“No. First time.”
Nikolai smirked, cold and calculated. Detached. Damn, he was good. I wasn’t sure he was acting. “Firsttime,” he drawled, a slow smile melting onto his face. “Fresh.”
Gianna shook her head quickly. “I’m not—”
“Face is good. Body’s hot,” Nikolai cut her off, still speaking to me. “Men will spend money on her.” Then he gave a small shrug and put the nail in the coffin. “Yeah. She’ll do. You want her starting tonight?”
Gianna gasped and twisted her head to Nikolai, and I waited for his words to sink in. “Let me show her the place first.”
Nikolai nodded and turned to pick up something from the desk. A keycard. “Down the hall, up the steps,” he said, and I wasted no time, pulling a teary-eyed Gianna after me.
The bass reverberated through us as soon as we made it into the hallway, but I followed Nikolai’s instructions, dragging Gianna behind me up the stairs.
“Alex! Alex! Stop!” She tried to tug her hand out of mine, but I had a death grip on her.
Finally, we approached a door with a little plaque on it—Champagne Room,and I swiped the key, shoving whimpering Gianna inside.
“What the fuck are you doing?!” Fear sparkled in her eyes as soon as she turned to me, bolting for the door, but I blocked her way.
It fuckingstunk.Cigarettes, bad decisions, and something synthetic—cheap cologne, maybe. It was also all red. Red walls,red leather couches, red stage, and a mirror right behind the stripper pole.
“Climb up.” I stepped toward Gianna, who was stumbling back, the panic in her eyes giving me previously unknown gratification. I’d never hurt her—and she knew that, but make her pay for what she’d done? I would. “Don’t make me ask twice. Get your ass up there.”
“Are you on fuckingdrugs?!”Such fire blazed in her eyes despite her shaking hands. I knew she wouldn’t go down without a fight. With a huff, she marched toward the door, but I clasped her upper arm, tugging her back.
“Let go! What the fuck?” She struggled, but it was no use. “Let go of me, you fuck—”
I withdrew my handgun then, raising it slowly and making sure she could live through every second. Her eyes followed diligently as I pressed the barrel to her forehead.
“You want to die in the Champagne Room?” I asked curiously. “Shut the fuck up and climb. Up. There.”
To my great satisfaction, Gianna sniffled and then…began to cry.
Just a little at first, but the tears were there and most importantly—the tears werereal. She stepped back and nodded slowly, as if to reassure me that she would listen.
“Alex, I don’t know what yo—”
“I said don’t speak.” I reminded her and motioned toward the stage with my handgun. “Go on. Up the steps.”
The crying intensified but she didn’t argue. Instead, she ascended the little steps, her heels barely clicking on the shiny floor. She stood on the stage, silent tears crawling down her cheeks.
So timid. Soshy,all of a sudden.
“Grab the pole.”
Gianna shot her gaze to mine, refusing to believe my words.
“Or…do you not want to touch it because you think the women who dance here are beneath you? Do you think they’re…dirty?”
She had nothing to respond, becauseof courseGianna thought that. She didn’t see people as real, only as commodities she could trade for something better.
“I don’t want to repeat myself. Grab the pole, squat down, and spread your knees for me.”
At this, Gianna broke down in earnest. She eyed the Glock in my hand and dropped her face into her hands, trying to hide a sob. She couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe I had itinme to ask her this.
I stepped closer to the stage and spoke slower, but louder. “Grab onto the pole.” Gianna shuddered, crying audibly now. “Squat down. And spread your knees.”
Finally, she reached for the pole, sliding her trembling fingers down the cool steel as she descended onto her heels and spread her legs, exposing herself to me.
