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LILY
It’stwo a.m. on a Wednesday morning when a man walks through the door and ruins my life.
You might think there isn’t much in my life left to ruin, since I’m serving drunk assholes watered down whiskey in a strip club on the outskirts of Las Vegas, and maybe you’re right. I’m not curing cancer, or fighting for world peace, and the only masterpiece I’m painting is the lipsticked smile on my face, inviting guys to shove grubby singles in the waistband of my leather miniskirt. The nuns at my old fancy Catholic school would probably faint if they could see me now—and then pray for my poor soul.
No, this life isn’t anything like the one I dreamed about, but it’s just that: a life. And it’s a hell of a lot better than the alternative, which is laying six feet under in an unmarked grave somewhere like I never even existed at all.
The Barretti Family doesn’t give you the honor of a headstone, not when you’ve crossed them like I have.
Which is why I take one look at the guy who just sauntered in, and my blood runs cold.
You knew this day would come.
I look again, praying that I’ve got it wrong, that I’m just seeing things in the dim light, but I would know that man blindfolded at a hundred paces.
Nero Barretti.
I panic.
He hasn’t seen me, he’s too busy frowning at his cellphone, surrounded by a group of his guys. I even recognize a few of them, checking out the dancers on stage, shaking their asses to Rihanna. The group flags down a waitress, joking about something; the fat wad of bills in their hands say that they’re here to play. But there’s only one man who matters to me. Nero. He’s still looking at his phone, distracted.
And then, I realize: They haven’t come here looking for me.
I still have a chance.
I duck through the crowd, drunk and rowdy like usual. I keep my head down, away from the threat, cursing my bad luck.
Of all the shitty strip clubs in Vegas, he had to walk into mine.
“Amber!” One of the other girls catches me by the bar. “Where are you going? You’re supposed to close at four.”
Fuck.
“Cover me?” I ask, pleading. I shoot an anxious look back across the room, but I don’t see him. “I’m… Not feeling great.”
She sighs. “I don’t know…”
“You can take my tips for the night,” I say, pulling loose bills from the stash in my bra. “I’ll close the rest of the week. Whatever you want.”
“Fine,” she agrees, then studies me. “You should get home. You don’t look so hot.”
I don’t feel it either. “I owe you!” I tell her, grateful, and hurry towards the back exit, already knowing I won’t be back. Amber will fade away as easily as I invented her. Just another fake name to add to the list of women that I used to be.
I head down a dark hallway, and out the back door into the alley. I can see the neon lights flickering from the Strip and take a deep breath of relief. Freedom. But I’ve only made it a few steps, when someone grabs me from behind.
I freeze in fear, turning—but it’s one of the customers from inside.
“Baby, where you goin’?” he slurs, eyes unfocused. But his hand is focused all right—right on my ass.
“Sorry!” I blurt, trying to slip under his grabby hands, but the guy holds on tight. He backs me up against the wall, beside the trash cans.
“How much for a dance?” he leers down at me, breath rancid.
I try not to retch. “I’m not a dancer, I just serve the drinks,” I say, putting my hands on his chest and trying to push him away. But the guy’s built like a linebacker.
“So maybe we don’t dance…” Bad Breath shoves me back against the wall. My shoulder hits the brick painfully, and I yelp, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Or care.
He leans in to nuzzle at my hair, pressing closer, pinning me in place so I can’t move. His hand gropes my breast, and I struggle in revulsion, looking over his shoulder to see if Security is around to toss this guy like usual.
