Page 72 of Twisted Fate

A sound catches my attention, a low moan, and I glance over to see one of the other dancers—a brunette named Malia who is barely nineteen—pinned up against the stucco wall on the other side of the dumpster by her flavor-of-the-week boyfriend.

He’s wearing a backwards baseball cap, the thick gold chain around his neck glittering in the streetlamp that serves as the only lighting for the entire back parking lot, and he’s currently mumbling something into her neck as he grinds up against her.

“...you’re just mine, baby, right? Promise me. None of those other guys mean anything?—”

I roll my eyes, yanking the door open. The slam of it behind me drowns out whatever Malia’s response is, and I’m fine with that. Next week, it’ll be someone new. And I’d bet tonight’s tips that guy is going to be off at some other club later, throwing dollar bills at topless women.

There’s a steady buzz of chatter when I step into the dressing room, which doesn’t let up at the sound of my entrance.

A few of the girls glance over at me, but none of them pay me very much attention.

I know most of their names and they know mine, but we’re not exactly close.

I don’t get invited to drinks on the beach after our shift or breakfast at the diner as the sun is coming up.

It’s partially my fault—I keep to myself, more often than not, but none of them have been all that friendly, either, and I’ve been working here for six months now.

“You’re late.” Carmen, the girl who has the dressing table closest to mine, looks up from where she’s drawing on a thick cat-eye and frowns at me. “Doug was just in here looking for you.”

“I couldn’t get a ride.” I toss my bag down next to my table and plop onto the worn, faded velvet-topped stool, untying my boots. “Battery’s dead as a doornail in my car, and all the Ubers are surge pricing this time of night on a Friday. I had to take the bus, and you know how that is.”

“Yeah, well—” Carmen flicks her eyeliner up, a perfect line drawn out from her upper eyelid. “I’m going on before you, now.”

I press my lips together, but don’t argue. “Maybe that’ll be alright.” I manage a tight smile, forcing a cheer into my voice that I don’t feel. “The drunker the guys get, the more they tip, right?”

Truthfully, it could go either way. It’s really just luck.

But I was scheduled to go on for my first dance right around ten tonight, when the club really starts getting busy, and I was looking forward to it being a lucrative one.

As the night goes on, the guys start to wander off for private dances, and unless there’s a surge of new customers, later stage dances don’t do as well.

I try to stay positive, though. I’ve seen girls do just fine late at night.

I tug on one of the Lucite heels, careful of the blister on my big toe that I tried to bandage without it being obvious—blood on the stage isn’t a good look—and smile at Carmen.

She’s not even looking at me now, though—she’s gone back to the mirror, swiping on her cherry-red lipstick.

The door slams, and Malia comes in, her hairline damp from the water dripping from the overhang outside. A few of the girls look up as she enters, pushing her way through the crowded room to her table, and I see Amber, one of the girls she’s made friends with, lean over to her.

“Hey,” she whispers. “I know you’re new and all, but you need to be careful. Doug won’t like it if he catches you making out with guys who haven’t paid.”

Malia wrinkles her nose, tossing her hair carelessly over one shoulder. “That’s my boyfriend .” Her voice has an exaggerated, Valley-girl edge to it. “I can make out with him if I want.”

“I’m just saying, you don’t want to be on Doug’s bad side,” Amber urges, and a few of the other girls nod along.

“Being on his bad side might mean that you get on the big boss’s bad side, too.” Sapphire—I don’t know her real name, she’s never shared—chimes in. “And you sure as hell don’t want that, chica .”

“The big boss?” Malia looks bewildered. “I thought Doug was our boss.”

“He is.” Amber sweeps a bit of bronzer over her nose. “But not the big boss.”

I can see the confusion on Malia’s face deepening by the second. Sapphire sighs, slipping on an earring that nearly sweeps her collarbone. “Rumors are, this place is owned by the Bratva. The Abramov family. So Doug answers to them. Runs it for them.”

Malia’s eyes go wide as saucers, as Amber giggles.

“I think I’ve seen the big boss here before. The one who runs the Bratva now. Konstantin, I think Doug called him?” She faux- shivers, fanning herself with one hand. “God, he’s so fucking hot .”

“A little uptight, if you ask me.” Sapphire shrugs. “But I kinda like the uptight ones, sometimes. It’s so much more fun when you get them to lose control. And you’re right, he is fucking delicious . Those tattoos?—”

“The other guy is more my speed.” Carmen glances up from where she’s carefully picking up a magnetic strip of lashes—as if she needs them.

Hers are naturally thick and long, those rare double eyelashes that I’d give my pinky finger for.

The fake ones added make it look like she has a fringe glued to her eyes, in my opinion.

But the guys love it. “The one who’s come in with him sometimes? ”

Amber’s eyes go wide. “I’ve seen him. He’s terrifying.” She bites her lip. “I wouldn’t want to let him anywhere near me. I’ve never heard his name, but I’d be afraid to even ask.”

“I did.” Carmen’s eyes gleam like a woman who has a secret, and one she wants to share. “And I didn’t bother asking his name. I was too busy getting fucked.” She winks, long eyelashes fluttering along her cheek.

“You bitch!” Sapphire gasps, but there’s no real venom in it.

Just jealousy, pure and simple. “I’ve tried to talk to him every time he’s come in.

He just ignores me. Waves me off and follows Konstantin.

Carmen’s right, he’s so hot.” She grins.

“He looks like he’s got a big dick, too. Kind of man who could ruin a woman.”

“He ruined this pussy, that’s for sure.” Carmen flashes her a triumphant grin. “Bent me over in a back room while Konstantin was in a meeting. Just grabbed me, shoved me over the couch, and put it in.”

Malia’s eyes look like they’re about to pop out of her head. “Didn’t…” Her voice crackles. “Didn’t that hurt?”

“Oh you bet it did.” Carmen winks at her.

“It hurt so good. He fucked me like a fucking animal. Hard and deep—” She draws the last word out, sing-song.

“I had to pretend to be sick and go home after. I couldn’t walk, I was so sore.

He’s like a beast. Fucking brutal, but god, he made me come so hard, and he didn’t even touch my clit.

Just hammered away with that big, thick?—”

“Why the fuck are none of you girls ready yet?” Doug’s voice, booming as he strides into the room, abruptly shuts down the conversation about Konstantin Abramov’s right hand man, and how brutally he apparently fucked Carmen.

A shudder runs down my spine at the thought.

I know who the girls are talking about; I’ve seen him once.

They’re right that he’s handsome—beautiful in the way a predator is beautiful, something that you know could kill you, and probably would, if you got too close.

I got one good look at him before they disappeared into the back—blond, taller even than Konstantin, with broad shoulders and thickly muscled arms, and tattoos crawling out of his collar and sleeves in a way that suggested he’s inked all over.

I caught a glimpse of his eyes, too—a dark blue, so dark they looked black in the light.

And while I’d never speak up, I heard Konstantin say his name.

Damian . It had sent a shiver down my spine, sent me hurrying in the opposite direction. The man looked like a devil. Silent, hard, cold. A killer, through and through.

The kind of man I want to avoid, at all costs.

Doug clears his throat in the sudden silence, which is all the more apparent after the raucous chatter of a few minutes ago.

“Sapphire, get ready to go out. Carmen, you’re after her.

Malia, get out on the floor, there’s plenty of guys out there with hardons and only a couple of girls trying to get them into a private room. Sienna?—”

His gaze flicks to me, and my stomach tightens.

He has an appraising look on his face, but there’s something else, too—something that looks a little like regret, or maybe apprehension?

Whatever it is, it doesn’t make sense, and I don’t understand it.

I don’t like it. Every woman has an instinct, a gut feeling that sets off alarm bells in the back of her head when a guy is being shady, and right now, that alarm is pinging in mine.

“Sienna, come with me,” he continues, waving a hand impatiently. “We’re going to shoot some video. I’ll get you back in time for your slot on the stage.”

My stomach swoops, knotting into a ball that makes me feel faintly nauseous.

But I just nod, getting up to follow him.

I did ask for a lucrative night , I think grimly to myself as I follow him out into the hall, Sapphire behind me before she pivots off to head to the curtained area that will lead off to the stage.