Chapter One
Kyle
New York City
The bass thumped through the floor like a second heartbeat, vibrating up through Kyle’s soles as he hit his final pose. One arm raised, chest heaving, sweat glistening on his collarbone under the strobe lights. The crowd roared, which were mostly men, a few women scattered in the mix, all of themlit up by the pulsing glow of red and violet. Some clapped. Some whistled. A few just stared, eyes glassy with lust or envy or both.
Kyle held the pose a second longer than usual, letting the music fade out behind him. Then he turned and walked offstage, his breath catching in the thick, humid air of the club. The Velvet Room was always loud, hot, and a little too desperate. The walls were lined with mirrors and velvet curtains that had seen better decades. The bar was sticky, the drinks overpriced, and the clientele ranged from Wall Street creeps to tourists who thought they were being edgy.
But it paid. Barely.
He passed the other dancers in the wings, some stretching, some fixing their makeup, one guy already halfway into a leather harness, and made his way toward the dressing room. He was halfway there when he heard it.
“Foster. Office. Now.”
Kyle froze. Mr. Greco’s voice cut through the music like a blade. Sharp. Cold. No room for questions.
Kyle turned slowly. “Everything okay?”
Mr. Greco didn’t answer. Just jerked his head toward the back hallway.
Kyle’s stomach dropped. He hadn’t missed a shift. Hadn’t shown up drunk. Hadn’t even talked back lately. Still, something in Mr. Greco’s tone made his skin crawl.
The office was tucked behind the storage closet, past the busted soda machine and the mop bucket that always smelled like bleach and regret. Kyle stepped inside, heart thudding.
Mr. Greco was already behind the desk, sleeves rolled up, tie loose. He was a big guy with broad shoulders, slicked-back hair, and a face that looked like it had been carved out of concrete. He didn’t look up right away. Just tapped a pen against the desk like a ticking clock.
“Sit your ass down!” Mr. Greco ordered.
Kyle sat stiffly in the cracked vinyl chair across the desk, trying not to bounce his knee. The office smelled like stale cologne and old paperwork, and the overhead light buzzed just enough to make his skin itch. He hated this room. Everyone did. Nothing good ever happened here. If you got called into the boss’s office, it meant one of three things: you were in trouble; you were about to be in trouble, or you were about to get fired.
Kyle had no idea which one it was, but none of them sounded great.
He kept his eyes on the edge of the desk, tracing the chipped wood with his gaze. His palms were sweaty. His heart thudded in his chest like it was trying to punch its way out. He ran through a mental checklist: he hadn’t been late, hadn’t mouthed off, hadn’t skipped a set. He’d even stayed late last week to help clean up after that bachelorette party disaster. What the hell was this, then?
Mr. Greco hadn’t said a word since Kyle walked in. Just sat behind the desk, flipping through a folder like he was reviewing someone’s tax fraud case. The silence stretched, thick and heavy, and Kyle could feel it pressing down on him.
He hated how small he felt here. Like he was twelve again, waiting outside the principal’s office after getting caught sneaking out of the gym. Only this time, it wasn’t detention on the line. It was rent. Groceries. Heat.
He needed this job. As much as he sometimes hated the club. The noise was too loud. The way some regulars looked at him like he was a walking fantasy they could buy. There wasn’t a backup plan. There wasn’t a safety net.
Kyle swallowed hard, trying to keep his voice steady. “Is something wrong with my dancing?”
Mr. Greco didn’t look up. Just kept flipping pages, slow and deliberate, like he was enjoying the suspense.
Kyle’s stomach twisted. He could feel the sweat at the back of his neck, cold and clammy. He wanted to stand up, to walk out, to say screw it, but he couldn’t. Not yet. Not until he knew what this was.
Because deep down, he already had a feeling.
And it wasn’t good.
Mr. Greco looked up. “Don’t you know why you’re here?”
“No,” Kyle said, though his voice trembled.
Mr. Greco leaned forward. “You’re not pulling your damn weight.”
Kyle blinked. “I just finished a set. The crowd…”
