Once he leaves, I bring up the footage from the club that night on my computer.
I’ve analyzed the thing over and over, had every visitor that night looked into, and nothing is coming back with red flags—and that coils my gut.
Someone we know did this—one of ours. There’s only the staff from the club, Marcello, Antonio, and maybe a handful of others who know the ins and outs of the club. But who could have done it, and why? It doesn’t make sense. And it leaves me on edge.
I can deal with enemies coming at me, but not traitors, not people I trust. I imagine her shocked eyes as someone she knew killed her.
Launching the computer across the room, I grab up my jacket and head to the club.
The room is still taped off. We have the biohazard clean-up crew coming in tonight to make it look like this never happened.
The place is empty when I arrive, all but Ricardo who’s in his office going through the new surveillance set up via wireless cameras that upload and save to the cloud so we don’t get played if this shit should happen again.
It better not happen again.
All the staff has been paid trauma bonuses. Serena will become a memory—a tragic story the girls tell newbies to scare them. Life goes on.
I grab a bottle of whiskey from behind the bar and head to the back room. Yanking the tape away from the door, I sit on the booth and uncap the bottle.
Everything in here is crusted in blood. It needs to be gutted, not cleaned.
Alyssa’s bloodied lip creeps into my thoughts. Her wide eyes drinking me in. Flushed cheeks. Needy breaths. Her fat fucking lips bleeding shouldn’t have turned me on, but I’m a cruel bastard.
All I wanted was to see tears leak from her eyes so I could lick them clean.
Her tits are bigger than most ballerinas, heavy as she fought to catch her breath, the nipples poking through the fabric, begging to be teased.
I wanted to wrap her hair in my fist and force her to her knees.
I down the first mouthful of amber liquid, relishing the slight burn. I don’t know why I interfered in securing her a place at Swan. Maybe it was those eyes, or that ballsy fierce attitude. Fire lives inside her, and I want to feel the burn, the heat wrapped around my cock.
My phone starts to vibrate against my thigh. Pulling it free, Marcello’s name flashes on the screen.
“What?” I bark.
“Your father wants to see you.”
I end the call without a response and get to my feet. Closing my eyes, I down another drink from the bottle. “I’ll find out who did this to you, Serena—and I’ll make them pay.”
Leaving the bottle on the table next to the pole, I head home to see what mayhem Antonio has riled up this time.
Chapter Ten
Alyssa
My room is the size of a box.
There’s a bed, a wardrobe, and a desk. On the farthest wall, there’s a tiny window the width and height of a box of cereal.
I’ve been living here for almost a week and still keep having to pinch myself.
This is happening.
Mine.
I keep going over my audition in my head. I’ve met a couple of the other girls who made it, and they said they were called back for a second and third audition before being offered their place.
They had to have a physical exam on their tendons and the length of their Achilles heel. They had to showcase the seven moves of ballet over and over.
Did I get lucky?
Grabbing the little ballerina figurine from the dresser, I push it into my abdomen, sighing as the nip of pain washes over me.
I can’t help the pit of dread in my chest telling me my place here is a misunderstanding and they’re going to ask me to leave at any second.
My phone vibrates on the bedside table, distracting me.
It’s Clint again.
I decline the call and write out a text to let him and my dad know I got in.
Dad already knew I’d be gone a while if I made it through the audition, so he hasn’t even attempted to contact me. I don’t think he cares whether I make it or come home. We’re two adult people who happen to share DNA.
Nothing more.
My phone rings again two-seconds after I send the text. Clint’s name has me fisting the bedsheets. Irritation and a hint of revulsion roll through me, but I answer this time to get it over with.
“Hello?”
“I knew you’d get in,” he sings down the line. “I’ve been thinking about you non-stop. Why haven’t you called?”
I wish you wouldn’t think about me.
“Thanks. I’ve been so busy. The auditions lasted days.” I know I enable him, his feelings.
Enabler. Enabler. Enabler.
Liar. Liar. Liar.
“What happens now?”
I lay back on the small bed, wincing at the hard mattress digging into my back. “I’ve been given a room and classes start in a couple days.”