Page 7 of Dance of Devils

Fear ripples through me as one of them narrows his eyes at me—the one who was especially vocal last night about his opinion that cash meant he could fuck me. But I force a soft smile to my lips.

Kill them with kindness, as Maya always says.Stroke the male fucking ego.

That’s not a subservient thing. It’s a survival mechanism.

“Hey, guys.” I flash a wider grin. “You’re back! I’m just starting work now, so if you head in, I’ll be on stage in about forty-five?—”

“I don’t think so, whore.”

The word hits me like a slap, and I suddenly realize just how mean the looks on their faces are.

“Look, guys…” I force another smile as I edge toward the back door of the club. “I think everyone had a bit too much fun last night, huh? Listen, I’ll talk to the owner. He’s a friend.”

No he’s fucking not.

“And I’m sure we can put last night behind us if you want to come in again?—”

“That’s not why we’re fucking here,” another of them growls, his eyes vicious.

“You took three fucking grand off us last night,” the leader spits.

Yep, I walked with three thousand dollars last night.

…Which I promptly handed over to Diego, Derrick’s lawyer, when I met him at a bar down the street from where Pearl was parked for the night.

“You guys wereamazingyesterday evening,” I grin. “Seriously, thank you. I’m glad you had fun! But really, I gotta head in?—”

The one to the right of the ringleader moves faster than I would have expected. Just as I turn for the door, he rushes me, making me flinch away. He storms past me and blocks the door, crossing his arms menacingly over his chest.

“Okay, guys?—”

“Three fuckinggrand, you fucking cunt,” the leader mutters. “And none of us even got our dicks wet.”

My jaw grinds as anger surges through me.

“That’s because I’m adancer,” I snap. “Not a whore.”

I can feel my pulse thudding as I glance at the guy behind me, fear crawling up my spine before I turn back to the other three.

“Well, we’ve been talking,” the leader goes on, grinning darkly. “And to us, it’s not that cut and dried. We figure we were promised a service that we never got. A servicewe paid for.”

“No one promised you shit!” I snap. “Girls take their tits out and dance, you throw money. That’s the transaction. Have you seriously never been to a strip club before?”

It’s like raising my voice to James. Pure, dark rage spreads over his face—the type you only see in men’s eyes when it’s focused on a woman they think is beneath them, or who owes them something.

“Fuck that,” he snarls. “It was pretty fucking heavily implied.”

“I think you should leave,” I blurt.

He grins and glances at his buddies, who all start chuckling.

“Not happening.” He takes a step toward me. “Not until we’ve all had aturn.”

It’s gut instinct, plus seeing the threat written so clearly in his eyes, that has me whirling andbolting.

Fear denotes like a bomb in my chest as I run headlong through the parking lot. I’m in sneakers and a skirt, they’re in dress pants and office shoes. But I hear them pounding the pavement behind me as I veer out the back end of the lot and sprint across the road.

There’s a 24-hour diner up the street. If I can zigzag between the warehouses, I can?—