Chapter 20
brOOKLYN
“Wait, you’re seriously not coming with?”
I smile as I look up at Val from where I'm stretching on the studio floor. He’s with Naomi and Evelina, who are both, like him, already showered and dressed.
A few of my friends made plans to go out to dinner before hitting what has become our new favorite club, Doomsday, after rehearsal today. But there’s no way I can join them.
I barely have two dollars to rub together at this point, and I don’t even have anything suitable to wear anymore.
I ended up calling Evie after I ran from James, making up some crap about my building management spraying for cockroaches and asking to crash at her place for the night.
I figured she’s single, unlike most of my friends, so it’d just be the two of us. Also, Evie’s pretty naive, so she’d be the least likely of my friends to notice anything wrong and press me on it. I know that sounds shitty, but I mean it in the nicest way. Evie is just… sweet.
The third reason, much as I hate to admit it, is that Evie lives with her dad.
As in, at a heavily guarded Bratva fortress of a mansion.
As in, somewhere I might actually get some sleep without worrying James would find me.
I sigh, shaking my head. “Nah, I want to get some conditioning in. Then I need to go back to my place and make sure pest control didn’t leave my door unlocked or anything.”
He groans. “ Fine … I guess.” He frowns, stretching his muscled, tattooed arms overhead before shoving his fingers through his hair. “Nothing I can do to convince you?” He gives me a look only I see and mouths “My treat.”
I know he says it because he gets me. But I shake my head.
“Next time. Promise.”
He doesn’t push.
Val is a gem . He knows enough about my life, having lived a similar one, that he gets when I need a hand. But he also gets that sometimes, you’re just down, but that doesn’t automatically mean you’re looking for help.
“You sure?” Naomi smiles. “A little birdie told me Laz is going to be there…”
I roll my eyes. Laz Kislev, a Bratva heir who tends to pal around with Roman, his friend Bane Antonov, and guys like Naomi’s boyfriend Nico Barone and his older brother Carmine, has met up with us when we’re out a few times in the past. He's also a co-owner of Doomsday, and makes sure we get a VIP table whenever we go.
He and I flirted like once , months ago, maybe danced a bit together. And Naomi’s been barking up that tree ever since, hoping to set Laz and I up.
Yeah, not gonna happen.
I mean he’s hot enough: tall, in crazy good shape, dark hair, ice-blue eyes, tattoos for days . But he’s not really my type.
Too much of a party boy.
Too wild and crazy.
Too young…
My face heats as the thought slides into my brain. Laz is like twenty-seven, which is a few years older than me. But I know what that obnoxious little voice is talking about.
He’s not in his forties, with a razor-sharp jaw, dark hair just beginning to silver at the temples, and a rough, masculine edge to him that…. does things to me.
He’s not Kir .
Yeah, I want to punch that little voice in the throat for even bringing it up.
“Well, tell Laz I said hi,” I grin. “But for real, Naomi—not my type.”
All three of them give me a look.
“Dude, if that isn’t your type, I’m not convinced you’re straight,” Val grunts. “That motherfucker is sin . Bet he’s hung like a fucking ox, too.”
Poor Evelina’s face turns crimson as she spins to our friend.
“Val!” she squeaks, making Naomi and Val laugh before the former wraps an arm around her shoulder affectionately.
The three of them start to leave, but Evie hangs back. I smile as I stand.
“Thanks again for letting me crash last night.”
She shakes her head. “Oh, it was a real hardship finding space in my dad’s one-hundred-gajillion-square-foot house for you. You owe me,” she says dryly.
I grin. “Glad you could squeeze me in.”
She keeps smiling at me, but I see something behind her eyes as she sucks her lower lip between her teeth, her brows knitting.
“Evie?”
She sighs. “Are you okay?”
I shrug. “Me? Yeah, I’m fine.”
Her brow stays furrowed. “Look, if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s cool. But I’m here, and I’m your friend?—”
“Evie… What are we talking about?”
Her lips purse. “I get that I’m the token innocent one, okay?” She shrugs. “A bit sheltered, never had a boyfriend, gets wasted off half a drink, blah blah blah.”
“Evie—”
“Don't get me wrong,” she shrugs. “I like my role in our friend group. It really doesn’t bother me, you know, being ‘the sheltered one’.” She flashes a grin. “I mean, I am .” Then she sighs. “Just, don’t confuse me never having had sex with me being a clueless idiot, okay?”
I frown deeply. “Evie, I would never ?—”
“Brooklyn, you called me last night asking to crash at my house, then showed up with nothing . No pajamas, no toothbrush?—”
“I told you,” I say quickly. “My building management didn't give us notice and just started spraying. I couldn’t?—”
“You also looked scared half to death—no, stop , this is what I’m talking about.
” She smiles sadly. “I’m sheltered , Brooklyn, but I still have eyes.
You were terrified when you arrived. And then halfway through the night—I’m not sure if you even remember—you were having some kind of a nightmare in the next room, and I went to check on you, and the PJs I lent you, the top was riding up…
” She peers at me with sad eyes. “Where’d you get that bruise on your stomach? ”
I swallow, a whining noise in my ears.
“I...”
She shakes her head. “Look, Brooklyn, I’m happy to let you sleep at my place, and lend you pajamas and a toothbrush. You don’t have to tell me. Just please don’t lie .”
I wince, looking down.
“James,” I murmur. “I ran into James last night.”
“Oh my God , Brooklyn?—”
“It’s fine, really,” I say. “It’s not what you think, not really. We got into a fight, and he pushed me. I turned too fast and tripped over a parked bike on the street. That’s all.”
I hate looking into the eyes of people who love me, and lying like this.
But my whole life is a wobbly house of cards right now. Making the James thing a big deal means getting the authorities involved, and they'll find out where I’ve been living for the last year, and it'll all come crashing down.
The Imperiya Korona wants no part of that.
“ Please don’t tell anyone,” I say quietly. “It’ll get back to Val, and he’ll go find James and it’ll be this whole big insane thing.”
Evelina’s face falls. “I won’t, if you don’t want me to. But Brooklyn, you need to deal with James. He keeps coming back into your life, and he’s dangerous, and?—”
“I know,” I croak quietly. “I’m taking care of it. I… I’m actually filing a restraining order tonight. That’s another reason I can’t go out.”
God , these lies…
“Do you want to come back to my house again tonight?” she asks.
No, because I have to go take my clothes off and dance on a fucking pole so I can keep the one family member I have left out of jail.
I smile and shake my head. “I’m good, but thank you. Really.”
“Love you,” she sighs, giving me big hug. “Don’t forget that.”
I smile weakly. “Love ya too, Evie.”
And I’m so sorry for lying to you.
Early this morning, I left Evie’s early and slunk back to where I’d parked Pearl.
It…wasn’t great.
Some of my crappy shit—my beaten-up flats, my older dance gear, a few bits of my rattier clothing—was still there, if strewn on the street and sidewalk.
The good stuff was gone: the bag with all the fancy dance gear Kir bought me. The new Freeds. All of it.
Also, someone had used my windowless, unlocked car to shelter from the rain last night, where they also smoked about three packs of cigarettes and possibly crack in the front seat.
Awesome .
Luckily, most of my dance stuff—The Mirage stuff, not ballet—I keep in my locker there. So after rehearsal and after I park Pearl with her new taped-up driver’s side window in Soho, I take the subway to the club.
“Full house out there tonight, babes,” Lucy blurts, jogging into the backstage changing room holding her bra, panties, and an armful of cash.
She drops it all on the chair in front of her vanity, stuffs the cash into a lockable drawer, then starts cleaning up with wet wipes before pulling on a fresh pair of underwear.
On the one hand, a packed club means tons of money.
On the other, it means more men .
Leering. Whistling. Screaming disgusting shit while you demean yourself.
Oh joy .
I finish getting dressed while another girl, Caroline, heads out on stage. I opt for the schoolgirl outfit again, just because it’s always a crowd-pleaser, and pair the plaid micromini-skirt, knotted blouse, and knee-highs with a plaid and black matching demi-bra and thong.
I touch up my makeup and pull my hair into two high ponytails, finishing just as Caroline sashays back into the dressing room with her own pile of bills.
“You’re up, Brooklyn,” she says, her gaze staying on me for a while.
I frown. “Everything okay?”
She flashes an awkward smile. “Yeah, all good.” She frowns. “Look, this is going to sound weird, but you don't have like, a dad, or an uncle or something who might be looking for you?”
I blink. “Nope. Why?”
“Give it up for the verrry sexxxy CHERRY PIE!!!” the DJ roars into the mic.
Maya turns from where she’s putting on makeup at her vanity and shoots me a look. “That time, B. You ready?”
“Yeah.” I give Caroline another confused look, but she just shakes her head.
“Forget it. Go make money. Tell you later.”
I’ve done this more times than I care to think, but there’s still a pulse of anxiety that hums through me when I walk out onto stage, listening to the hooting and whistling jeers of the crowd.
It’s not the same thrilling buzz I get before a ballet performance. I love that kind of nervous excitement.
This feels…gross. Dirty. Cheap.
And just plain scary.
So I do what I always do: escape into my head.