by Emilia Finn
Because Lord knows, a man’s biggest goal in life is to take a girl’s virginity. They think it grants them immortality, I suppose.
I suspect it’s also the reason behind Evan’s obsession. He wants to claim me, to own me, to be the first and only man to go… there. I can’t tell him he’s too late, in an effort to unbind his infatuation, because then I lose the money that comes with the dancing. I can’t have it both ways. I can’t claim innocence, but tell him I lied and someone else was there first. And since he seems satisfied to hang back, to accept my gentle rebuffs without any kind of retribution, I continue with my lie, and I accept the hundred-dollar bills that are tossed at my feet.
“Victoria?” Evan says my name a second time – or third? Fourth? How long have I been ignoring him? – and takes my arm in his hand. He squeezes a little tight… tight enough that I want to pop him in the nose for thinking he could do so, but not so tight that my mind flings to the pocketknife I keep in my bag. “Are you in there?”
His voice carries a gentle accent, but it’s mixed. A little bit of this, a little bit of that. There’s a Northern England twang in there, but with a side of American. Add in a sprinkle of Irish, and perhaps, when he’s mad enough and the word is just right… Argentinian.
Evan is the stereotype for tall, dark, and handsome. Jamie was too, I suppose, but they look nothing alike. Jamie’s hair was dark brown. Evan’s is midnight black. Jamie’s skin carries an olive tone, even in the dead of winter. Evan is as white as an Irish ass, but he wears a light… I’m not even sure of the word. A beard sounds too grizzly, too much. But stubble is too little.
Evan’s facial hair stretches from ear to ear, nestles beneath his nostrils, and reaches down his throat until it reaches his Adam’s apple. I suspect, if he were a poor man who couldn’t afford almost daily grooming by a professional, he’d probably shave it off and go with a clean look. But since he has money to burn and conference calls to take each morning, he has time to have a barber keep it perfect, clean, and stylish.
“Victoria?” he repeats with less patience.
“I’m here.” I shake my distractions away and smile for the man who is the difference between Will and I making rent or not. “I’m sorry, Mr. McGrady. That last set was a little exhausting, so I’m still catching my breath.”
And so, with a gentle nod, he leads me toward a freight elevator. I don’t use it often… or ever. But with Evan’s possessive hand sitting on my hip, and his nose annoyingly nestled by my ear, he leads me wherever the hell he wants me to go.
Perhaps I can come up with a trillion ways not to sleep with this man. But it’s delicate, and I have to be careful. To know Evan McGrady, to work for this man, is like walking a tightrope.
One slip, and things could quickly go bad for me.
As soon as he closes the grate and hits the up button, he turns to me, so I have no choice but to meet his eyes. “Your set tonight, Prima, was…” I swear, if this were a commercial for Italian pasta sauce, Evan would kiss his fingers. “Perfect. Your repertoire grows.”
I smile as we approach the level above the changing room. The elevator stops, and another man, a dangerous man in a suit, opens the grate so that his suit jacket opens, and a shiny black gun glints and draws my eyes.
Evan nods for his man as we exit the car. “Leave us now.”
The man with the gun steps into the elevator, closes the grate, stares at the wall, and then he’s gone, leaving me all alone with Evan McGrady where no one else can see.
“Prima?” Evan repeats. “Your set. I was impressed.”
“Well, I hope so. I practice very hard, so it would be disappointing if I only performed the same menial moves day in, day out.”
“Your effort does not go unnoticed.” He wraps my left arm around his right, never mind the fact I’m wearing underwear and heels, and stepping up to his office door, he slides a key into the lock and opens it with a quiet click. Leading me in, he closes the door at our backs, and locks it up again, just to remind me I’m to go where I’m told, when I’m told.
And this… this is why I would never go to bed with this man.
“Would you like a drink, Victoria?”
He leaves me by the door and crosses his office to stop in front of a silver drink cart. Bottles of expensive alcohol line the mirror-top tray – vodka, scotch, port. He takes two short glasses, plucks the bottle of scotch from the bunch, and begins pouring.
My answer is no. I do not want a drink.
But saying so could possibly be bad for my health, so instead I smile for this handsome man, I accept the glass when he crosses back to me with two, then I tap mine against his and bring it to my lips to sip.
“Tonight was a good set.” I fake-drink. I bring the glass to my lips and tip it back, but my lips remain, for the most part, closed. Barely a dribble passes over my tongue, barely a few drops slide down my throat and make their way into my blood. “The crowd was thick.”
“It was.” Evan takes my hand and backs up slowly. A seduction, I suppose. He keeps going until he sits on the edge of his desk, then he pulls me between his legs and looks up into my eyes. “Having you on that stage is good for business, Prima. Very, very good for business.”
“I think that was a compliment,” I jest. “Thank you.”
“It was,” he rumbles. “You’re the best dancer I have.”
“Lita is good too.” She wants him, she can have him. “We’re only as good as our partner up there, and Lita has something special. She knows how to make the men toss more money our way.”
“Mm.” His smile creeps up, his eyes dance with mirth. And around my hand, his fingers slide, probe, massage. “You’re an asset to Zeus’ stage,” he continues as though I never spoke of Lita. “But it doesn’t bring me pleasure to see you up there.”
“It doesn’t?”
My stomach drops with a whoosh. Nerves. Panic that maybe he’s ready to fire me… and there are rumors around here that fire is code for a permanent removal from society.
“I will practice more,” I promise. “I didn’t think I took a misstep, but I’m open to critique and will do better.”
“Oh, no, no, no, no.” He takes my barely touched drink and places it on the desk beside his thigh, then he takes my second hand, and holds them both in his. “Prima, I did not mean your dancing was bad. Au contraire, you were infallible. I just mean, seeing you dance for other men when I want you all for myself…” He makes a tut-tut in the back of his throat. “If I could have you, I would keep you all for me. You would no longer need to dance for scraps.”
“Oh.” My voice comes out on a barely concealed squeak, and my brow shoots up high.
But then his mirrors mine – and when he does it, it’s not surprise, but threat.
I cover my mistake with a hiss, a lift of my shoulder, an “ouch” that is fairly convincing, considering how much it hurts like a bitch after my set. “My shoulder,” I try to explain by moving my hands in his. I subtly put the blame on him, on his embrace, and shrug out of it. “I injured my shoulder a little while ago, and it’s still healing. It’s inflamed after tonight, and I tweaked it just now.”
“Have you been to the hospital, Prima?” I have to give credit where credit is due. He looks genuinely concerned about my pain. “I could take care of the bill they send.”
No, because I have no legal ID, and a fake name, dummy! “I saw a nurse,” I smoothly lie. Strangely, Jamie’s sister’s face flashes through my mind. “There is nothing to be done except alternate between hot and cold compresses, and rest.”
“And the prognosis?”
“I was assured it would heal itself in due time.” Lie, lie, lie. “As long as I keep the compresses and anti-inflammatories up, and so long as I take care while dancing, it will be fine.”
He gently pulls me closer until my pelvis hits his hardened crotch, and his lips cruise over my naked shoulder. Tenderness, I swear that’s what he intends.
“This news brings me happiness.”
/>
I think, if he could shed the mafioso thing he has going, the suits, the money, the bastard accent, he could probably be a decent, attentive guy.
Someone else’s guy. Because all I feel when his lips touch my skin is disgust.
I can dance for men and accept their money with a smile. I don’t feel cheap or dirty when I’m standing on that stage in front of dozens of onlookers. But standing here, between Evan’s legs, while he tries to comfort me… it makes my stomach roll.
I could be his whore. I could be kept in a life of luxury, to never worry again, to not have to run my poor shoulder through a proverbial meat grinder three to five nights a week. And it would be easy, in theory. Money, status, baubles, and protection, all for the low, low price of a romp in bed and an innocent lie about my virginity.
But that’s not who I am.
I’m broke as hell, I’m in a world of trouble about a lot of things, and my heart… it’s merely dust. A cavern where something alive and beautiful once lived. I have nothing left, except perhaps my pride. And I’m not willing to sell it. Not even for the safety Evan could provide.
“I got word on that thing you asked of me.” His fingertips flutter along my sensitized skin. “It makes me curious why you ask questions about another man.” He tilts his head to the side to give an illusion of innocence. A puppy. Not dangerous. But it’s the farthest thing from the truth. “Jake Williams was a twenty-two-year-old man with a spotty past and what we call… I suppose…” He pauses to give himself time to think. “Post-It flags on his file that aren’t very pleasing.”
“But you found his file?” Maybe my heart isn’t complete dust. There is one more human that it beats for. “You know what it says?”
“It says he went into hiding years ago, when he became a wanted felon. A murderer.”
“But that’s not true,” I blurt. “It’s not…”
I swallow when Evan’s brows lift at my outburst. “I mean to say, he didn’t kill that man. He didn’t do it, but they’re trying to say he did.”
“How do you know this?” he questions quietly. “And why do you care so much?”
“Jake Williams is…”
Lie, and potentially mess it all up? Or tell the truth, and give Evan a foothold in my world?
“Um…”
There’s an honor system among criminals, right? A blanket rule that one criminal would not rat another out.
“He started using another name when he became wanted for a crime he didn’t commit. He didn’t do what they’re saying, Mr. McGrady, and I know this because when the supposed crime took place, he was on the phone with me. He was working at the docks, while I was working someplace else.” I shake my head. “He didn’t do it.”
“Why does his file begin at only nineteen years old? Prima?” He pulls my face around when I look away. “Why do this man’s records appear out of thin air?”
Because Jake Williams isn’t his real name. Nor is William Quinn. Nor the name he uses now; Everett Quinnton. We were born to be chameleons, to adapt, to roll with the shit life throws at us, and continue moving forward.
Four years ago, in a small town where a fight tournament was hosted, the police somehow connected Jake Williams to William Quinn. Seemingly impossible, but the connection was made. Thankfully, they don’t know Will is now Everett. They don’t know Victoria Quinnton is really Cam, or Eloise, or Quinn. They truly have no clue the convoluted web they’re dealing with.
But they do, apparently, have an eyewitness to this supposed murder, who coincidentally disappeared not long after his statement. So now we have two allegedly dead people – no bodies – and a lot of fingers pointing at my big brother.
“I just want to know who the supposed witness is,” I whisper. “I want to know who it is, because what he says is a lie, and because of his lie, I haven’t seen my brother in years.”
“Years, Prima?”
“Four years,” I press. “My brother was almost arrested because someone tipped the cops off about where we were. We almost got shot, and then we almost got into a car accident, all because of this unidentified someone who wants to pin a murder on an innocent man.”
I stop. Draw a greedy breath, then let it out on a shudder. “I just want my brother to come home, Mr. McGrady. I want my family back.”
“Perhaps…” He considers his words, and lets his eyes flicker between mine. “Perhaps, Prima, I could help you.” He runs his fingertips along my stomach and down to the waistband of my panties. “I could make this easier for you.”
Of course you could, you slimy bastard.
“If you were mine, Prima, you would have power, money, access to the same information I have.”
“Yours?” I let my voice shake. It’s easy, considering at least eighty percent of it is genuine nerves. “I don’t know, Mr. McGrady. I just…” I study his eyes. “I’m a romantic, you know? I’ve been saving myself for my husband, so being with a man now… even a man like you, with such stature, such handsomeness—” Shit! Is ‘handsomeness’ even a word? “I want to be in love when I marry and go to bed with a man. You understand, don’t you?”
“In love?” he purrs. “You would like to be in love?”
I turn my face away and hide my eyes. “You think it’s silly.”
“No.” He brings my face back around and feathers a gentle kiss to my jaw. “I think your innocence is intoxicating. I think it’s alluring, and much of the reason I cannot forget you.”
“So you understand?” I had no clue I would someday use a schoolgirl act to get what I want. But I’m a woman of many facets, and there’s not much I won’t do to keep my brother safe. “You don’t think my dreams are silly?”
“No, Prima.” He pulls my face closer to his, and tightens his fingers on my jaw when I don’t come easily. “I think I would like a chance to be that man for you.”
“You…” My heart splats to a standstill. “Huh?”
“I would like to romance you, Prima. Make your dreams come true. It would be my honor to be the first man that seduces your heart.”
“Oh.” My lips flap open, but no sound comes out. “Um… wow.”
“You seem surprised.”
“Humbled,” I smoothly lie. “Humbled that you care for me so much.”
“I could be your every wish, Prima. You must only say yes.”
“And when we’re in love, you would help me with my brother?”
Evan’s eyes flash with anger.
Too far, too fast!
“I just mean,” I bluster, “he’s like a father to me. I miss him dearly. Any help you could offer…”
“Think about it, Prima.” Evan stands from the desk, but holds me close so we touch from toe to chest. “I would like you to think about how wonderful your life would be if you chose me.”
He bends low and drops a kiss on my lips so unexpectedly that I have no chance to avoid it. No choice but to remain still and accept the assault that tastes like poison, and rolls down into my stomach.
Evan pulls away again, spins us so it’s my butt on the desk, then he steps back, releasing my hand at the last moment so it flops back to my lap. “In the meantime, I expect you to remain faithful, Prima.”
“Faithful?” I rasp out. “To you, sir?”
“To me. I will not rush you to my bed, Victoria, but I expect you to stay out of others, too. Soon, when we’re in love, you will take my name, and I will take your body.”
“Take your name?” I squeak. “Um…”
He arches one single, dangerous brow. “Problem, Prima?”
“Nope.” I look down and study my hands. “No problem, sir.”
“Good.” He steps forward and takes my hand once more, and, pulling me to my feet, leads me across his office. “Please be sure to tell that gentleman from tonight to keep his hands to himself.”
“The gentleman?” My brain struggles to keep up, to connect the dots. “Oh, the man from downstairs? I don’t know who he is.”
“But he likes to touc
h,” Evan presses. “There are rules at Zeus’. No touching the performers. But of course, there’s a rule that ranks higher than that.”
I meet his eyes when we stop at the door. “There is?”
“No touching what belongs to me,” he growls. “He smiles for you, Prima. And he doesn’t touch inappropriately, which means he lives for now. But be sure to keep him at arm’s length from now on. It would really be best for his health if he stays seated in the future.”
“Okay.” I swallow and try not to show my nerves. “He will not be a problem. I promise.”
“Good.” Evan leans forward and drops a kiss on my jaw. “I look forward to winning your heart, Prima. It shall be the greatest game of them all.”
Yeah, because that’s romantic, you clueless fuckwit. “Goodnight, Mr. McGrady.”
“I look forward to helping you reunite with your brother. I can tell he means a lot to you.”
I allow my lips to curve up into a gentle smile. With a small nod, I turn out of the room and quickly make my way to the stairs.
Evan’s elevator guy waits by the grated door, but I blow past him and race down the metal steps in shoes that’ll get me killed one day, then I burst into my changing room, into the shower, and just a few minutes later, I come out again looking nothing like the Prima that Evan wants, and nothing like the Victoria that the customers downstairs want. I come out in jeans and a slouchy sweater. I leave my hair down to dry, and forgo all makeup, since I don’t need it. And then, because Evan wants us to remain in character always when in front of customers, I head toward the fire escape and start climbing down.
We’re not allowed to walk the club floor unless we look the part. So those glamorous girls that everyone tosses money at during a set – we’re made to leave the club via a rickety and rusted fire escape. But hell, I can’t say I mind.
As soon as my feet touch the concrete sidewalk, and my bag is slung securely over my shoulder so the strap rests between my breasts, I head left, and start the ten-minute trek home.
I don’t live in the same rat-infested apartment we lived in before Stacked Deck. Once the cops connected Jake and Will, it was an easy step to find our apartment. We couldn’t return home, which meant losing the box TV, the electric blankets, the hole in the floor.