch as the giant comes out of the shadows and the light from the bathroom shines on Brixton’s now hardened face.

No love there either, and he looks so different.

They all do. Brix seems even bigger than he did when we were teenagers.

His hair is long and pulled back from his face, there are tats running down his fingers, peeking above the crisp collar of his button down, and up his forearms to where he has the sleeves rolled up.

Kato and Madd are bigger, too. Broader. More…manly. They’ve lost that boyish charm and I swear there’s almost an insanity in Maddox’s eyes, like he’s just this side of becoming a full-fledged psychopath.

For four years, I dreamed and fantasized that I might one day be able to find them again, that they would be excited to see me, that they would cry with me over the life and time we’d lost.

But as they all stare down at my naked body, I’m beginning to feel like prey to three terrifying apex predators.