Vanessa #2
“Thank you, Sylvie. He doesn’t know I’m in Shine,” I tell her, relieved that she cares more about her girl’s safety than the club itself. Even though I’m here under false pretenses, it’s nice to know the girls’ safety is important to her.
She rubs her lips together then nods. “Okay. Obviously you can’t work until your face heals.”
“Sylvie, I can cover it with makeup. Please, I need to work.”
She shakes her head, and I can tell it’s not easy for her to tell me no. “Sweetie, your face is a mess and still bleeding. If you want, I can have a doctor come in and look you over, but that’s the best I can do. You can’t go on stage like this. I’m sorry, Vanessa. Truly.”
This is the part where I really have to turn it up, and I hate myself for it. It’s for your family, Van. And you never have to feel guilty for protecting them.
“Sylvie, if I don’t dance, I won’t have enough to pay for my motel room at the end of the week.”
“You’re still in that place off the highway?” she asks.
I nod and force a tear to fall.
She exhales a long breath and leans back in the chair. “Okay. Let me see what I can do.” Sylvie turns to the room of girls. “I’m going to redo the schedule for the next week. If there are any shifts you can’t work, let me know,” she says to the other girls.
“A week, Sylvie? I can’t—”
“I said I’d figure it out. Trust me, okay?” She rests a comforting hand on my knee, and I hate it. Not being touched, but having someone trying to comfort me while I’m lying through my teeth is turning out to be harder than I thought.
I inhale a shaky breath and nod.
This is the part of the plan that I told Russ I have serious doubts about.
Though Sylvie is in charge here, everything she says and does goes through the Black Roses first. If the club isn’t already aware that one of the dancers came in beat up, they will be shortly.
Russ seems pretty confident that this will somehow be my ticket in—that they’ll want to come in on their white horses and rescue me from my boyfriend and the shithole I’ve been calling home for the last three weeks.
Sylvie pins me with her stare. “You stay in here, and I’ll come get you after I make a couple phone calls.”
“Okay,” I reply and attempt a weak smile.
Here we go, I guess. Now let’s see what these guys are willing to do with this damsel in manufactured distress.
Jake returns about twenty minutes later.
Chantel made me a cold pack using the bag of ice Diamond brought into the room and one of her silk scarves she uses in her routine.
The room has changed dancers in that time, and every time one of the girls who was on the floor when I got here sees my face, the lies fall from my lips all over again.
It scares me that it’s getting easier, or maybe that I’m becoming numb to being so dishonest.
Think of your mom and sister. You’re doing this for the greater good.
There’s a knock at the door and it opens a crack.
“Sylvie is ready for you in her office,” Jake tells me without poking his head in.
That’s something so different about Midnight Rose as well.
At other clubs, the security or managers would have no problem stepping inside a dressing room full of naked women without any sort of warning.
I get up from my chair as the other girls smile and wish me well. Most dancers keep their heads down, at least the ones I’ve worked with. But a couple of the girls here have said they know people who can take care of this problem for me; all I have to do is say the word.
I wish it were that simple.
I don’t think any of them realize if I said the word, they’d be taking on an excommunicated leg of the Russian Bratva who has a bone to pick with their bosses for whatever reason.
We’re quiet as I follow Jake to the other end of the building where Sylvie’s office is.
“Listen, Van, I’m sorry if you think I ran to Sylvie and tattled on you or something. Part of my job is making sure the club stays safe, too. I had to tell her what I saw.”
My gaze finds his apologetic one as we stop outside Sylvie’s office door. His apology is surprising, but I don’t let it show. Hearing someone apologize for doing their job is a little foreign to me. I’m used to hearing the excuse that it’s part of the job and that’s that.
“It’s okay, Jake. I’m not mad. There’s no doubt Sylvie would have found out. I don’t think my plan to cover my face would’ve worked well anyway.”
Jake studies the bruises that are still darkening as the minutes tick on. “You’re probably right about that.”
Jake knocks twice then opens the door for me. Two men are standing in front of Sylvie’s desk. I immediately recognize the patches on their vests.
I’m about to come face-to-face with the members of the club I was sent here to spy on.
When they turn around, the breath in my lungs comes to a screeching halt.
I know that face.
Hell, I fucked that face five goddamn years ago in a hotel room in New York on my birthday.
And that face was not attached to a body that was wearing an MC patch. Of that I am quite certain.
Recognition flashes in Braxton’s eyes the second he sees me. “Vanessa?”
I stare at him for a few beats, trying to calm my racing pulse while I figure out how to play this.
It’s not like he knows anything about me.
Hell, I don’t think I gave him my last name that night, but my knowing one of the members puts a new spin on this plan that already hinges on way too many unknown variables.
“Hi, Braxton,” I say, since there’s really nothing else I can come up with.
“You two know each other?” the man standing next to him asks.
I read the name on his patch. Barrett. I’ve heard a couple of the girls talk about him in passing. Apparently, he used to be some sort of fuckboy, but he turned all that shit around when a daughter he didn’t know about and her aunt came into the picture.
“Guess you aren’t a teacher, then?” Braxton says with a small tilt to his lips, and I shake my head. Barrett’s eyebrows dip low, confusion flashing in his eyes as he looks between us.
“I’m guessing you aren’t an accountant, either,” I say.
At that, Barrett laughs, but Braxton doesn’t take his eyes off me. The way his gaze roams over my face, I know he’s clocking every bruise and cut he sees.
“How the hell did you end up in Shine?” Braxton asks.
“Needed to get away from some shit in New York and wanted a change of pace,” I reply, still reeling from seeing the man in front of me.
“I had her checked out, Braxton. Everything came back clean—and she brought references, which I also checked,” Sylvie says. “I had no idea you knew her.”
“I had no idea he was a biker, so…” I say, arching my brow.
“Well, he sure as shit isn’t an accountant,” Barrett says with laughter ringing in his voice.