Chapter 17
NINA
The gossip hits me the moment I walk into the dressing room the following day.
“Boss hasn’t missed a night in over a week,” Cherry says, adjusting her sequined top in the mirror. “Usually he only shows twice, tops.”
I keep my expression neutral while applying lipstick, but my pulse quickens. Katie catches my eye in the mirror and smirks.
“Maybe he’s got a reason to stick around,” she says with a knowing look.
I focus on getting my lip liner perfect. The last thing I need is strip club gossip about me and Alessio, especially when I can’t even figure out what’s happening between us myself. One minute he’s spreading me across his desk, the next he’s back to treating me like I’m invisible.
Men.
Even the ones who make your toes curl can drive you absolutely insane.
“You’re up next,” Starla announces, poking her head in the door.
Katie leans closer to me. “You know, he doesn’t usually sleep with the dancers.”
My hand freezes halfway to the mascara tube. “What makes you think—”
“Honey, these walls are thin and you have a very distinctive voice.” She grins. “Which is interesting, considering he doesn’t usually mix business with pleasure. You must be special.”
Heat creeps up my neck. So much for keeping things quiet.
“It’s not what you think,” I mutter.
“You have a terrible poker face.” Katie applies another coat of lip gloss, clearly enjoying my discomfort. “It’s complicated, right?”
“Something like that.”
She grins. “Well, lucky for you, he’s not here tonight. Gives you some space to figure out what you want.”
The music from the main floor fades, signaling my cue.
One last look in the mirror. I’m wearing Keshia’s red dress with black lace beneath, and while the outfit is perfect, I’m still working on feeling as confident as I look.
The dress is tighter and shorter on me than it is on her, but it makes me feel powerful.
Like I’m in control of something, even if it’s just how men look at me.
I stride onto the stage as Britney’s “Toxic” starts pumping through the speakers. The song suits me tonight. It’s dangerous and seductive, carrying the same electric edge I feel whenever Alessio’s near. Even when he’s not here, like tonight. Even when I wish he was.
The dance flows through me, each movement sensuous. When the song ends and I’m down to just the black lace, cash rains onto the stage. I’m scooping up bills when a twenty appears in my peripheral vision.
The man holding it has shaggy brown hair, a dimpled chin, and a smile that makes my skin crawl. Something about his eyes reminds me of Eric when he’d been drinking.
“Hello, Temptress.”
His voice has an oily quality that sets every instinct on high alert. I reach for the money, but he pulls it back.
“You’re new here, aren’t you? I can tell. You’ve got that innocent look.” His gaze travels down my body slowly. “I like that. Makes me want to be the one to tuck this into your panties myself.”
The smart thing would be to say no. But the other girls would do it, and I can’t afford to seem difficult. Pride doesn’t pay for Austin’s medication.
I turn to the side, letting him slip the bill into my panties. His fingers linger longer than necessary, brushing against my hip. My stomach churns, but I force a smile.
“Thanks, baby. I’ve got to clear the stage for the next dancer.”
I gather the rest of my money quickly and retreat to the dressing room. When I emerge onto the main floor in my lingerie, I scan for Alessio automatically even though I know he’s not here. I catch myself wondering where he is before I can stop the thought.
The fact that I care at all makes me feel pathetic.
Last night, I ignored Alessio’s preference about lap dances and gave one anyway. The customer was a nervous twenty-one-year-old celebrating his birthday, which made it easier since we were both awkward about the whole thing.
At least I’ve broken the ice now.
Dimple Chin waves me over to his table of drunk businessmen. They have that celebratory look of men who’ve either made money or ruined someone’s day. Every one of them watches me like a predator sizing up dinner.
“Hey, gorgeous,” he calls out. “You were hot as hell up there.”
“I’d like to get my hands on you,” his friend adds, actually reaching for my ass.
I step back. “No touching.”
But my voice lacks conviction. I need these men to want to spend money on me, and being uptight won’t accomplish that.
“Ignore this asshole,” Dimple Chin says. “How about we go somewhere private?”
My instincts tell me to avoid this guy, but I can't afford to be picky about customers, and private dances pay better than anything else I can do tonight.
“Sure, baby. Let’s go.” I force enthusiasm I don’t feel into my voice, hoping he can’t tell the difference.
The private rooms sit behind a purple velvet curtain, muffled from the main floor’s chaos. A bored-looking bouncer guards the hallway, barely glancing up as we pass. I lead Dimple Chin into the first available room.
It’s dimly lit but clean, with a small couch positioned in the center facing a pole. The whole process is predictable enough. Put on a show first, then move in close for the real money.
Before I can reach the music tablet, his hand clamps around my wrist.
“Come on, baby. Shake your ass for me.”
His grip is too tight, cutting off circulation. “I need to turn on music first.”
He releases my wrist but steps close behind me as I select a song. “Forget the music, baby. We both know why we’re really here.” His hands settle on my hips, heavier this time. “I paid good money for privacy.”
“That’s not what we do here, and there’s no touching allowed,” I say, trying to turn around.
“Don’t play hard to get, slut.” His voice turns harsh, and he presses against me from behind, his intentions crystal clear. Fear slices through me like a blade.
He spins me around and slams me against the wall with a hand at my throat. “You’ll do what I say.”
His grip tightens until I can’t breathe. Stars dance at the edges of my vision as he yanks down my bra cups. When he roughly squeezes my breast, pain shoots through me.
The room tilts.
I’ve been here before with Eric. The same rage, the same need to control, the same way he treated me like I wasn’t even human.
Panic floods my system, but underneath it, something fiercer rises. I’m not that helpless woman anymore.
I start to struggle against him with everything I have, shoving at his chest and kicking out with my legs. His hand tightens around my throat, cutting off my air completely.
My pulse pounds in my ears. I reach for his face, thinking his eyes are the weak spot I need to go for. I can barely see through the tears, but I make contact, scratching along his cheek with my nails until I feel the skin tear.
“Bitch!” He releases my throat as he stumbles back, letting out a roar of anger.
I gasp for air, my hands shaking as I yank my bra back up. He swipes at the blood on his cheek, and when he looks at his fingers, his expression turns murderous.
I know that look. I’ve seen it before. He’s going to hurt me badly now.
When he starts to stalk toward me again, I let out a terrified shriek.
Almost immediately, the door explodes inward. But it’s not the bouncer who storms through.
It’s Alessio.
His gaze cuts across the room, taking in my trembling form by the couch and the bloodied customer moving toward me. He’s on the man in seconds, spinning him around and landing a vicious punch to his face.
The customer’s head snaps back, and he crumples. Alessio wrenches him up and hammers him with steady, punishing blows, rage sharpening every strike until blood spatters the floor.
I watch, transfixed by the brutal efficiency of it. This is the darkness I’ve always sensed in Alessio—controlled violence unleashed with surgical precision. When he stomps on the man’s hands, the sound of breaking bones makes me flinch.
“Get this worthless fuck out of here,” Alessio tells the bouncer who’s appeared in the doorway. “He’s banned.”
As they drag my attacker away, leaving a trail of blood, Alessio turns to me. His chest heaves with each breath, tension radiating from every line of his body.
For a moment, seeing that violence in his eyes, I flinch. It’s not fair. He just saved me. But my body is flooded with adrenaline and memories of another man’s hands on my throat.
Alessio notices my reaction and goes very still. Then, just like that night in the alley seven years ago, he holds out his hand. Patient. Giving me the choice.
The gesture breaks through my panic. This isn’t Eric. This is the man who asked permission before kissing me, who saw I was in trouble and acted.
I place my hand in his.
He leads me through the club without a word, past curious stares and whispered questions. In the dressing room, he guides me to my station while the other girls watch in silence.
“Get dressed, Nina. I’m driving you home.”
An hour ago, I would have refused. Now, I can barely keep my hands steady enough to pull on my clothes.
“Are you okay?” His hands run up and down my arms, and I close my eyes at the gentle contact.
“I don’t know.”
There’s something about Alessio that makes me want to tell the truth, even when it makes me vulnerable.
“I’ll be okay,” I say, testing the words.
He nods and leaves me to change. I pull on my sweats without looking in the mirror. I don’t want to see the bruises forming around my neck or the fear still lingering in my eyes.
When I emerge, Alessio’s waiting with a glass containing an inch of amber liquid.
“Don’t wrinkle your nose,” he says as I approach. “That’s expensive scotch.”
A laugh bubbles up from somewhere deep inside me, surprising us both. “Sorry for not appreciating your fancy alcohol.”
“Drink it. You’re off the clock, and it’ll calm your nerves.”
Since Austin should be asleep when I get home, I throw it back like a shot. The burn down my throat is almost welcome—proof I’m still here, still breathing.
Alessio guides me toward the exit with a gentle hand on my back, and I don’t resist.
The drive passes in comfortable silence. I’m glad he doesn’t try to talk about what happened. I pick at my nails and watch the familiar streets blur past, feeling simultaneously grateful and shaky.
When we reach my house, he kills the engine and gets out. He opens my door, and I stand, automatically scanning the shadows around us.
There’s a tree on the corner that blocks the streetlight, making this spot perpetually dark. It’s never bothered me before, but tonight my own street feels dangerous.
Until Alessio places a hand on my elbow and guides me to the front door. Under the porch light Keshia left on for me, he turns to face me, his expression grim.
“Take a few days off.”
That sounds like a great plan for my mental health, but then I think about Austin’s medication and shake my head.
“I can’t. I need—”
“The money. Yeah, I remember.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I’m transferring money to your account to cover your pay, including what you would’ve made on lap dances. This isn’t negotiable. And it has nothing to do with last night.”
My throat tightens. “Then why?”
“Consider it hazard pay.”
He won’t quite meet my eyes, and I know that’s not the whole truth. But pride is a luxury I can’t afford right now. Austin needs his medication more than I need to prove I can handle everything alone.
“Hazard pay,” I repeat, managing a weak smile. “I guess I earned that tonight.”
He starts to reach for my face, then catches himself and shoves his hand in his pocket. “Goodnight, Nina.”
Inside, I check the locks twice and peek in on Austin. He’s sound asleep, blankets tucked under his chin, looking so young and innocent. The sight nearly breaks me. I’m supposed to protect him, not put myself in danger because we need money.
In my room, I drop my bag and sink onto the bed. The tears come then.
For what happened tonight, for all the times it happened before, for the fear that it might happen again.
But underneath the fear is something else: gratitude. For the first time in my life, someone showed up to save me. Someone cared enough to get his hands bloody defending me.
It’s a start.