Chapter 11 Nina
NINA
How can that asshole be my sweet son’s father?
I’m pissed as I slip into my outfit for the stage. Red lace hugs my curves, paired with black heels that pinch my toes but make my legs look killer. In the mirror, I look like sex on stilts. I need that confidence right now after dealing with Alessio’s attitude.
He’s been nothing but rude to me since I started working here. I can’t figure out what I’ve done to make him dislike me so much. Is it because I mentioned we slept together? But that doesn’t make sense if he doesn’t even remember it.
I go heavy with the makeup tonight. Yesterday I played it too safe, too reserved compared to the other girls. If I want maximum tips, I need to look the part.
I’m the second act, and when I step onto the stage, I plant a flirtatious smile on my face. This time, I make eye contact with the men closest to the stage instead of staring at the ceiling like some amateur. Connection equals cash.
I’m strutting toward the pole when my gaze lifts and lands on Alessio at the bar. Again. His eyes are locked on me, and my stomach does an annoying little flip.
Look away, Nina. Focus on the customers who’ll actually tip you.
But as I spin around the pole, my traitorous eyes keep drifting back to him. He’s watching me with an intensity that makes my skin burn, none of his usual cold indifference anywhere to be found.
His jaw is tight, his knuckles white where he grips his drink.
For a second I almost believe he remembers. The heat in his stare makes my body respond in ways I don’t want it to, and it pisses me off.
Everything fades except the pole in my hands, the music pounding through the speakers, and Alessio’s heated stare.
The dance turns electric, sensual in a way that has nothing to do with the routine I practiced and everything to do with the way he’s looking at me.
My body betrays me, responding to his attention like I’m still that desperate woman from seven years ago.
I should be furious, but instead I’m wet and aching and completely pissed off about it.
By the time the song ends, I’m topless and rattled. I scoop up my tips and bolt for the dressing room.
Candy’s the only one back there, typing furiously on her phone. The metal tin sits open on her vanity, empty now. She looks jittery, hands trembling as she sets her phone down.
“You okay?” I ask, changing into a black satin bra and matching panties for the floor.
Her nod is jerky. “Yeah, fine. Just waiting for someone.”
“A customer?”
“No.” She leans in, voice dropping to a whisper. “My dealer. I need more pills.”
“Your dealer? He’s coming here?” I remember what Katie said about Alessio’s drug policy, and I have a bad feeling about this.
“Not inside. I’m meeting him out back in five minutes.” She picks up the empty tin. “The boss won’t even notice I’m gone. And you better not say a word to him about it.”
I remember Alessio telling me earlier that there was no reason for us to speak one-on-one. “Don’t worry. I won’t be talking to him at all.”
I head back out to the floor where Cherry’s on stage in a schoolgirl outfit, slowly unbuttoning her shirt.
I scan the room and spot a guy near the bar with his eyes glued to me and a noticeable bulge in his pants.
Not my first choice for a lap dance, but the other girls made it clear that’s where the real money is.
The club takes fifty percent, but even with that cut, I can make decent cash if I do this right. I can do this. I have to do this.
I strut over to his table, pointedly not looking for Alessio. I don’t care where he went. I really don’t.
“Hey, handsome, did you enjoy my show?” I ask, channeling every sultry movie I’ve ever seen.
The guy licks his lips. He’s not terrible looking, receding hairline aside. Strong jaw, blue eyes. If my first lap dance has to be with someone, at least he’s not hideous.
“Hell, yeah. You looked hot in red.” His gaze drops to my barely covered breasts. “But black looks good, too.”
I’m about to trail my finger across his shoulders when the club’s front door bursts open. Four men swagger inside wearing leather cuts identical to the ones I saw at the cafe. Different guys, same patches: a skeleton riding a motorcycle with “Devil’s Brood” circling it.
This can’t be a coincidence.
My blood turns to ice. They shove past the bouncer at the door. The guy’s big, but not big enough to stop four huge bikers.
The security guys Alessio stationed around the club move toward the bikers. Alessio appears too, his voice carrying across the room, cold as winter.
“You’re in my territory. Time to leave.”
“What the fuck?” one biker snarls. “We just want to watch some sluts dance. Why should we leave?”
“I know why you’re here. You picked the wrong place to make a statement.”
“Too late!”
One of them grabs an empty beer bottle from a nearby table and smashes it.
Glass flies as he swipes at Alessio, too fast for him to dodge completely.
The jagged edge catches him across the chest. Blood beads across Alessio’s shirt, bright against the stark white.
The sight jolts the whole room into motion.
Alessio moves like violence is his second language. His fist connects with the first biker’s face with a wet crunch that drops the man instantly. No wasted motion, no hesitation.
The sound of bone snapping carries even over the music, and the other men stumble back, suddenly less eager to test him.
It’s not just security versus bikers, either. Drunk customers throw wild punches, one guy stumbling into a table hard enough to split his eyebrow open before he even lands a hit.
While chaos erupts around him, Alessio remains controlled. He grabs a second biker by the throat, drives his knee into the man’s solar plexus, and watches him crumple. The cut on his chest doesn’t slow him down. If anything, it seems to piss him off more.
The music keeps blaring overhead, bass vibrating through the melee like nothing’s wrong, while bodies slam into tables and fists thud against flesh.
The smart girls are already running backstage, away from the violence. There’s a voice in my head screaming at me to follow them, but my feet are glued to the floor. I can’t move, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but watch the chaos unfold.
One of the bikers spots me and lurches in my direction. His unsteady gait and predatory grin send me spiraling back to nights I’ve spent years trying to forget. Eric used to move toward me with that same look, that same intent.
The biker reaches me before I can move. His meaty hand clamps around my arm, the squeeze cutting off circulation until my fingers tingle.
My vision tunnels, the club’s noise fading to a dull roar.
My heart hammers so hard I can feel it in my throat.
Everything in my body screams run, but my legs won’t obey.
“Looking for some fun, whore?”
His face crashes into my space, breath sour with beer and cigarettes. The stench curdles my stomach, dragging me straight back to nights I’ve spent years trying to bury.
Eric’s face flashes over this stranger’s. Same predatory gleam, same entitled hands. I’m twenty-four again, trapped in my own kitchen while my husband decides whether tonight ends with bruises or worse.
“Let me go.” My voice cracks.
Alessio’s head whips toward us, but he’s got his hands full restraining another biker. He can’t help me.
The asshole’s free hand claws at my ass, fingers digging in until pain shoots up my spine. I jerk back with a strangled sound, shame and fury tangling in my throat, but he only tightens his grip, eyes gleaming like he enjoys the struggle.
He lets go, only to draw his hand back, fingers curled, ready to smash it across my face.
I squeeze my eyes shut, jaw locking as I brace for the blow. My body remembers the snap of knuckles against skin, the hot sting that lingers long after. The same helpless terror floods through me, thick and paralyzing.
But the impact never comes.
A stranger appears out of nowhere, hauling the biker away from me. His fist connects with the guy’s face with a satisfying crunch, and the biker howls as blood pours from his broken nose.
I stumble backward into the table where my would-be customer was sitting, but he’s long gone.
Within minutes, it’s over. Two bikers are unconscious on the floor, one is clutching a clearly broken wrist, and the fourth is backing toward the door with blood streaming from his nose. Alessio hasn’t even loosened his tie. Jesus, what kind of man moves like that?
My hands are shaking. The adrenaline that kept me frozen during the fight is crashing now, leaving me dizzy and nauseous. I press my palms against the table to steady myself, trying to process what just happened.
My rescuer comes back, genuine concern in his dark eyes. “You okay?”
“Matteo.” Alessio’s voice cuts through the air before I can answer. “Go outside. Make sure those bastards actually leave.”
Matteo nods and heads for the door without question. Then Alessio’s standing in front of me, and he looks furious.
“What the fuck were you thinking?” His voice is raw, like my stillness offended him personally. “You just stood there, like you were waiting for him to hurt you.”
I blink at him. After everything that just happened, he’s mad at me?
“You could have gotten seriously hurt.” His gaze, furious and protective, travels over my body, checking for injuries like he has the right to.
“But I didn’t,” I manage. “I’m fine.”
He shakes his head, exasperated. “What is it with you and getting in trouble with dangerous meat heads?”
The off-hand comment stops me cold. My eyes widen as the meaning sinks in.
He’s been lying to me this whole time.
“You do remember me.”