Page 22 of Dance of Devils

It’s notjustthat I keep having to fork out huge sums of money to get Derrick’s name cleared that has me sleeping out of a Honda Accord. It’s also that I’ve been squirreling away as much as I possibly can.

Because when—not if—I get into theBallet Imperiya Korona, it’s a full-time position. But it’sunpaid, because it’s an apprenticeship.

I mean youcouldwork, if you could somehow find the time. But that’s only if you’re a Russian citizen. Foreign apprentices to theImperiya Koronadon’t get work visas.

“There’s other ways you could make cash over there…”

I cringe when I remember Carrie, from The Mirage, butting into my conversation with Maya about this and giving her two gross cents. “I mean, you’re young, you’re pretty, you’reAmerican…” She’d shrugged. “Men would pay…”

My stomach had twisted with nausea when she said it.

Yeah,nothappening. But that means socking away as much as I can now. Which is sort of hard when Derrick’s legal case keeps hemorrhaging money like this.

“Brooklyn?”

I exhale, groaning. “Still here. Sorry.”

Diego clears his throat. “If we want this guy…and I do recommend him…I’ll need the money from you by next week. Is that doable?”

Doable? Yes. Crippling? Also yes, with a bullet.

“Sure,” I mumble, glancing up to see Val and Evie walking down the alley toward where I’m leaned against the back of the theater. “I’ll have it for you.”

“Great. Appreciate it. Anything you want to pass on to your stepfather? I’ll be having a call with him in a few days.”

I shake my head. “Just… Tell him to hang in there.”

“You.”

The blood drains from my face when I hear his voice behind me. I can see the same anxious horror on Maya’s face that I’m sure is all over mine before I pull away from her and turn to face Lou.

I’ve had about a dozen missed calls and a slew of furious texts from him since no-showing last night. I’ve just been giving Maya the run-down about what happened to me last night and why I missed work. I hadn’t decided if I was going to tell her about Kir saving me or just lie and say I got away. But now Lou’s interruption saves me from having to make that choice.

Lou is middle-aged and probably less than ten years older than Kir, but the difference between them is staggering. Thinning, wiry gray hair, a perpetual shaggy, unkempt scruff on his jowls, breath that reeks of cigars and cheap whiskey, and hands that like to touch, pinch, grab, and otherwise molest things they shouldn’t.

He’s a roundish man who tends to wear cheap dress pants slung low, underneath his beer gut, paired with obnoxiously loud “silk” Italian shirts, open about three buttons too many, to show off his hairy man-cleavage and gold chains.

He’d be a comically gross 1970s throwback if he wasn’t, one, my boss, and two, anuttercreep.

The way his smile is curling lecherously at the corners right now sends sick feelings curdling through my gut.

“My office,” he snaps. “Now.”

He turns and storms out of the dressing room. I glance at Maya, who tries to give me an encouraging look, but it’s clouded by worry.

“He hasn’t had a drink yet,” she says quietly. “Not here, at least.” Her mouth twists. “He waspissed offlast night, girl. But you know Lou. He’ll yell and be an asshole. But you and I are two of the highest earners here.” She hugs me. “You’re not going nowhere, okay?”

But it’s not being fired that I’m worried about as I turn and follow Lou down the hall to his grubby, foul-smelling office.

“Close the door,” he grunts from the squeaky chair behind his cluttered desk as I step into the room.

A chill runs down my spine as I feel the door click shut behind me.

Please no.

Not this again.

“Where thefuckwhere you last night?” Lou snaps, his beady eyes glaring at me.