CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
MASON
All week, I haven’t seen him. Haven’t heard his familiar voice or even breathed in his expensive scent.
I should have schooled myself for thinking that kiss meant something. I shouldn’t have fucking thought about it to comfort myself.
He hasn’t come into the office. And I’m left alone, day in, day out, staring at my computer most of the time, trying to take my mind off Vincent’s constant threats.
I get off the bed every morning. No matter what I’m feeling.
No matter how heavy my heart is. And he can’t even be at the office. He can’t even check in on me.
I hate it. I hate what that moment did to me. I hate that those two weeks brought us closer. It showed me things about him I shouldn’t have known.
Things I shouldn’t even have condoned.
He’s a killer. He’s dangerous. But I carry scars of his mistakes. Scars of what he did twenty years ago.
I hate that I have to go home every evening to the monster waiting for me, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. And a silly part of me thinks maybe he’ll come to my apartment and make all these mind-crippling emotions go away.
How did I go from focusing on the job to wanting him? I should have said no to that goddamn kiss. It started all this. It’s making me feel all these emotions. Everything except disgust.
I hate it all.
As I stalk out of the company premises to the taxi waiting on the other side of the street, my phone buzzes with a message from the Red Horn Club.
Madame needs me tonight. My heart jumps into my throat at the memory of what happened the last time I was back there.
The mess with Kurt. Shoving him in the alley and getting so hauntingly angry that I wanted to do more than shove him.
I just hope she’s not about to put me into another private room with some motherfucker who thinks they can buy my ass with their money. Saint included.
But the kiss with Saint wasn’t something I did out of obligation to the contract Vincent made me sign. I kissed him because I wanted to. And I regret it.
I regret that he picked me up from the corroded floors of that forsaken prison and handed me over to Bernard. I hate that I didn’t want him to stop holding me. I hate that I waited by the car for him, hoping that something different would happen, yet he crushed my heart and hope in his hands.
He made me feel like a fool for thinking everything would be different.
And it was because halfway to my apartment building, he ran to me. He knelt for me. He asked me to kiss him, and I foolishly kissed him.
I’m so stupid for thinking that I could have something.
I have never had anything to myself.
I have spent my entire life running and looking over my shoulders, hoping I’d get a good night’s sleep without waking up drenched in my sweat from a nightmare. I have always been worried about my safety, and I have never had a stable relationship with anyone since my parents died.
I get into a taxi, drop off at my apartment, then I head over to the club.
Stepping into the dressing room, Cash stands in front of the mirror amongst other workers at the club.
He turns on his heel and smiles at me, waving his long, manicured nails toward me.
I walk past him and head straight into Madame’s office.
What I see is her on her knees, lips wrapped tightly around a man’s dick.
Her jaded eyes snap over to me, and she gets on her feet, body vibrating with embarrassment as she regards me with a glare.
The man quickly tucks his penis away while I stare at both of them awkwardly.
“You don’t knock?” Her nostrils flare with frustration.
“I’m sorry, I wanted to know what I’ll be doing tonight.”
“Waiting tables. Now get the fuck out!”
I give her a stiff nod and turn around, leaving the office and walking to my locker. I put on my leather shorts and straps, too self-aware of the scars on my skin. Madame wouldn’t be happy if she saw how much I’ve ruined myself. But it really wasn’t my fault.
Saint floods my thoughts, destroying all the progress I’ve made to keep him out of my mind.
I hope he isn’t here tonight cause as much as I miss him, I don’t want to see him.
The farther away he is from me, the better.
I don’t want to worry about how my breath changes when he is around, how my thoughts relax when he’s near.
Madame appears through the doors of her office just as Tiff enters the dressing room in black leggings and an oversized sweater.
She still has that glare on her features, and it stiffens even more when she sees Tiff.
Everyone gathers around in the center of the space.
She snaps her manicured nails. “Alright, girls. It’s going to be a big night.
I need y’all to bring them dollars in. Big bills, okay! ” She announces with enthusiasm.
The group cheers unevenly.
“Alright.” Her gaze hovers over us all. “Tiff, what are you still doing dressed like that?” Her words come out clipped, laced with admonishment.
“Sorry, ma’am. I ran a bit late.”
“Well, hurry. You’re getting up on the pole tonight.” She says nonchalantly. “And before I forget, tonight is Cash’s last dance.” She murmurs even though she doesn’t seem too happy about it. “Go out there and shine, and get me some good money.”
One by one, other workers slip out through the door, voices and the click of heels fading down the corridor. The rest finish up with their makeup and hair before they spill through the exit.
I sigh with discomfort, joining the queue as we head onto the dance floor. I reach the end of the corridor and slip through the curtains, past the corridor to the main floor and dance area, the space already buzzing with music.
The DJ booth overlooks everything, slightly elevated in the left corner. Purple and pink strobe lights slice across the tightly packed tables.
Men sprawl on cushions and several straight-backed chairs, elbows planted against round tables, eyes tracking the dancers on the stage platform.
The space erupts with loud, hungry, and relentless cheers. Hands lift in sync with the music. Bills flash in the air like confetti.
Beside the DJ booth, a shirtless younger man stands at the workstation. Behind him, bottles of liquor glow under neon lights. I move toward him, and he smiles at me and slowly pushes a tray of shots, pointing at the group of men in the corner. I deliver the drinks and return to him.
“Have I seen you here before?” He asks with a nice smile.
“I used to work at the suite, but I’m here tonight.”
“Alright.”
“Orders flood in every night, and it’s going to be double since it’s Cash’s last dance on the pole.” He explains and wipes the counter with his towel.
“What’s a last dance?”
“After tonight, he’s not coming back again. I’ve heard rumors he’s getting married to some rich, powerful guy.” The young man leans in and whispers to me.
“I will be sure to keep that secret.” I respond.
The night starts slow. I spend the first few hours delivering drinks to men ready to spend big bills.
More patrons pour in through the entrance, taking up spaces on the open seats.
Even though there’s a club on the first floor of the building, this place remains unbeatable in profits, as it’s where the real deal happens.
The DJ switches up the music, and the crowd erupts into a chaotic ovation just as Cash and Tiff strut onto the stage. I raise my hands and cheer at the top of my lungs.
Being here has made me forget everything at stake. Here, I can exist without worrying about the Godfather beating down my door or David watching me.
The tension I have been holding in all day has somehow loosened with walking around and serving the patrons in the club.
Then Cash makes his entrance. His big moment.
He moves like liquid light, spinning graciously around the pole.
Muscles flex. Lean body stretches taut, glowing spectacularly beneath the deep purple and pink lights.
He arches and twists with effortless control, body moving in harmony with the bass that rattles the walls of the dance floor.
Then Tiff joins in shortly after. She holds herself against the pole, arms steady, both legs stretched outward. She twists around the pole, gripping the metal surface with her hips, then letting herself go so that her body hangs upside down and her legs form a knot around the pole.
Flawless.
This is my first time witnessing the excellence and experience that the dancers give their audience. The self-expression and creativity behind it. It all comes together in a phenomenal performance.
The crowd surges forward. Music swells. Money slides through the air, landing on the floor and the stage whilst both dancers continue to give them the dance of their lifetime.
My body jolts when someone rests their hands on my shoulder, heart jumping into my throat. Fear curls in my veins with the intensity of molten fire. My wide eyes settle on the security man in black, and a sigh of relief escapes my lungs.
He leans forward and whispers. “You’re needed in the VIP booth.”
“VIP room?”
“No, booth.” He corrects, and he gestures a nod toward the spiral staircase that leads into the VIP booth above the dance floor.
As I take the staircase, my fingers tremor, and I take in a slow breath, reminding myself that this isn’t Kurt. This is an entirely different man with a different taste. It might be someone who wants to place an order.
As I enter the booth, my chest tightens the moment I see him. Every thought I have spent the week trying to outrun crashes back at once. I’m at a loss for words when I see Saint sprawled on the leather cushion arranged in an L-shape with a glass of scotch on the table in front of him.
What is he doing here? Did he come to watch the show?
“Oh, hey, it’s the guy who gave me his email.” Syn looks at me with a full smile.
“I go by Mason, but I think you already know that.” I respond cheekily.
“My cousin wants to speak with you. He misses you. He’s been unstable all week.” Syn glances up at Saint, who’s seething.
“I’ll believe it when I hear it from him.”
“Run along, friend. I need to focus on this.”
“Don’t just stand there. Sit.” Saint commands. I sit primly beside him, and he grunts in disapproval. He slaps his thighs, and I give him a look.
“I’m not sitting on your lap.” I tell him.
“Please, little devil.” He begs, eyes softening.
“And what Syn said?”
“All lies.” My face falls with disappointment. “I was more than unstable, little devil. I’m jealous that these men have to see you like this.”
“Why do you call me, little devil?”
“Please, sit on my lap. Want me to grovel?”
A smirk slowly curls at my lips. What is he doing to me? Why can’t I goddamn remember that this man ghosted me for a week? Why do I feel this warmth inside of me?
“So, he can’t get you to flirt back, and I can’t. You’re punishing me, little devil?”
“You are really jealous, but you haven’t answered my question.”
“I call you little devil because I acknowledge your darkness. Because I see it and I like it, and I don’t want you to feel terrified of yourself.”
“How can you like what I hate?” I ask, genuinely hoping for an answer that will justify how he feels. He doesn’t answer. Of course, he doesn’t.
“I answered your question. Now, please, sit.” He slaps his hand against my thighs. “I won’t run away if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“You’ve done that so many times,” I reply. “Besides, I have tables to wait.”
“Then I’ll wait until you’re done.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” I rise to my feet.
“I want you to come home with me.” He stretches his hand to me and takes my wrist.
“I don’t think I can.” Even though every part of me wants to. I didn’t find anything at his house the last time I was there. Maybe I will now. Besides, going home with him means I can stay away from that narcissistic freak who lives opposite me.
He lets me go. “I’m sorry, Saint,” I whisper as I walk away.
I’m running out of time.
Believing in this warmth, in this closeness, it will cost me every fucking thing. My life. My heart. Even if this is becoming something real, I can’t trust it. If he knows the truth about what I did, he won’t hesitate to kill me.
Every part of me wants to tell Saint he’s making a mistake by thinking this is real. By trying to confide in my safety. By trusting me. We were better off when he was mean to me. That whatever form of happy ending his brain had manufactured was a fucking illusion.
The Saint I knew weeks ago would have asked me to stay.
He wouldn’t have wanted me to sit on his laps.
Sitting on him, drowning myself in his warmth, suggests intimacy.
And Saint Demetrius King hates intimacy.
He’s trying to change, to do things in ways he wouldn’t, and that makes my heart ache fatally.
He’s rich and powerful. He could get any ass he wants with just one phone call.
And he’s coming back to me. A worthless, broken toy. What purpose will I serve him with all the hate and disgust I have for myself?
I enter the chaos of the open stage, where Tiff and Cash just finished dancing. The night continues painstakingly, my thoughts focused on the moment I just had with Saint. I’m at the bar when I see him leaving. He looks over his shoulder, and his forlorn gaze catches mine.
When the night ends, I finish up at the bar and return to the dressing room, putting my clothes back on. I head outside the building. To my surprise, he’s literally leaning against the bonnet of his car and waiting for me. “Come home with me, please, little devil.”