Page 23 of Dance of Devils

“Lou, I’msosorry,” I gush. “I was out back, and these four guys from the night before jumped me. Remember the finance guys from the bachelor par?—”

“All I’m hearing is bullshit and excuses, Brooky.”

Fuck, Ihatethat name. It’s so infantilizing. My mom also called me that, which brings up a whole other mixed bag of emotions.

“Lou, theyjumped me.” I show him my hands and lift my hair off my forehead.

Lou looks at me impassively.

“Like, all four of them chased me and dragged me to the ground,” I continue, feeling panicky. “Look.” I yank my skirt up and lift a knee. “See?”

Lou grins. But he’s not looking at my knee.

I quickly lower my leg and smooth my skirt back down, my stomach churning.

“Four of ‘em, huh?”

“Yeah,” I nod.

Lou sneers. “You fuck all of them?”

My gut twists. “No, I?—”

“You left me fucking hanging last night, Brooky.”

My lips press together. “Lou, I’msorry, but it was a little beyond my control?—”

“Come here, Brooky.”

No. Please God, no.

“Comehere,” he growls, a sick sneer on his face as he taps the desk in front of him and pushes his rolling chair back from it.

My body goes numb. It only happened one time before this. I was new to the club, down to literaldollarsin savings, and desperate.

And Lou knew it. Smelled it the way a shark smells blood in the water.

He told me all his “favorite girls” did this for him sometimes. “You help me, I help you get the good shifts,” he’d said as he grinned at my tearful face and pushed me to my knees.

I tried to think about anything except what was happening while it was going on. I thought of ballet. I went through the thirty-twofouettésin the coda ofSwan Lake’s Black SwanPas de Deux, and Nikiya’s beautiful solo fromLa Bayadèrewhile Lou’s thin, disgusting penis thrust weakly between my lips.

“Brooky…”

I blink, the color drained from my face as I stare at Lou, glaring at me.

“I saidget your ass over here.”

“Lou, I’m sorry?—”

“I know you are,” he leers. “And now you’re going to show me exactlyhowsorry you are.” He shrugs. “Or…” His lips curl viciously. “There’s the fucking door.”

For a second, I almost do it. Ialmostturn and give him the finger on my way out.

But fucking hell, I need the money from this job. For my survival, my future in Moscow, and Derrick’s legal bullshit. To stop the whole world from caving in.

A numbness replaces my pulse as I shuffle across the room toward the predator sitting behind his desk, already loosening his belt. I move around the edge of his desk until I’m between itand him, leaning back with my arms folded protectively over my chest.

“C’mon, Brooky,” he grunts. “Ain’t gonna suck itself.”