“I’m just saying!” I shove his arm jokingly. “You knew her as well as I did.”
“Sweetie, youlivedwith her.”
“You’ve known her for longer. Since she was eighteen, right?”
He nods. The Gilded Stage has one of the oldest strip club licenses in Las Vegas, which means it’s one of the few clubs that can serve alcoholandhave completely nude women, eighteen years old and up. That’s the reason it remains the most popular club year after year. Most strip bars in Sin City are topless only.
“It took years for her to be comfortable meeting me for dinner. She’s so precious; it was worth the wait. And, sweetheart, it was only dinner.” He winks. “She’s a good girl, you know?”
I don’t believe a word he says. The wink certainly doesn’t help.
“Don’t you trust me?” he asks. “Maybe you can come visit my place when my brother is in town. He’d love to meet you on a more personal level.”
Mr. Harry likes to ask me—and Piper before she disappeared—fairly regularly to meet him in private. It’s bad luck though; once a customer knows he can see you outside of the club, they stop paying you as much. I always decline Mr. Harry, and for years, Piper did too.
So what made Piper change her mind?
“I’m busy this month,” I say politely. It’s the same response every time. “Maybe later?”
“As long as it takes,” he says.
He scans me, his eyes idling between my legs. Eventually, he curls back up and lightly pulls on a strand of my orange hair.
“I prefer the blue. It—” he sighs dreamily, “—brings out your stunning eyes.”
“Thank you,” I say. My cheeks redden. I’m not shy or embarrassed; Mr. Harry just has this way about him that makes me uncomfortable. Still, he neverdirectlybreaks the rules. He mostly wants to talk and pinch my hips. For three hundred dollars, I can do that.
The private dance ends, and my name is called over the speakers. Mr. Harry’s fingertips skim my waist.
“Knock ‘em dead,” he says.
I give him a quick hug, then travel as quickly as I can in stiletto boots to the stage.
Then I dance. I have training in ballet, though I don’t use it here. Piper taught me pole tricks. In a big club like this, it’s hard to get attention, so you have to be an acrobat to get people to notice you.
I climb the pole, ready to flip upside down and slide back to the stage with the metal squeezed between my thighs, when I see him again.
Dice.
He’s a boulder of muscle with a tight black shirt stretched across his chest. Camouflage pants. A shaved head. Tattoos cover his arms and neck, every piece in the Japanese woodblock style. Skulls. Ocean waves. A flower here or there. But it’s his eyes that stop me. They’re pure onyx and always focused on me.
I swear, we have this thing between us. An unspoken understanding. I’m not even sure what it means; I can justfeelit.
He steps forward, putting a hundred-dollar bill on the stage, like he doeseverysingle time that he’s here.
Whenever I approach him, he’s silent. No matter what kind of word vomit comes out of my mouth—and believe me, I’ve said some weird stuff,tryingto spark a reaction out of him—he never says a word.
I slide down the pole, briefly breaking eye contact. When I find Dice again, he’s speaking to a group of men in suits, including Mr. Harry. Dice evensayssomething, and Mr. Harry smacks Dice’s back. Like they’re old friends.
What the hell?
Mr. Harry continues the conversation with the other suited men, and Dice angles his back to the group. He crosses his arms as if he’s standing guard, protecting them.
His eyes lock on mine again. A chill of anticipation runs down my spine.
Dice knows Mr. Harry.
My stage set ends. I grab my tips and go backstage. I hide behind the door leading out to the main floor, pulling it open the tiniest amount. I scan the crowd and eventually find Dice again. He’s still guarding Mr. Harry and the group of men.
