Ruthless Hearts: The Complete Series

1. Riley

One of mymany past mistakes liked to say I had a body made for fucking.

He was wrong. Good sex is great for letting off steam, but I’ve yet to meet a cock—or a man attached to one—who didn’t show his true colors in the end and let me down.

This, though? This is what my body is made to do.

It’s made to dance.

I close my eyes, shutting out the club full of sleazy, married shitbags who come here to pant after my body every night, and focusing instead on the thud of the bass as the pulsing rhythm infuses my limbs.

I arch my back and roll my hips, then release the clasp between my shoulder blades that holds together the barely-there lace of my top, letting the scrap of material flutter to the floor. The music picks up, and I swing around the pole, eliciting a few whoops and hollers from the crowd.

“Hey, Destiny! Over here!” A tatted-up musclehead calls out my stripper name. He’s at the edge of the stage, raising his voice to be heard over the music as he beckons. “Come a little closer, baby.”

He’s not showing me any cash yet, so I ignore him and wind my body around the cool metal pole in the center of the stage instead. I wrap one leg around it so all that hard steel is right where Musclehead wishes his cock could go, then let my head fall back as I roll my hips against it, waiting for him to get a clue.

His eyes track every move, and he finally licks his lip and pulls out a few bills. “Come on now, quit fucking the pole already and come on over here,” he calls, waving the cash at me as he grabs his crotch with his other hand. “I got what you need right here.”

I smirk at him. Like I haven’t heard that before. Heard it and won’t be falling for it—not ever again. Especially from anyone I meet here.

But I still let go of the pole and take his money, because as much fun as it may be to pretend I’m dancing for myself, that’s not really why I’m here.

I’m here for Chloe.

My little sister has no one to look out for her but me. Our worthless dad proves that fact every time he lets one of us down, but now that I’ve finally gotten her out from under his roof, things are going to be different.

Once Musclehead stuffs a few bills into my g-string, I twist away before he can try to cop a feel. Standing back up in my stilettos, I run my hand down the center of my body and turn in a slow undulating circle to survey tonight’s crowd.

Club M is a shit hole that doesn’t exactly attract the highest level of clientele, but it’s Friday night, which means a lot of these guys have just gotten paid. I can work with that.

The edge of the stage is packed, and I drop low at the same time the music does, pulsing to its beat with my knees spread wide as I let my hand slide down my body. More men call out my stripper name, more bills start to litter the stage, and I work every asset I have, determined to bring in as many tips as I can before my shift is over.

When the DJ finally changes the music to signal that my set is wrapping up, I spin myself around the pole one more time, then lower myself to my knees and move into a slow crawl that’s guaranteed to make every man watching beg to get me into one of the private rooms in the back once I step off the stage.

Not happening.

Not tonight.

Theydon’t know that, though, and I make sure to hold some eye contact with every man who has cash in his hand as I advance across the stage, collecting the bills that they’ve already thrown down for me.

When I finally get to the edge, I roll smoothly to my feet and hook my fingers in the thin straps of my g-string.

The musclehead from earlier is trying to say something, but his hands are empty and I’m not interested in hearing it, so I turn to the man closest to me and tease the stretchy scrap of black lace I’m wearing down to the top of my sleek, shaved pussy.

“Put it right here, Daddy,” I purr, even though I’d shoot myself before calling anyone that if he wasn’t about to pay me. Biting my lip, I add in a breathy voice, “You know you want to.”

And sure enough, he groans and shoves his wad of cash in my g-string.

That’ll go right toward your college fund, Chloe. You’re welcome.

I could probably get more out of him, but my time really is up. A dancer who goes by the name of Cherry is shooting daggers at me from the edge of the stage, waiting her turn with the pole.

She was friendly enough to me when I first started, but she’s been talking shit about me to the other dancers ever since Rob, the waste of space known as my ex-boyfriend, fucked her and then dropped her just to try to make me jealous. I warned her about him, but she wouldn’t listen to me.

“You could’ve left some for the rest of us,” Cherry whispers as I head off the stage, and I bite back a satisfied smile as I organize the wad of bills I’ve collected into a more manageable stack.

It was a pretty lucrative shift, especially for an off night, and now I’m looking forward to getting home and putting my feet up. Maybe Chloe is watching one of those cult documentaries she loves so much.

A new song blares through the speakers as Cherry starts her set, and I cut down a hallway, heading toward the dressing rooms at the back of the club.

“Hey,” a voice calls out from behind me. “Hey, Destiny, hold up, baby.”

Fuck. It’s Musclehead.

Patrons aren’t supposed to be back here, but he must’ve slipped through the door after me. I ignore him, not answering but picking up my pace a little. Before I can reach the dressing room, Musclehead catches up to me, getting in front of me and planting one meaty hand on the wall to block my way.

“Didn’t you hear me?” he asks, his liquor-scented breath gusting in my face. Then he waggles his eyebrows. “Or are you playing hard to get? I like it. You’re a little firecracker, aren’t you, Destiny?”

He reaches for a lock of my dyed hair as he speaks, his fingers brushing over the blue and purple strands. I jerk backward, my jaw clenching. I’m happy to tease men onstage as part of the show, but I hate how some of them are so fucking clueless—and full of themselves—that they forget it’s all an illusion.

“That’s not my real name. And you’re not allowed to be back here,” I say, keeping my voice cool and my spine straight.

“Aw, come on,” he slurs drunkenly, licking his lips. “I could see the way you were eye-fucking me out there all night.” He gestures between the two of us. “You feel it, just like I do. I know it. So why don’t we take this someplace else and see where it goes?”

My hands curl into fists, but I hold my ground, all traces of the sultry flirtation I put on while I’m performing long gone. “Why don’t you take it someplace else? Because I’m done for the night, and that means I’m done dealing with assholes like you.”

He laughs, smiling as he steps closer—as if I just told him he probably has the biggest cock in the world instead of calling him an asshole. “Come on. There’s no one else around. You don’t have to—”

He palms the back of my head as he speaks, his other hand reaching up to grope my breast, and my body snaps into motion before I even give it a conscious direction. Bracing one hand on his shoulder, I knee him in the balls, hard and fast.

“Fuck!” he shouts, doubling over and cupping himself. He staggers backward, and when he looks up at me again, the drunken leer on his face has been replaced with anger. “You fucking bitch.”

Not bothering to point out that he’s the one who touched me first, I rest my hands on my hips, allowing a small smile to tug at my lips.

“Yeah, that’s not my name either,” I tell him dryly. “But you’re getting closer.”

Stepping around him as he groans pitifully, I head to the dressing room to get my street clothes on. Once I’m dressed, I sling my bag over my shoulder and head out the back, wrapping my arms around myself as a gust of cool air ruffles my hair.

As I cut through the alley behind the building toward the parking lot, a low grunt reaches my ears, and I pause for a second, squinting into the darkness as I peer up ahead.

Then I roll my eyes.

Two people are fucking near the mouth of the alley, and just my luck, I recognize them both. Rob, my ex, and a new dancer who goes by Sugar.

Cherry would probably start a cat fight if she saw this, but I honestly have no clue why. He’s not worth fighting over. He talked a good talk and seemed different at first, but I should have known better than to believe it.

Never date men you meet at the club.

It was a good rule, and the one time I broke it only reinforced how necessary that rule is.

Rob has Sugar pinned to the wall, her face shoved against the damp bricks as he takes her from behind. Even if I didn’t have a clear view of them, I’d know it was him just from the disgusting grunting sounds he makes, like a rutting pig, as he pounds into her.

My asshole ex is under the mistaken impression that fucking his way through the other strippers here—and doing his damnedest to make sure I find out about it—will make me jealous.

It won’t, but that doesn’t stop him from going even harder when he catches sight of me.

I don’t give him the satisfaction of a response as I slip past them, but I can’t resist being a little petty. As soon as I get into my car, I rev the engine and swing it around so that my headlights land on the two of them.

Robwinces, holding up a hand as his pale ass shines like the moon under the glare of my headlights. Sugar yelps, shoving him away as she realizes they’re not as alone as she thought, and I suppress a chuckle as I peel out, already feeling a bit better.

Maybe he’ll finally get the message that I’m done with his bullshit.

The club is only a few miles from the apartment I share with Chloe, and at this time of night, the streets are mostly empty, so it doesn’t take me long to get home. She’s still awake when I unlock the door and let myself in, curled up on the couch watching TV.

“Hey, sis.” She glances up, her brown eyes—a lighter shade than mine—a little fuzzy with sleep. She’s probably been dozing, waiting for me to get home. “How was your shift tonight?”

“Not too bad,” I say with a shrug, deciding not to mention Musclehead as I toss my keys onto the coffee table and head into the tiny kitchen just off the living room. “How was school?”

“Eh, not too bad,” she says with a yawn, echoing my words. She cranes her neck to look at me over the back of the couch as I pull some leftover pasta from the fridge and pop it in the microwave. “I’m getting excited for the summer, though. Maybe I can get a job so you won’t have to work as much.”

The microwave beeps, and I grab the plate of pasta, a slightly crusty bread roll, and a fork, then head back into the living room. Nudging Chloe to get her to scoot over, I plop down onto the cushions beside her.

“Abby wants to take me to a punk show over in Clifton tomorrow,” she says as I dig into my food, which is unevenly heated thanks to our shitty microwave.

I frown. “Clifton? You know that’s West Point Gang territory.”

She makes a face, running her hand through her dyed blonde hair. “I’m not going to get in the middle of any gang stuff. It’s just a show.”

“You don’t always get a chance to decide what you’re in the middle of,” I shoot back, my stomach tightening into a knot as I put my fork down. “You know that, Chloe.”

We’ve been pretty lucky, if you can call it that. Our little corner of Halston may be rough, and my job guarantees that I deal with assholes on a regular basis, but I’ve still managed to keep Chloe sheltered from most of the dangers of the city.

And soon, if my luck holds out, I’ll get her off to college and out of here completely.

“Eat,” she says, nudging my plate. “And quit worrying so much. I know things are bad between West Point and the Reapers right now—”

“You do?” I glance over at her, frowning. “How do you know that?”

I’m sure there are parts of Halston that aren’t overrun by gangs, but since we don’t live in those parts, it’s a basic survival skill to keep tabs on what the local gangs are doing. Not paying attention to the way the wind is blowing is a good way to end up dead, but I still wish I could protect Chloe from the ugly side of life.

Fuck knows our dad never tried.

“Um, because I live here?” She rolls her eyes, stealing the dinner roll off my plate. She pulls off a piece and eats it, shrugging one shoulder. “Besides, it’s no secret. There was a shooting down by Checkers tonight, and I’m pretty sure West Point took out a few of the Reapers.”

“Shit.” I swallow hard. “Did you see it?”

I’m suddenly not hungry anymore. Checkers is a little bodega just down the street from us. We run down there all the time.

“Heard it,” Chloe says, which doesn’t make me feel any better.

If she was here in the apartment, even though we’re three stories up and always keep the doors locked, that’s still too close. The walls are thin, too thin to stop a bullet, and those fucking gangs don’t give a single solitary shit about who gets in their way when they go after each other.

“Quit looking so dire.” She gives me a look, pursing her lips. “My point is, the gangs are keeping each other busy. I’m sure it will be fine at the show.” She pokes at my plate again. “Now eat. I know dancing makes you hungry.”

I’m not nearly as sure she’ll be fine in Clifton as she is, but I pick up my fork again anyway. Chloe deserves to have a life, and the world is full of risks no matter which way you look at it.

Besides, she’s eighteen now. It’s not like I can roll her up in bubble wrap and keep her locked up in this apartment day and night. She’ll have to get out there and make a few mistakes someday. The best I can do is just make sure I steer her away from the big ones.

Chloe’s phone vibrates on the coffee table, and when I glance over at it, I see our dad’s name on the lock screen.

I frown. Speaking of big mistakes…

“What the hell?” I glance sharply from the phone to Chloe. “What the fuck does he want?”

She sighs, wincing. “He needs money. He called earlier and left a voicemail. I haven’t called him back yet. Should I answer?”

“No.” I shake my head, the muscles in my shoulders and neck already tensing. “I’ll talk to him.”

Snatching up the phone as it vibrates its way across the coffee table, I swipe the screen and bring it to my ear.

“Heyyyyy, little girl,” Frank drawls before I have a chance to say anything. “Did you get my message? Did you figure out where your sister keeps all that cash she brings home? Your old man’s in a bit of jam here.”

My jaw clenches. He doesn’t know I’m the one who answered the call, and hearing the slimy, cajoling way he speaks to my sister pisses me off.

“Hey, Frank,” I say coolly. “You want to explain to me why a grown-ass man has to come crawling to his teenage daughter, begging for money?”

“Riley?” Shock and a hint of guilt resonate in his voice, but he recovers quickly, putting on a falsely friendly tone. “Hey, listen. I don’t know if your sister told you, but I’ve got a situation. Are you girls still living over in those triplexes over at Centerview?”

Dammit. How does he know where we live?

Chloe’s been listening in on our call, and her eyes go wide as she shakes her head as she mouths, “I didn’t tell him.”

I put my arm around her shoulders and give her a quick squeeze as I answer Frank, ignoring his question about our shitty apartment. I don’t know how he found out we were living here, but Chloe doesn’t have to worry about me being mad. I know it wasn’t from her. She may have a softer heart than she should, but she doesn’t want anything to do with our asshole father either.

“I don’t care about whatever hole you’ve dug for yourself today,” I tell him. “We’re not bailing you out.”

Not again.

Mom died fifteen years ago, when I was ten and Chloe was three. I stuck around as long as I could stand it, learning to take care of myself, take care of my sister, and toughen up enough to manage both. But all the way up until the day I got my sister out from under his roof, Frank kept trying to guilt her into “helping” him.

He knows better than to ask me for anything anymore, but the fact that he’s still keeping tabs on us, still going behind my back to work on Chloe, has me seeing red.

“Now, Riley,” Frank starts. “That’s no way to talk to your old man. Raising you girls wasn’t always easy, but I put in my time, and I deserve—”

“You deserve jack shit,” I cut in, furious. “You’re a fucking deadbeat, Frank, and you always have been. You’re not getting a damn cent from either me or Chloe. Not ever again. Lose her number, because you’re done freeloading off us, asshole. You’ll have to find another way to deal with your shit.”

“Hey, hey, hey! Hold up now,” he splutters. “You girls are my family. I just need a little—”

I stab at the screen to end the call, cutting off whatever he was about to say.

He’s not family. Chloe is my family. If I could remove every drop of blood I share with Frank, I’d do it in a heartbeat, but at least I can do this.

I block his number on her phone, then toss it aside. “Don’t talk to him again, okay?”

“Okay,” she says, shoving her long blonde hair behind her ears.

I frown. “You don’t owe him anything, you know.”

She twists the hem of her shirt between her fingers, avoiding my eyes. “I know.”

“Good,” I say firmly. “Because he seems to forget that fact all the time, and if he keeps trying to worm his way back into your life, I’ll beat his ass.”

“You’ll have to switch out your mood ring first,” she jokes. Leaning closer, she taps a finger against the small purple gem I’ve got pierced on the side of my nose.

I picked this one to go with my hair today, but I’ve got another one—a black faux-diamond skull—that Chloe always says I wear when I’m pissed the fuck off and ready to do something about it.

She’s not wrong.

“I’m going to bed,” I declare, hauling myself off the couch. I lean down as I pass Chloe, pressing a swift kiss to the top of her head like I used to when she was a kid. “Goodnight.”

“Love you,” she mumbles, reaching up to grab my hand before we separate. Her voice is a little subdued, which tells me just how much our dad got to her.

God, I fucking hate him. But sometimes, I also worry that Chloe is too soft. Not that she doesn’t know what a shitty place the world can be, but I’ve managed to shelter her from most of the worst that Halston has to offer.

I can’t really regret it, though. My little sister will be okay. She’s only soft on the inside, and that part of her… well, it reminds me of some of my best memories of our mom. The ones that would make me soft if I didn’t keep them locked away for safekeeping.

But unlike Mom, who died before she ever got the chance, I’m going to make sure Chloe has a chance at something better. And I’ll do anything to make that happen. Anything.

Because I love her too.

As far as I’m concerned, in this whole shitty world, my sister is the only thing worth giving a damn about.