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“Come, Jacob,” she says. “I’ll show you around, and then we can begin your training.”
I watch as they walk away, and Mist shimmers before disappearing, leaving me alone with a room full of trainees and Inferno.
“Go find Acid and Reaper,” I order my VP. “Tell them to keep an eye out for a possible escape attempt. I have a feeling Jacob’s gonna be trouble.”
There’s nowhere to escape to, but that doesn’t stop the newbies from trying every once in a while. I couldn’t care less if they leave, but it upsets the natural order of things, and I do care about that.
“Sure thing, Pres.”
Once he’s gone, I face the others. “Get back to your training, all of you.”
There’s a collective groan, but they do my bidding. I turn on my heel and retreat to the entrance.
“They’re all yours, Herja,” I tell the Valkyrie as I stride past her.
“Gee, thanks,” she mutters, and I roll my eyes.
I make my way to my quarters, my mind on Jacob. He very well might be trouble, but he’ll also make a damn good brother if he can keep his shit under control.
3
Makayla
“Please tell me it’s after midnight.”
I grin at Sarah as she walks into the dressing room after finishing her set. We’ve worked together at Cherry’s Gentlemen’s Club for the past three years, and she’s become like a sister to me.
“It’s after midnight.”
“Liar,” she says as she tosses a set of black and gold pom poms toward her locker.
Chuckling, I shake my head. “You asked for it.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she grumbles. “This is my eighth shift in a row. I’m exhausted.”
Sarah was born with a silver spoon in her mouth, but when she turned twenty-one, she spit it out. According to her, she wanted to make her own way, not feel like she owed her family anything because they buy her obedience.
“I thought you were going to talk to Steve about your hours.”
“I did.” She shrugs. “You know how he is.”
Steve, our boss and owner of Cherry’s, can be a real asshole sometimes.
“Girl, you’ve gotta start standing up for yourself,” I chastise.
“So… Have you narrowed down your thesis topic yet?” she asks, clearly not wanting to discuss herself any longer.
As she changes from her cheerleader costume to her cowgirl ensemble, I apply a generous amount of hairspray to my dark chestnut braids.
Excitement zips through my system, and my heart rate quickens. “Actually, I have.”
Sarah sits on the small stool at the makeup station next to mine and works to put her hair in pigtails. “Well, what is it?”
“Obviously, I’m doing it on Valhalla, but I want to focus on how modern views of death and dying have been formulated ba—”
“Blah, blah, blah. Dumb it down for me,” she teases. “Not all of us have a fancy education.”
I rise from my stool and start toward the door. My set is up next, and Steve doesn’t tolerate any dancer who’s not ready to go on time.
