Chapter 3
Mynx
Another day, another dollar , Mynx Cooper thought as she exited the club, the heavy door closing with a loud thud behind her.
She'd never been so ready for a day to be over.
The music from the DJ's booth was now just a repetitive thumping in the background, matching the pounding in her head.
It was still an hour until closing, and the club was at maximum capacity and still in full swing behind it.
If she'd had to endure one more person trying to touch her tonight, she would have completely lost her cool.
The strap of her bag dug into her shoulder as she adjusted it, her feet aching with every step on the unforgiving concrete.
She shifted her weight, searching for even a moment's relief, but the pain lingered—an unwelcome reminder of the long hours she'd just worked.
Sweat coated her skin in a sticky film from the exertion of her last private dance.
This job always left her feeling grimy; her discomfort clung to her like an unwelcome second skin.
Cover Girls was pristine. Its polished surfaces and gleaming lights contrasted sharply with the patrons that constantly filled it.
It wasn't the environment that made her feel unclean—it was the people.
The club's supposed rule of "look but don't touch" felt more like a suggestion than an actual concept, enforced only if the bouncers were alerted.
And with just two bouncers for twenty dancers, the odds were rarely in her favor.
She learned quickly to save the muscle for the monsters.
Everyone else? She smiled, swallowed the bile, and kept the money flowing.
When she arrived at work for the day shift this morning, FBI profilers had been sitting at the bar talking to Jimmy.
She'd sipped her coffee at the bar, watching them talk.
The agents stuck out like a sore thumb in the club.
After he escorted them out, Jimmy stopped to let her know they would have a pre-shift meeting to discuss tighter club security for the dancers.
She turned slightly, glancing back to ensure the bouncer, Evan, was following her.
His presence offered her a small reassurance of safety as she made her way to the car.
The thin, tattooed man nodded in acknowledgment at her glance, his casual stride keeping pace a few steps behind.
Mynx'd seen worse, but not by much. His sagging pants.
That tank top under his button-up looked like it had survived a grease fire.
And the damn toothpick—twirling like it made him look good. Then came the tongue flick.
Yeah, he was definitely a snake in the grass—the kind of man who'd call himself 'a good guy' while texting three women at once.
Tighter security, my ass.
She remembered the conversations from earlier as she walked to the car.
"Alright, ladies, listen up," Jimmy said, voice firm.
"I'm sure most of you saw the FBI agents here this morning.
The first thing I want you to know is that your safety is important to me.
Starting today, a bouncer will be stationed in the employee parking lot an hour before shifts begin, and then after, you'll be escorted to your cars at the end of the day as well. No exceptions."
Stacy crossed her arms, voice cool. "Not that I don't appreciate the extra security, Jimmy, but some of our better clients don't like feeling watched. What did the FBI say that's got you beefing up protection? Should we be worried?"
Mynx knew why the woman asked the question. Stacy moved drugs—passed them to the girls, but mostly to clients. Being under a microscope wouldn't help her earnings.
"They came asking if I knew anyone who fits a profile they're building," Jimmy said. A pause. "For a serial killer." Gasps and muffled disbelief rolled through the dressing room. The woman stirred like a shaken hive.
"Ladies," Jimmy raised his voice, "Hold it down and let me finish."
The whispers dulled to a nervous hum.
"They believe a serial killer—one most of you have heard of The Collector—has moved his hunting grounds to Culver City.
They told me several women have been murdered within the city limits and asked me to pass along a warning to be aware of your surroundings.
Don't travel alone. If you don't want to take the warning seriously, you should know that two of his known victims were dancers in their mid-twenties to thirties.
A category most of you fit into. They're trying to limit his access to potential targets.
So you should take the warning seriously. "
Mynx had heard stories of The Collector for years. She assumed he was just an urban myth, but maybe she was wrong.
This was how her day started. A string of bad tippers with roaming hands, each one dangling a crumpled dollar like it was a prize. Like she should be grateful. Like their attention was a gift.
They expected her attention to be—just for them. A private show in a public room. And for that dollar, they wanted devotion.
She gave them heat. She gave them rhythm.
But she never gave them herself.
"You ready to get out of here tonight, beautiful?"
Beautiful? The word on his lips made her cringe. It had been used like currency by men who couldn't afford honesty since the beginning of time. She didn't flinch at the question, let him think she was flattered. It was far easier than dealing with the backlash her snide comments would get her.
"Yeah, I really am. It's been a long day, Evan. Are you working tomorrow?"
Mynx lengthened her steps a bit, widening the space between them. She knew it was a lot to ask for, but she hoped the dumbass took the hint to back off.
"No rest for the wicked—or at least that's how it feels," he answered. "After that visit today from the FBI, I can't see Jimmy giving any of the bouncers time off." He closed the space between them, trying to time his steps with hers.
FBI. That word hung in the air like smoke. He wanted her to react, maybe even confide her fears in him over the situation. She didn't. She let him walk beside her, letting him think their thoughts were aligned, that his position at the club was important, that she needed him. Let him talk.
"I'm just ready to get off my feet and get this day over with if you want to know the truth."
They'd already reached the point in their walk when he should have headed back into the club. But he didn't turn back. Instead, he leaned in—too close, the kind of close that wasn't about warmth.
She didn't move. Just lifted a hand, slow and deliberate, pressing her fingers to Evan's chest. Not hard. Just enough.
"Don't."
The word was quiet, but it cut through the air like glass.
He hesitated, caught somewhere in between bravado and embarrassment. Mynx's gaze didn't waver.
"Look, you want to keep your job? Walk away. Don't make me talk to Jimmy." She let her hand fall, done with him. It wasn't as if she hadn't made her disinterest obvious. The silence, the side steps, the way she never lingered when he spoke.
"No problem, I'll see you later, Mynxie. I'd really like to see more of you," he said, winking as he turned back toward the club. "I never mind seeing that fine ass"
He tossed the words over his shoulder as if they were a compliment. "If you change your mind about us, let me know. You know, any time you're ready, I'd take care of you. Get you outta this club and make an honest woman of you. Offer you my complete adoration… permanently."
His eyebrow arched, cocky and sure, as if the offer was gold.
The nerve of this asshole. Such a pig. What is it with men anyway? Did they think that just because they had a penis, they were entitled to say anything that rolled around in their thick skulls?
Mynx rolled her eyes and kept walking, avoiding saying what she really thought about him and his offer. "See you tomorrow, Evan."
Fat raindrops began pelting her a few steps into the brief walk. With her purse clutched tightly, she navigated the slick path. Her black, six-inch-heeled boots made her movements clumsy as she splashed through water-filled potholes.
Well, is definitely my kind of luck?
The rain was the perfect addition to her already dreadful day. At least it was washing away some of the filth that clung to her skin, like Evan's touch. She shivered at the thought.
She ended the unsteady dash at her Nova.
Lockland Bluffs—one of Culver City's more affluent neighborhoods—was generally considered safe. Being escorted to their cars by the bouncers after shifts was Jimmy's way of offering the girls security without it affecting his bottom line.
Mynx scoffed at the arrangement. God forbid he hire actual trained professionals. The thought of Evan protecting her against a serial killer made her want to laugh.
Cover Girls was one of the most upscale clubs in the city to work for.
Jimmy had strict rules: no backroom blow jobs, no sex for money.
Do everything, he asked when he asked. He regarded his dancers as artists and expected them to act as such.
Anyone suspected of violating Jimmy's rules was fired immediately.
Which was why she was so exhausted; she'd been forced to work a double tonight. She needed the job and the money.
Thank God no one witnessed me letting my guard down with the masked stranger two weeks ago because I'd be out on my ass in an instant if they had.
She was soaked when she pried the door of her run-down Nova open.
The car resembled a trash can on wheels, with its worn, matte primer-gray exterior marred by numerous dents.
The Nova was more than just a vehicle; it was one of the last real connections she had to her grandfather.
Giving her the car was the last decent thing her father had done for her, and she suspected it was more about convenience than sentiment.