Chapter 7
Camila
Lamps and neon lights illuminate the nightlife streets of Soho as I drive to another shift at DL. Drunk partygoers already fill the streets, stumbling and leaning on each other. The queue for Diamond Lounge stretches far down the road as I drive past and into the car park.
The bottom of my car clunks as I drive up the small ramp. It’s on its last legs, but there’s no way I can get it fixed without eating into my studio savings. I’m using this piece of crap until it packs in, then I’ll walk to the club if I have to.
I didn’t get much sleep last night. Between Luke’s relentless texting and thinking someone was following me, I struggled to get to dreamland.
Obsidian stayed cuddling into my feet the entire night like a furry, protective little shadow.
Not that I get many dreams anyway. Most are repeating nightmares of Luke finding me and making my life miserable before he points a gun at me and shoots, waking me up.
Goosebumps cover my arms at the thought of him, and dark shadows start to cloud my vision as my mind returns to the day I plucked up the courage to run away from him. How close I came to dying then.
Someone must have been watching over me that night.
Jayden is leaning against the brick wall next to the security door, smoking a cigarette in his black uniform, a yellow bouncer's armband hugging his pale, muscled arm. He grins and throws away his cigarette when he notices me. He knows I can’t stand smoking.
It was one of the reasons I turned down his offer of sex the first time.
The second time, he avoided smoking all night.
Too many bad memories manifest from that smell, and I couldn’t even fathom intimately giving myself away to someone that smelt like everything that used to bring fear into me.
There’s a matte grey car parked in the alleyway tonight, which is strange.
“How is our best dancer feeling tonight?” He beams as I stand beside him, pushing on the security latch.
“Don’t let the other girls hear you say that.” I smile back at him, theatrically searching around the alleyway for other dancers.
He lets out a chuckle and steps closer. “Please. They all know you’re the only one I look for at the start and end of each shift.” He winks.
I’m flattered by his compliment, but Jayden has been chasing after me for months, despite me telling him I’m not interested multiple times. The guy is persistent; I’ll give him that.
“Thanks, Jay. I have to go, though. I’m late,” I say, checking my imaginary watch as I push through the door before he can get any closer.
He steps back, a disappointed look crossing over his face. “Have a good night, Vix.”
“You too.” I smile and shut the door.
Jayden is a handsome man with a killer smile, but he’s just not my type.
After everything that happened with Luke, I was desperate to feel close to someone.
To finally be in control of what was happening with my body.
And while Jayden was respectful enough during our one-night stand, it wasn’t satisfying.
Clearly, I wasn’t built to be pleasured.
And I haven’t even thought about getting serious with another man since Luke.
My walls are up, and I intend to keep them up.
I don’t want to trust too easily. Not anymore.
Clothes fly everywhere as I enter the changing room. A tangle of limbs and half-naked girls fills the room.
Close enough to a Michelangelo painting.
The girls make me a path as I weave my way through them to my desk. Corrine is already dressed in her purple leather booty shorts and crop top.
“Going casual tonight?” I ask, dropping my gym bag on the floor by my feet and sitting in front of the mirror, getting started on my makeup.
“I need to keep the audience on their toes. They don’t just get to see all this every night.” She gestures to herself with a mascara wand. “Long night?” she asks, probably noticing the darkening circles under my eyes again.
“Like you wouldn’t believe,” I sigh. “The neighbour was up until five in the morning playing drum and bass music again. I swear, one of these days I’ll be able to get some sleep.”
Lie. I’m getting too good at it.
“You need a night off.”
“The dream isn’t going to chase itself.” It’s literally right there in front of me. I think by next year I’ll have saved up enough. And this club—dancing—is the only thing that stops my mind from reliving every fucked-up event from my past.
Keeping my mind busy stops me from spiralling, and my hellion of a cat at home keeps me company.
“I’m worried about you.” Her brown eyes bore into mine in the mirror. “You haven’t been yourself recently.”
I know. But what do I tell her?
‘My abusive ex is out hunting me?’
She would lose her mind. Tell me to call the police. But that’s the thing. I can’t. If I do, I’ll most likely end up dead. He’ll find me quicker than the police can find him, and he’ll kill me.
No one will understand the situation I’m in.
“Vix?” Her voice pulls me out of my thoughts, and my stomach growls inside me with a sick feeling.
I give her a smile, continuing to apply my foundation. “I’m fine. Like you said, I just need a night off.”
She eyes me sceptically. “Promise me you’ll schedule at least a weekend off?”
“I promise,” I reply, crossing my fingers under the desk.
“Hey, I saw that!” She slaps my hand.
I pick up my phone—ignoring the three texts from said ex—and morph my face into shock. “Shit, you’re late on stage!”
Cursing, she rushes out of the room.
She has five minutes left, but she doesn’t need to know that. I chuckle to myself as I apply my nude lipstick.
The girls slowly start disappearing from the room, leaving me on my own with just the bass of the music vibrating through the walls.
I pull out my black fishnet stockings, sliding my shorts off and pulling the stockings high enough to cover the scar on my leg.
I dab a little bit of eyelash glue under the lacy seam and hold the material there for a few seconds.
I gently pull on the stocking once I think it’s dry to make sure it doesn’t slide around.
I finish my outfit off with a green mini skirt and a tight, long-sleeve crop top.
I examine myself in the giant wall mirror, already preparing to slip into my dancer role.
I hope one day I won’t have to. Maybe I can be confident enough to not pretend to be anyone but Camila.
Though, every time I think of people knowing what I’ve been through, I picture myself getting kicked back out to the streets of London.
Dirty. Used. Damaged.
I shake my head out of the dark spiral, smoothing my hands down my outfit and heading towards the stage.
The tangled wires on the back of the stage screen are staring at me. My heart rate picks up as I wipe my sweaty hands on my skirt. My breaths come in shaky as the music fades out in the club’s main room.
This never happens. Normally, my body is buzzing with energy.
Though a certain Warren has been popping into my mind since last night. And I know I shouldn’t—he’s technically my boss—but I’m secretly hoping he’s here again. He looked at me differently… and I liked it.
The screen starts rising—Lights Out by NBDY starts playing through the speakers, and I begin making my usual slow walk up to the pole.
The hair on my nape rises the second I take a step out, and the feeling of someone watching me floods over me again.
It’s just the air conditioning.
But it’s not. It’s like my body knows he’s here.
And like a moth to a flame, I take a glance over to the same booth from last night to make sure my senses aren’t just making this up.
He’s not there.
No.
This time, he’s much closer to the stage; he may as well be sitting on the railing separating the stage from the main floor.
The normally full chairs in front of the stage aren’t full tonight; they’re empty, and Xander is the only one lounging in the middle seat.
Legs spread wide, tattooed hands resting on the armrests, with one holding a half-empty tumbler.
His frame is so large that the chair looks almost comically small.
My pulse jumps as his icy blue eyes lock onto mine, observing me. It’s like our bodies react in tandem to the eye contact—he stiffens, and my muscles tighten.
His hair is perfectly styled back, the sides neatly faded. I could’ve sworn last night he had a more tousled look about him. The top buttons of his white shirt are undone, giving me a small peek of his tattooed neck and chest.
His eyes darken as I spin on the pole, holding his gaze. His perfectly symmetrical lips curl up on one side in a smirk. Goosebumps erupt on my skin, like an impending storm on the horizon approaching, and there’s no way to stop it.
I want nothing more than to lose myself in the dance, but I’m unable to. I’m too focused on how his throat bobs when I slide my chest along the floor with my ass in the air. How his fist clenches when I run my hands along my body.
My heart races as I continue dancing; I’m sure it’s almost ripping out of my chest. I spread my legs, holding onto the pole and swaying my hips downwards, almost looking like I’m straddling him.
He adjusts himself in the seat, taking a sip of his drink.
I’ve never felt this kind of pull towards anyone. He looks at me like I’m a puzzle he’s already solved. Like he knows me better than anyone, and we haven’t spoken a single word to each other. Like he already owns me.
My set finishes, and my eyes linger on him for a few seconds before I whip my left leg round to the front, out of my split, and leave the stage—all while trying to calm my erratic heartbeat.
Back in the dressing room, I change into a pair of denim booty shorts, ready to serve drinks on the floor.