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A nother day, another dollar. Or in my case, several slipped within the waistband of my thong. I wore nothing else besides my glittery heels as I sauntered back to the dressing room of Jinxed, the strip club where men worshipped me and my girls.

You might think I liked being looked upon like this. Lusted after like this. It’s part of the job, people might say. But I hate the prying eyes that seem to almost see into my very soul.

I’m doing this for my sister, I remind myself. She’s waiting for me at home, withered from her chemo treatments, and no one else is going to pay our bills.

Furs and feathers on silver racks lay beside a row of vanities with mirrors surrounded by lightbulbs that flash with an amber haze within the dressing room.

Some of the girls are there getting ready, while others steal the spotlight onstage working the poles.

Most of them give me ugly looks; ever since Samantha decided she hated me, so did pretty much everyone else besides one or two of the dancers. It’s like a clique here, but I’m used to not fitting in.

With my black lipstick and piercings, I’ve always been one to stand out in a crowd. The ‘goth’ girl. The one obsessed with all things macabre.

You could say I had a rough time at school. Not to mention most places I’ve worked.

Didn’t help that Barbie bitches filled this place to the brim, and more than half of them slept with clients to add onto that.

I’m just now wrapping up my shift and itching to get off these damn heels. Plopping down on one of the velvet-cushioned seats, I rip them off with a wince. “Finally.”

Lindsay, one of the other dancers here, whistles when she catches sight of all the cash around my waist. “Good night?”

She fixes her blonde hair into pink rollers as I answer, “Immensely. I think these are mostly hundreds.” Looking down, I begin fishing out bills and counting, my tongue in my cheek.

My life wasn’t always like this. I grew up as a devout Catholic, but with medical bills and more piling up, that changed. Me and the big guy had a rocky relationship. Not to mention me and my parents.

Lindsay and the other girls in the room are in various stages of dress, with some in little to nothing and others with bedazzled corsets and fishnet stockings meant to allure our shared clientele. Lindsay was the latter, but I could already tell that corset was chaffing.

“Same guy?” she quips, raising a brow at me in the mirror smudged with lipstick kisses and dust. The very same guy who’s been bringing me home most nights; but I’m trying to avoid getting close to clients, and that’s throwing a wrench in things.

I nod. Two hundred… four hundred… seven hundred . “Nice. $700 for one night.” I grin.

She props her chin in her hand. “He hasn’t stopped watching you for three days. Maybe he’s stricken.” She winks.

I snort in a very un-ladylike manner. “He’s just another client.”

And he is. Except he isn’t. Tall, dark, and brooding, he captured the attention of everyone in this place nearly as much as the dancers. Golden hair slicked back to perfection, chiseled features.

And he was absolutely eager to see me home safely. It was sweet, but I could take care of myself.

My parents would kill me for sleeping with a client. Hell, they already want to kill me for working here. I haven’t spoken to them in years.

“He is most definitely not ,” Lindsay scoffs with a knowing wink. “I see the way you look at him. Hell, if you’re not interested, maybe I’ll take a bite.”

I roll my eyes. “Have at it.” I’m not one to break the boundaries of a professional relationship.

Slipping on my lace bra, black tank top, and jeans, I ruffle my too-perfect hairsprayed hair, twisting a brown lock around my finger. Standing, I give myself one last look in the mirror. Meeting my blue eyes in the glass, I take a deep breath.

It was time to walk back out into the lion’s den.

I stuff my cash into my Gucci bag, ready to get this over with. Pretty much everyone out there has seen my tits or fondled them.

And don’t get me wrong, I like the money, but I hate the job. I hate men looking at me like something to eat. But damn… those stupid bills.

Nothing else seems to pay them these days.

And the money is addicting.

With people like mystery man loading me up with cash, how could I refuse?

Still…

I swallow, holding my bag tight and saying goodbye to the girls in the dressing room. “See you tomorrow!” one of them chimes, wearing nothing but cheeky panties and nipple pasties with heels.

I grin back, but it’s fake. I hope they don’t notice.

Bag in hand, I saunter out of the dressing room, pasting on what I hope is a convincing look of “I don’t give a fuck” as I weave through the throng of people seated at tables to watch the poles.

It’s a fancy place, Jinxed. Velvet seats and loungers, intricate red curtains to hide the VIP areas and solo dance rooms, and crystal chandeliers lining the ceiling and twinkling with every vibration of the bass in the air.

The music is deep and moody, inviting onlookers to fully immerse themselves in the scene. Victoria, one of the other girls, is currently twirling around one of the stainless-steel poles like she was born to do it, and cash floods the stage. She did good tonight.

Spotting mystery man seated at a nearby table, my cheeks flush, and I avert my gaze. Just keep walking. No need to make more trouble for yourself.

He’s in a black button-down and slacks, with the sleeves rolled up to reveal the ink cording around his muscles. A suit jacket sits on the table.

God, he’s fucking hot.

But I need to focus. Messing around with clientele isn’t forbidden, per se, but it usually invites jealousy and more from the guys when they realize none of us are willing to quit.

Believe me, I would if I could, but I can’t. I have family depending on me. How else are my sister’s medical bills going to get paid? How else is the roof going to stay over our heads?

Our parents left me for the wolves when they realized what I did for a living. Like hell they’d help.

Blue and pink lights flash around the room, illuminating a sea of hungry faces desperate for a taste of one of the girls. But I’m getting out of here. Home is waiting.

“You did good tonight,” a voice like velvet murmurs when I pause at the line to exit.

My head snaps around, my body on high alert, but then I see it’s only mystery man. I swallow. “Thanks.” That’s all I can give him.

He ruffles a hand through his hair, tilting his head at me with a wry smile. “One-word answers now?”

We used to talk more. Used to joke and tease. But that was before Tiff got her heart broken and the bouncers had to escort two guys out for fighting over her. It’s just safer this way.

I nod. “Yep.” My tone is clipped, barely neutral.

I step forward as the line moves.

He follows.

“I miss you, ya know,” he drawls. “Miss our walks to your place.”

I feign a shrug.

“Why don’t we spend some more time together?”

Slowly, I let a breath free from my lips. “Because it’s a bad idea.”

“Maybe I like bad ideas,” he says, giving me a smirk. Damn him. Those stupid dimples.

When his hand makes contact with my side, caressing me in the most sensual way, I feel like I’m on fire. There isn’t a ‘no touching’ rule at Jinxed; we make more money that way. And he’s touched me plenty.

Fuck. Fuckidy fuck fuck.

I close my eyes as that touch eases around my waist and he steps closer, flush with my back.

“Let’s have more bad ideas together…”

That’s it. Any semblance of self-control I have is gone. What’s one single one-night stand?

Flashing him a coy grin, I nod. “Fine. Lead the way,” I murmur.

And he does. Outside, the crisp fall air fans my cheeks and tangles in my brown waves that fall just past my chest. It’s not too hot, not too cold.

Yet mystery man offers his jacket.

I bite my lip as he drapes it over my shoulders, craving his warmth more than what the jacket provides. As if sensing this, he throws an arm around my shoulder, guiding me down the sidewalk as traffic funnels past. It’s busy tonight, with the redlight district full of eager patrons and partygoers.

Gambling bars and opium dens sit within the shadows of South Philly, with only those willing to delve into the darkness able to find them.

Mystery man leads me along, offering whispers of sweet nothings I can’t possibly ignore. This is definitely more than just walking me home; and maybe I’m okay with that.

And when the conversation turns explicit, my core ignites with something I haven’t felt in a long time.

Feeling bold, I stop him and pull him into a dark alleyway barren of pedestrians, planting my mouth on his in a way I’ve done multiple times before. God, I’ve missed the taste of his tongue on mine.

“Good girl,” he whispers against my mouth. “Keep going, Kitten.”

My hands move to his belt just as he kisses my neck, our hands fighting for purchase against each other in a dance all our own.

Until I hear something.

Slow, methodical footsteps.

One, two, three, four…

I pause, pulling away. My head snaps to my right, where darkness swallows the alley. To my left, civilization. But those footsteps aren’t coming from the light…

“Ignore them,” mystery man whispers.

I would, but something feels off. Like we’re being watched. Swallowing over the thickness in my throat, I keep my eyes on the shadows.

A man emerges, and if I thought mystery guy was beautiful, this man is a god.

Pitch-black hair that falls to his shoulders, chiseled features, hazel eyes that seem to swallow me as he steps again, and again, and again. How could someone walking be so mesmerizing?

He’s wearing a black trench coat, with sleek leather shoes that scream wealth. Black gloves cover his hands. But I can see a cross tattoo climbing up his neck from a chest piece of ink.

My mouth falls open, and I want to shrink away, and indeed I take a step back, but mystery man from Jinxed has other ideas.

“Hey, man, we’re busy,” he growls. “Find your own girl, will you?”

He snatches my wrist, and the black-haired god’s eyes glue to the action, narrowing.

The man doesn’t stop his approach, coming to stand a mere two feet away as the guy from the strip club returns to kiss my neck, my hair hiding his face.

Realizing the guy didn’t leave, he groans.

“Come on, I said we’re bus?—”

His voice is cut off by a blade to his throat, slicing the flesh open and sending a spray of crimson blood over my tank top.

I scream as he lets go of me and desperately clutches his neck, as if that would keep the last vestiges of his life from spilling away in rivulets down his neck, his chest, his hands.

“What the fuck!” I shriek, making to run, but as soon as I turn, a hand snakes around my mouth with a chemical smell on cloth.

The world turns fuzzy. Black spots cloud my vision.

The last thing I see is a cruel smile.