Contracted to the Grumpy Pakhan

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Leah

Midnight Club's neon sign flickered a sickly red.

I stood at the entrance and fired off one last text to Trent.

"I'm here. If this is another one of your setups, I swear to God I'll kick your balls into your throat."

The screen went dark. One minute. Two minutes. Nothing. Classic Trent—shove me into the fire, then vanish into thin air.

Cold wind knifed through my thin coat collar. My stomach clenched.

Something was wrong.

This club, stuck in some forgotten corner of the city, reeked of danger.

Forget it. This had to be more of Trent's bullshit. Strip once and clear a massive debt? Yeah, right.

I took half a step back, ready to bolt, when the heavy black door swung open from inside.

"Leah Carter?"

The man had slicked-back hair and smiled like we'd known each other for a decade. He reached out to shake my hand, but nothing about this place put me at ease. When I didn't respond, he didn't seem bothered, just patted my arm twice instead.

"I'm Jack. Don't be nervous, sweetheart. Everyone's jumpy the first time." He stepped aside, opening the doorway. "Stay close. Rules are simple—makeup first, change your clothes, I'll explain the rest as we go."

I forced myself to follow him inside. When I looked up, I spotted a hulking bald guy standing just inside the door.

Arms crossed, he flicked his eyes over me once, then looked away.

Jack held out his hand, palm up. "Phone."

"What?"

"House rules. No phones inside." He jerked his chin toward the wall of muscle. "Everyone in here's a big deal. Someone takes pictures or records audio, the fallout's on all of us. Don't worry, you'll get it back when you leave."

I clutched my phone tighter. I'd never felt so dependent on the damn thing.

"Come on, sweetheart." Jack kept his polite smile, but his eyes had gone flat. "Or would you rather he—" another chin jerk toward the bald guy "—take it from you?"

I ground my molars and shoved the phone into his palm.

"That's better." He tossed it into his jacket pocket and started walking. "Nothing to be scared of. Tonight, you just let me take care of everything. I'll look after you real good."

I didn't like the way he said that. But I wasn't in a position to argue.

Being broke strips away every shred of dignity and self-respect. No one understood that better than me.

"Relax a little, would you?" He kept talking. "The owner here's loaded. You just show them your best side, keep them happy, and that debt? Nothing. Hell, you might even walk out with spending money."

"I don't want spending money. I want to pay what I owe and never set foot in a place like this again."

"Listen to you, so high-minded." He snorted. "Wait till you get a taste. Then come tell me that."

The hallway narrowed as we went deeper. The lights overhead got dimmer.

Bass thumped up through the floor and into my chest, mixing with cheap perfume, sweat, and booze. The doors lining both sides were all half-open, and the sounds leaking through made me freeze.

Any adult knew what that meant. And from the noise, things were getting intense in there.

I stopped and turned to look at him.

"Jack, you need to swear to me this place is actually just dancing."

"Legit business, honey. The license is hanging right at the front desk. Didn't you see it when you walked in?" He didn't even bother looking up. "What you're hearing? All approved entertainment. This is what the clients want these days."

What kind of approved entertainment sounds like that? I'd have to be an idiot to believe him.

"I just need to know what I'm doing here. This isn't part of it, right?"

"Dancing." His answer came fast. "Didn't I say? Dancing."

Before I could press him, a woman swayed past us, barely dressed. Completely naked except for a fluffy tail jutting from her ass, bouncing with every step. No support holding it up—it was plugged in somewhere obvious.

She nodded at Jack as she passed, totally unbothered.

"Hey, Jack."

"Big money tonight, Daisy." Jack talked to her like this was the most normal thing in the world.

"You know it." The tail disappeared around the corner.

My stomach turned.

"That's it." I stepped back. "Jack, I don't think I can do this job."

I turned to leave. Jack's hand shot out and grabbed me.

"Sweetheart, before you go, I should tell you. Trent already signed a contract with us. For you. Black and white, thumbprint and everything. You walk out now, the penalty's triple what you owe."

Triple? The number hit me like a sledgehammer.

Trent never mentioned signing any contract. Never said a damn word about penalties.

I cursed him a thousand ways in my head.

"Then I'll pay it back in installments." The words scraped out through my teeth. "Give me time. I'll get a second job. A third. I'll pay back every cent—"

"Time?" He laughed like I'd told the funniest joke all night. "Sweetheart, the kind of money you owe? It compounds daily. By the time you scrape together the first payment, the principal will've doubled."

Jack wasn't like those thuggish debt collectors. This didn't sound like a threat. It sounded like honest advice. And somehow, that chilled me more than all their intimidation combined.

Because, damn it, I knew he was right.

I looked around—behind me was that immovable wall of muscle, in front was Jack with his "I'm waiting to see what you'll do" expression, and on both sides were those half-open doors leaking sticky sounds.

No exit. Not one.

How could I be so stupid, trusting that bastard Trent?

It wasn't until after we broke up, when those tattooed debt collectors kicked down my door, that I learned Trent Mercer had taken out a pile of predatory loans in my name, drained my credit completely.

And that asshole just dropped to his knees in front of me and swore on his dead mother's grave that if I'd just come dance one time at this understaffed club, the debt would be cleared.

All of it was my own damn fault. This was why I'd ended up here—the final destination for a stupid woman who desperately wanted to be loved and kept believing men's lies.

If Harper knew I was standing in a place like this, she'd tear me apart. But my phone was locked up at the front desk, and even if I had it, I didn't have the guts to dial her number.

I clenched my jaw and followed Jack.

The dressing room was at the end of the hall. Blindingly bright, like a different world from that dank corridor. A row of bulbs blazed around the mirrors. The air was thick with hairspray and perfume.

Two makeup artists shoved me into a chair without a word. Their movements were practiced, efficient. In minutes, they'd transformed me into someone else—smoky eyes, blood-red lips, cheekbones dusted with reflective powder.

"Chin up. Don't move." One gripped my face while the other lifted my arms.

"Look at this body." One of them stepped back to look me over, then turned to whisper to her colleague—not even trying to hide it from me. "Way better than last week's girl."

"Shh—" The other one tapped her with a brush handle and nodded toward me.

They were sizing me up right in front of me, like I was merchandise waiting to be priced. And I couldn't say a word.

The woman in the mirror was beautiful. But I didn't want to look at her.

"Put this on." One of them shoved a bundle of dark red fabric at me.

A silk slip dress. So thin it was nearly transparent. Two pathetically thin straps that looked ready to snap. The hem barely covered the tops of my thighs. The matching heels had straps that wound up the ankle, their sharp points like weapons. I held those two flimsy straps, my heart sinking.

"No, I can't. I really can't dance." I repeated it again, my voice edging into pathetic pleading. "I don't even know basic steps. I don't know anything..."

The makeup artist didn't look up. Just pressed powder hard into my collarbone. "Relax," she said coldly. "He doesn't like crybabies."

He?

Who was he?

Before I could ask, Jack was already leaning in the doorway. His narrow eyes swept me from head to toe. He grinned, satisfied.

"See? Told you." He snapped his fingers. "Your job's easy, baby—just stand there, looking pretty, and the money rolls in. Let's go."

Jack tilted his head, signaling me to follow.

But the deeper we went, the quieter it got. Eventually, we reached a place that didn't look like there'd be any performance at all.

Where was the stage? The audience? Even that muffled music had been left far behind.

"Where the hell are we going? Jack!" My heart was pounding out of control.

"Leah." Jack finally stopped. He turned halfway, and for the first time, his smile showed something real underneath. "You just do what you're supposed to do. Don't ask about the rest. That's not good for you."

I tried to turn back, but he half-pushed, half-dragged me down the hall until we stopped in front of a heavy door at the very end.

Jack knocked twice, didn't wait for an answer, just pushed it open.

Inside was another world—spacious, luxurious. Dark brown leather sofas. Crystal glassware. A vintage chandelier casting warm light.

But in all that space, there was no music. No crowd. Just one man.

He was half-reclined in the sofa, long fingers wrapped around a glass of amber whiskey. At the sound, he lifted his eyes and looked toward the door.

Even in a situation like this, I had to admit—the guy was gorgeous.

Dangerously handsome. When those eyes locked onto me, my soul jolted. Every hair on my body stood up. It was like staring down the barrel of a gun.

"Sir, I've brought her." Jack bowed like a dog across from me toward the man.

The man didn't respond.

He held his glass, eyes sliding down from my face to my ankles, then slowly back up. No expression the entire time.

Jack suddenly leaned close to my ear, voice barely a whisper.

"Take good care of this VIP. Make him happy, and you'll have everything, sweetheart."

Everything was unfolding exactly as I'd feared. No one had bothered to tell me my stage was a dangerous man's private room.

"Wait—" I spun around, reaching for the doorframe.

Before I could finish, Jack's palm slammed into my back and shoved me inside. The heavy door closed behind me. The lock clicked. One soft, final sound.

I stumbled, nearly fell in those weapon-heels, barely catching myself on the sofa's armrest. The room was so quiet I could hear my own heartbeat.

Trent had lied to me again.

And this time, he'd sold me to this terrifying man whose name I didn't even know.

The man finally moved. He didn't get up, just set his glass down on the side table. His gaze settled on me.