Page 52 of Dance of Devils

“The fuck you doing here?” he grunts.

“I…” I swallow through the sandpaper in my mouth. “I just…”

“I thought you were quitting this fucking place.”

I bristle. “What are you doing here, James?”

“I asked you a fucking question,” he snaps. “I mean what the fuck, Brooklyn? Is it that youlikebeing a fucking whore?”

“Fuck you!” I snap. “I’m not?—”

Holy shit.

I snap my mouth shut, my stomach churning with sheer panic at what I’ve just said to him. I’ve never raised my voice like that to him before.

James’s face darkens. “Thefuckdid you just say, cunt?”

“James, I’m sorry,” I blurt, deflating. Feeling pathetic and scared. “I—I have to get to work?—”

“Get the fuck in the car.”

Ice slides through my veins. James’s eyes pull to slits.

“I said get thefuckin the car!” he roars, banging his hand on the outside of his door. “Fuckin’now, bitch!”

When I don’t move—I can’t, I’m too terrified—he hisses and slams the car into park. I’m shaking like a leaf as he steps out, leaving the door open and storming over to me.

“Are you fuckingdeaf?” he snaps, grabbing me and bringing a choked cry to my lips. “Well?!”

“James—!”

“You wanna be a whore, Brooklyn?” He rasps. “That it?”

Horror slams into me, my blood running cold as he spins me around and slams me hard against the wall.

“Fine,” he snarls. I finch, feeling his fist rushing toward me. But instead of hitting me, he shoves two crumpled twenties in my face. “You wanna be a fucking whore,” he hisses, “you can bemyfucking whore.”

Pure horror explodes through me as he jams my legs apart with his knee.

“James!!”

I hear the metallic jangle of his belt buckle, then feel the awful, sickening invasion of his hand under my skirt, groping and grabbing at my ass. His fingers slip under the edge of my underwear, trying to yank them to the side as I scream and flail against him. But he’s so much stronger, and bigger. All it does is earn me a slap on the cheek before he roughly pushes my face against the bricks.

“Be a good whore for me, you fucking?—”

“The fuck?!”

The door next to us slams open, andLouof all fucking people storms out. James instantly springs away, warily eyeing Lou and the baseball bat in his hands.

Lou turns to glare death at me. “The fuck is this?”

“Lou, I’m sorry, he?—”

“You trying to turn fucking tricks in my goddamnparking lot, Brooky?”

I swallow the bile that rushes up my throat. “No! He just tried to?—”

Get the fuck inside,” he snarls. “You’re late.” Then he turns to James, hefting the bat in his hand menacingly. “Andyou, fuck-face. Get the fuck outta here. You wanna cop a feel of the merchandise, come through the front door, pay the cover charge, and buy a fucking lap dance like everyone else, okay?”