Chapter One

Four months later.

Stormy

“Make it rain for Stormy.” The DJ’s twang cut through the cheers, and the next song started. I was tired of the same cliché line.

This was me, standing on the edge of a steep and jagged cliff. Sometimes, I wondered if it would just be easier to jump and end it all. No one would miss me. I hoped the one person who would want to find me believed I was already dead. Because if he found me, I would be.

A toxic combination of fear, insecurity, and anxiety pumped through my veins, keeping tempo with the seductive beats of I Feel Like I’m Drowning by Two Feet .

I had a secret way of getting through each song. I imagined dark, stormy gray eyes watching me, and I danced for him . The stranger in my mind, the one I couldn’t forget.

The strap of my bra slipped off my shoulder —for him . I closed my eyes and focused on the music as I skimmed a hand across my belly, over the small scrap of silk covering my pussy, and onto my inner thigh.

Slowly opening my eyes, I let my gaze roam over the men in the room. The only familiar faces were regulars of the gentleman’s club. Although I wouldn’t say the clientele were all that gentlemanly. The Landing Strip wasn’t one of the high-end clubs that attracted a wealthy clientele. Bikers, truckers, and blue-collar guys during the week. Frat boys and fuck boys on the weekends.

But it was far from Emerson and his bosses, which was exactly where I wanted to be.

A smile curled my lips as I reminded myself that these men didn’t know me. They knew the dancer called Stormy Knight. I was an illusory promise of sex. I feigned my interest, seduced with my eyes and body.

Here, no one knew the hell I’d escaped. Gone were the manicured French nails, Louboutin heels, and Louis Vuitton handbags. I was just a dancer working for the rent.

I unclipped the front of my sequined bra, letting the material slide down my arms, hang on the tips of my fingers, then flutter to the floor.

A ten-dollar bill joined the other dollars scattered on the stage in front of me. The crowd was small and quiet, mostly men on business lunches, but that was usual for the Friday afternoon shift at the Landing Strip. The tips were still good, and I needed money.

I was stuck in survival mode. No plan, no money, and no idea what I’d do from one moment to the next. I couldn’t worry about next week or next month, not when I had to get through today. Survival mode was just surviving. Survival mode was trading my pointe shoes for stilettos, and a barre for a pole, and dancing for strangers instead of on stage at a theatre. Dancing for the man I couldn’t forget.

Turning my back to the men, I swiveled my hips, bent over, and slowly slid my panties down my thighs. Carefully balanced on my four-inch spikes, I stepped out of the scrap of silk, then turned, squatted deep, and spread my legs —for him .

I held my breath and counted. One. Two. Three. It was just body parts, and they were just looking…paying to look. Paying for a dance. Paying for a fantasy. In the months I’d been dancing, I learned what made money.

I slid a finger through my slit. I wasn’t wet or aroused, but I parted my lips and moaned for more tips. Then I sucked my finger into my mouth, slowly closed my thighs, and more bills piled onto the stage.

The tempo changed, and the stage lights turned red. Strobes flickered. I stood and lunged forward, twisted my leg around the pole, and used momentum to start my final spin. Sweat glistened on my nude flesh, yet the blast of cold air from the air-conditioning vents above me had my nipples hardening like stones.

With a slow gyration, I rolled my abdominals and hips. For my climax, I held onto the pole with my legs and leaned back, letting the straight platinum tresses of my wig drape to the floor.

As the closing beats of the song slowed, I dropped to the floor and, with my ass in the air and a severe arch in my back, crawled on my hands and knees toward the group of men seated at the perimeter of the stage.

I slicked my tongue across my lips, swept my artificial lashes down, then lifted them just enough to give a sultry stare. When the song ended, I sat up with my thighs spread and covered my tits with my hands.

The stage lights dimmed, blackened, and then normal lighting resumed. Whistles pierced the air, and a few guys clapped.

My favorite bouncer, Jack, handed me a short, silky robe. I quickly covered my body, grabbed my money, my discarded clothes, and walked to the edge of the platform. To flirt for better tips, the next dancer would chat with the customers near the stage as she wiped down the pole before she started.

The DJ’s shout boomed through the room, introducing Bristol. We tended to work the same shifts, sometimes dancing together. I’d consider her my best friend. At least I was friends with a girl named Bristol, and she was friends with a lie.

“Good luck,” I said as we passed each other. Not that she’d need it. Bristol was one of those girls that loved what she did, but she never crossed the line in the club. She wasn’t strung out on dope, and I was pretty sure she was dating a biker. A Heller. He’d come to the club, but I kept my distance.

Four months wasn’t long enough to dull the memory of the dead bodies and the gunfire. And I’d never forget the gray eyes of the Crawler who’d spoken to me.

Bristol had gone home on the back of her guy’s Harley a couple of times. I’d once asked her if he minded that she danced nude for men. She’d just laughed.

Before I could go back to the dressing room and clean up, Jude, the club’s house mom, waved me over.

“Good set, Stormy.” Watching her count my money made me uncomfortable. She licked her fingers as she sorted the bills, a lecherous smile curling her lips when she came across a larger denomination. Then she’d smirk as she logged the amount on the ledger and put my cash in the drawer. At the end of the night, I’d have to tip out her, the bouncers, the DJ, and the final rub, I’d have to pay the club for letting me work.

Not that I’d complain. Dancing put cash in my pocket every night. And I hadn’t been asked a lot of questions to get the spot in the lineup. For the first few weeks, I’d worried I’d be recognized. Emerson had connections. But my hair was short now, and I wore wigs whenever I was in the club.

“You have nine shots on the day,” Jude said.

That sucked. No bonus for me. The club paid a dollar bonus per drink after thirty shots. Friday and Saturday nights, I could make enough to cover my ride share back to the piece of shit motel I called home and something besides cheap takeout for dinner. But the motel was better than the domestic violence shelter I’d stayed in for the first month of my emancipation from Emerson.

The shelter had given me two-hundred and fifty dollars for a ticket out of town. I’d used the money to purchase a pair of heels and booty shorts and to rent a room at a motel about two miles from the strip club. Most days, I walked to work, and at night, I ran .

I made my way to the dressing room. A couple girls primped in front of the mirror.

“Did you see the three guys with Trav?” Kit, another one of the dancers prepared for her set. “Hot as fuck. They watched you dance,” she said to me. “I hope they stay for a while.” She ran her fingers through the curtain of braids that hung to her ass.

Maybe that’s what Jude meant when she’d said I had a good set.

I’d heard rumors that Travis Minor was tempted to sell the Landing Strip. My gut took a dive when I thought about unwanted scrutiny. Trav was the perfect boss. He’d taken one glance at me, had me dance, then turned me over to Jude.

After I changed, I returned to the floor. Between sets, I chatted with customers, flirting more than usual, trying to make up the difference of not getting the shots bonus.

Bristol came up beside me. “Trav has a special request.”

I lifted a brow in question and followed her to the dressing room.

“Private dance in the back. No charge to the client and no restrictions.”

“What does that mean? We’re not getting paid?”

Bristol smiled. “It means the cameras are off. Wait until you see these guys. Holy shit, they are so hot. Bullet doesn’t allow me to fuck anyone without his permission, but if you want to fuck one of them, you can. ”

I stuttered in my steps, nearly tripping in my heels. “Wait? What?”

“Come on.” She dragged me into the dressing room, then hurried to her locker, grabbed her perfume, and spritzed her skin. “Travis sold the club. The new owners want to celebrate with a bottle and a private dance. They specifically requested you and me.” She slicked gloss across her lips. “So yeah, anything goes.” She wagged her brows. “At least for you.”

“I’m not fucking clients.” I danced. I wasn’t a prostitute.

“These guys aren’t clients.” She bent over, fluffed her hair, then swung her head up. “They’re our new bosses. Travis is going to announce it to the girls tonight.”

I changed into a clean G-string, short skirt, lace bra, and button up dress shirt with the front tails tied at my waist.

“Do you want to wear my boots?”

I nodded and sat on the bench, switching out my heels for her boots. “And Bullet gives you permission to fuck other guys?”

She giggled. “Of course. I thought you’d have figured it out by now. I’m one of Bullet’s girls. So is Jinx.”

“Bullet, as in the guy with the motorcycle?” I lifted my gaze as I tightened the laces running up the back of the boot.

She nodded.

“I’m confused. I thought he was your boyfriend.”

Bristol adjusted her breasts to crest out of her bra. “More like my manager. ”

“What?” I lowered my voice.

“He’s kind of like a pimp, but not. I’m not forced to do anything. He’s a good guy, you know, not a dick.” She smirked. “It’s a business to him, so he makes sure his employees are taken care of. He would never steal from his girls. He doesn’t have a bottom bitch lording over us.”

“You’re a sex-worker?”

She laughed. “Technically, I’m an escort. But, yes, I fuck for money. And the job comes with the serious perk of riding Bullet. You think a Harley is loud. God, that man is feral.”

“What?” I wasn’t dumb, but it was taking my brain a moment to catch up. “Are you talking about his motorcycle or his dick?”

“Not his motorcycle. He’s an ass about riding girls on the back. He will but not without bitching about it. I’m talking about his dick. I seriously can’t say no to him. I have zero willpower with him. Ask Jinx.” Bristol laughed. “There was one time she couldn’t dance without a limp for a week.”

“Jinx is fucking him, too?” I shouldn’t judge. I’d been fucking a married man. Not intentionally. I hadn’t realized I was the other woman until it was too late. “How did I not know you had a side hustle?”

Bristol smirked. “I don’t walk the streets. Bullet gets my clients, and his Heller brothers handle security.”

“Oh my god.” I followed her out of the dressing room and down the hall to the champagne room. “And his name is Bullet?” The question was more for me .

“I’m not ashamed of what I do. People hook up all the time. I get paid.” She lifted a perfectly arched brow. “I’ve been fucked over by the men in my life. I was going to end up on the streets, and then I met Bullet. He saved me.”

That worked for her. I’d have to save myself.

Bristol paused in the hall. “Listen, Stormy. Trav said the new owners are going to put serious money into the club. We’re going to be down for a few weeks. I know you need money. If fucking the men in this room will put a couple grand in your pocket, you should do it.”

“A couple grand?” A thousand dollars would not only cover the rent on my motel room for a few weeks, but I’d probably be able to save half. Once I had five thousand, I was out. But I needed enough to start over somewhere far from here.

“Ready?” Bristol smiled, opened the door, and sauntered into the champagne room. I followed her in and froze in a head-on collision with the brooding gaze of one of Emerson’s men. I should turn and run. This was a mistake. This was going to cost me everything.

My heart didn’t race. I didn’t think it beat at all because it was petrified with fear.

Three men sat on the half circle couch. Two I’d never seen before, but I’d never forget the man on the left with short hair.

Florian Marseglia. Emerson called him Mars. Emerson reeked of wealth. Mars was back alley dangerous. They were both hunters. Had Emerson found me? Or maybe this was just a nightmare. Maybe Mars wouldn’t recognize me .

Tattoos crawled up his neck. Those eyes focused on me. A menacing glare in the eyes of a man with a pretty face. Mars was muscle for the mob.

“Hello, gentlemen,” Bristol said as she slithered across the room. With a swivel to her hips, she stepped onto the table in front of them, putting her pussy eye level with their faces. “I’m Bristol, and this is my friend, Stormy.”

“Welcome, ladies.” The man on the left stood and grabbed the bottle of champagne. “Call me Rory. My associates Devon and Mars.”

The cork popped, and he filled five flutes.

Bristol rested one hand on Rory’s shoulder as she took the glass with the other. She tipped her head back and drank the flute until the glass was empty. Then she handed Rory the glass, stepped onto the small stage to the left, tapped the controls to the music, and wrapped herself around the pole.

“Are you going to dance, beautiful?” Devon held his hand out to me and escorted me to the platform with Bristol.

A tremble started in my belly and migrated into my extremities. I didn’t recognize the two men in suits, but just being in their presence was enough to fire fear through me.

But it was the tattooed man in black denim and a tight T-shirt beneath an unzipped leather jacket that had my instinct to flee on hyper-alert.

Bristol smiled, but her eyes questioned if I was okay. I wasn’t. I was terrified. For almost four months, I’d successfully avoided anyone who could remotely connect me to Emerson Barras. And now, I was two feet away from someone who could expose my cover.

He could kill me now, and Emerson would reward him for it.

I tried to swallow my fear, but my throat was too tight, and adrenaline ran too hot. Heat burned behind my eyes.

“Focus on me.”

My gaze darted from Bristol to the men. She grabbed the tails of my shirt and slipped the knot free.

“Do you want a drink?” Rory asked, filling the glasses again.

I couldn’t speak.

“Enjoy the show, gentlemen.” Bristol curved her fingers around the back of my neck, pulled me close, and kissed me. Her soft lips pressed against mine, but her fingers were firm on my hips.

I shuddered as her tongue slipped into my mouth. I kissed her back, holding onto her like an anchor in my sea of insecurity.

One of the guys whistled. This was a show. I’d kissed her before on stage, but this was for me, a moment to get my shit together, to inhale confidence and exhale my anxiety.

Bristol rolled her hips into mine, keeping tempo with the music. She loosened her hold on me in small increments. First, her grip on my hip flattened into a smooth caress, her kiss went from tongue to just a meshing of lips, and she put just a pinch of space between us.

“You’re okay,” she whispered against my lips. “Stay with me. ”

Her hand stayed on my hip, and her breath mingled with mine. I focused on her, the music, and getting through the next hour.

I hesitantly smiled, but my guess was that I wasn’t convincing because she unbuttoned my top.

“Just dance,” she said. “Just like when we practiced.” Bristol had helped me go from a dancer trained in ballet, lyrical, acro, and contemporary, to a dancer who combined them all into a seductive striptease.

I could do this. I had to do this. I couldn’t give Mars a reason to remember my face. I was just a dancer.

With slow, shallow breaths, I calmed the anxiety firing through me. “I’m okay. Is Jack at the door?”

She barely shook her head. “We’re good. Remember, we work for them now. Show them why you’re worth a lot more than Trav was paying you.”

I barely nodded, tried to get out of my head, and focused on my dancing.

Swishing my hair, I hid behind the fall of my wig. Loosening up, feeling the music, I moved my body. I spun away from Bristol and performed. With a seductive roll of my abdomen and with trembling fingers, I finished unbuttoning my shirt. Maybe if they focused on my body, they’d avoid looking too closely at my face.

Bristol smiled, stepped off the stage, and climbed onto Rory. She tilted her head back, and he poured champagne over her tits, bent his head, and sucked on her nipple .

I shimmied the shirt from my shoulders and used it as a prop in my dance. I dropped to a squat, bent over, and exposed the G-string beneath my skirt.

Bristol laughed, keeping the two businessmen entertained. The guy with the tattoos rubbed along his thigh, and the heel of his palm pressed against the hard ridge of his erection behind the fly of his jeans.

His gaze held me hostage. I couldn’t breathe. He stood, and I stopped dancing. Without looking behind me, I took a step back. Then another. He stalked closer. My back pressed against the mirror.

He was so close. Ice flowed through me and a chill skated over my flesh, but his breath was warm on my neck as he leaned into me.

“You look familiar to me.” His hand rested next to my head. The scent of cigarettes and danger clung to him. I tried to swallow past the fear choking me.

“It must be the hair.” There was a quiver in my tone. I flipped my head, trying to hide my face behind the platinum wig.

“Do you want to get out of here?”

Oh god, yes, but not with him. “I’m just here to…just here to dance.” My voice was weak and stuttering.

“Your friend knows how to entertain. Come sit on my lap, Stormy. I want to see how wet I can make you.”

I didn’t know how to respond. “I just want to dance,” I whispered.

“Why are you afraid?” The gravelly edge of his inflection grated over me.

“I…I…” In my gut, I knew he recognized me. I’d existed in the shadow of a powerful man, obeyed his commands, and feared his retribution. That had to be the only reason Mars hadn’t figured out how he knew me. Maybe he wondered if he’d ever fucked me. Or maybe I was one of the women he’d hurt.

Eventually, he’d remember. And then Emerson would find me.

Panic overwhelmed me. I needed to get out of here. Now. “I have to go.”

I shoved against his chest, scrambled away from him, tripped over the edge of the stage, and crashed to my knees.

Pain radiated through my legs. In my head, I screamed, desperate to get away. He gripped my arms. Those rough, calloused fingertips grated along my skin. I thrashed against his hold.

“Let me go,” I screeched.

“Easy, baby.” He instantly softened his hold as I stood, but he didn’t release me. “Why are you afraid of me?”

“Stormy.” Bristol’s shriek snapped my gaze at her.

“Don’t scare her,” Devon said to Mars. He snatched up my blouse. Before he could hand it to me, I darted for the door, my heels slipping on the hard flooring. I flung open the door.

“Wait,” Bristol called.

“What the fuck?” Rory said.

“She isn’t feeling well,” Bristol said.

“The girl is fucking terrified—of me.” Mars’s accusations followed me. “I want to know why. Bring her back.”

“Give her a minute,” Bristol said .

I hurried down the hall and rushed into the dressing room. I scrambled to my locker. Nearly four months of living in fear had taught me how to know when I was in danger. Grabbing my backpack, I rushed into the bathroom stall and locked the door. In less than a minute, I’d unlaced the boots and traded them for my slip-on runners. My hands shook as I pulled on a hoodie and stuffed my wig into my backpack.

“Stormy, what just happened?” Jude sounded pissed.

I was out of time. Peering through the crack between the stalls, Jinx stood with Jude, pointing at the stall door I hid behind.

“Bristol said she’s sick.” Jinx fluffed her hair. “Are you okay, Stormy?”

My heart hammered against my ribs. Adrenaline spiked my blood. Skin was the only thing holding me together. I rested my head against the steel door and took three calming breaths. My fingers fumbled with the lock. The door swung open.

“Give these to Bristol for me. Tell her thanks.” I handed the boots to Jinx.

“Where are you going?” Jude asked. “It’s the middle of your shift.”

“I have to go.” My gut clenched. “Tell Bristol I’m sorry.” I wished I could tell her goodbye, but I had to go. I rushed into the hall and headed for the closest exit.

I came to a jarring halt. Bristol stood with the three men and Travis, blocking my escape. Mars slid his hands into his pockets .

“Are you okay?” She tried to step around Travis to get to me, but he wrapped a hand around her arm.

“Stormy, we need to talk to you.” Travis stepped out from the group.

I ignored him, spun away from all of them, and ran into the main room of the club.

“Why is she running?” Travis asked.

“Stormy, wait.”

The music of the club became a roar in my head, drowning out the sound of Bristol’s plea. She’d been a good friend to me, but I wasn’t safe here anymore.

I rushed out the doors and into the afternoon sun. Inside the windowless club, the lighting was always the same. Dark, seductive, and it was as if time stood still. It could be one in the afternoon or one in the morning, and the ambiance never changed.

Squinting against the harsh brightness, I shrugged into my backpack and ran down the road. Over the last three months, if I ran, I could cover the two miles to the motel in about fifteen minutes. Today, adrenaline would have me setting a record pace.

My feet pounded against the asphalt. Sweat trickled along my spine, but energy surged through me. I ran as if a killer was after me because he could be. Would Mars come after me?

If I’d only been able to stay calm, maybe I could’ve played it off. But I’d failed to hide my reactions to Mars. If anything, I’d created more curiosity .

Because I needed to see what was coming at me, I ran against traffic. Heavy breaths wracked my body, but I pushed past the burn.

I didn’t have enough money to leave, and I couldn’t stay. I approached The Foxglove, the motel I called home. An appropriate name since foxglove was poisonous, just like the place was poison to my mental stability. Slowing my steps, I made my way to door twelve.

Not again. The guy two doors down from me loitered in front of his room. I was pretty sure he was dealing, but he wasn’t the only one.

“Hi, Pretty Penny.”

I ignored Billy and his stupid name for me. He’d called me Pretty Penny after he’d caught me reaching under the vending machines for dropped change. Fuck him. Every penny counted.

“Want to get high with me?” He sat on the steps and picked at his skin.

I pulled a small folding knife from the side pocket of my backpack. I’d never had to use it. But I lived with the forgotten, the addicted, and the unwanted. After the first day, I learned to avoid the tweakers. Politeness was mistaken for interest.

“I’ll get you high if you let me touch you.” He stood and blocked my path.

“Fuck off,” I said. Aggression worked some of the time. I waited for him to move, the knife clutched in my hand. I’d just run two miles, and now, tension burned through my muscles. I hated this. I hated what my life had become.

“I’ll make you feel good. ”

I blinked to keep tears from filling my eyes. I wouldn’t cry. I wouldn’t let fear or insecurity have power over me. Never again. I cocked my head to the side and met crazy with crazy. “Not now. Get out of my way before I stab you with my knife.” I sighed when he didn’t move. “Maybe later. Save some for me.”

“When you’re ready, come over.” His face twitched, and he stepped out of my way.

That was never going to happen. I banked my relief and scurried past him.

“You got any money?”

I glanced over my shoulder. “Would I live here if I had any money?”

I slipped the key into my door and hurried inside my room. I twisted the lock on the handle and engaged the chain, not that it would stop anyone. I dropped my backpack to the floor.

My mind splintered into a thousand directions. First, I needed a fast shower to wash the heavy makeup from my face and the stench of the club from my body. After making sure that not even a crack of light slipped through the curtains, I stripped and headed into the bathroom. Standing beneath the trickle of water, I let the tears fall.

I had to face the daunting task of starting over again. At least this time I had some money. I could go south. Maybe Florida. I had to get away from Emerson’s reach.

I could head west, somewhere like Las Vegas, where I could get lost in the crowd. I’d rather fly, but without identification, I wouldn’t get past TSA. I doubt I could get a ticket for the bus. The idea of hitchhiking terrified me, but nothing was scarier than facing Emerson.

Someone pounded on the door. I snapped off the water and listened. The handle jiggled. Shit. I’d left the knife on the bed. I wrapped a thin, stained towel around my body.

“Stormy, are you in there?”

I rushed to the door, peeked through the peephole, then swung open the door. Bristol entered the room. I slammed the door and locked it again.

She wrinkled her nose as she stepped into my room. “Girl, what is going on with you?”

I opened the dresser drawer and grabbed a pair of panties and a bra. “Nothing.”

She plopped down on the bed and dropped her hobo satchel next to her. “Nothing? That wasn’t nothing. What just happened?”

I tugged on jeans and a T-shirt I’d picked up at the secondhand store. “Nothing I can talk about.” Anything I told her could put her in danger. I grabbed the few clothes I had out of my drawer and tossed them on the bed. I had to be selective on what I kept and what I left behind. “Do you want these?” I held up two sequined bras I wore at the club.

“After today, you’re not going to need them.” She pulled an envelope from her bag. “This is from Jude. She pulled your cuts for the day. Travis is pissed. He said not to come back.”

I took the envelope and sat next to her. Getting fired was the least of my problems.

“You’re scaring me, Stormy. Who are those guys? Because I’ve seen you dance for a room full of assholes. I’ve watched you avoid the bikers and curl up to the frat boys. Those guys in suits made you nervous, but the other one, Mars, scared the shit out of you.”

“I’m sorry. It’s complicated.” Not even Bristol knew me as anything but Stormy. She was smart enough to know I was running from something or someone.

“Does he know you?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. But he stared at me like he knew me.”

“Maybe he just wanted more than a dance. You definitely could have earned a thousand dollars with him. Devon lost his shit when you ran out. He had Travis up against a wall with a hand around his throat. He wanted to know if you’d been threatened to do more than dance.”

“Do you think they’ll come after me?”

Bristol wrapped her arms around my shoulders. “If they can find you. They were pissed that Travis didn’t have any paperwork on you. Who are they?”

I didn’t speak.

“You can’t keep running,” she said. “You’ll just get tired. The problems don’t go away. At some point, you’re going to have to trust someone. You can trust me.”

I nodded. “I’m in trouble.”

“No shit,” she said and chuckled.

“I recognized Mars, but I don’t know the other two. ”

I needed help getting out of town, and if those three men figured out who I was, then Emerson could find me, and Bristol needed to be prepared to protect herself.

“Do you know who Emerson Barras is?”

“No.”

Neither did I when I met him. I thought he was a handsome businessman. He flew me to Paris on a private plane for our second date, blinded me with the sparkle and decadence of wealth, and took my virginity. I didn’t realize the plane belonged to his associates . “We were together for three years. He’s a lot older than me.”

“A sugar daddy?”

I shook my head. I’d been so foolish, enamored because of what he could buy me rather than looking deeper. Then I’d have seen his black soul and tasted the venom in his kiss.

“He’s a snake. I wanted to leave when I found out he had a wife. He tried to convince me the marriage was just business.”

It was easy to believe because they didn’t live together. I lived with Emerson in his penthouse. She lived on the coast. He claimed not to have children, but he’d lied about a lot of things.

“His wife was the least of my problems.” I slowly exhaled, trusting someone for the first time in months. “He’s dangerous.”

“And that’s who you’re running from? Why you’re dancing at the Landing Strip?”

I nodded. “I know some things I wish I didn’t.” Such as Emerson working for the mafia. But I couldn’t tell her that. It was a risk just telling her his name. “I betrayed him, and when he finds me, I’ll wish he’d killed me when he had the chance.”

Emerson had threatened my life before. Or maybe promised to end my life would be more accurate. I stood from the bed.

“Go to the police.”

“Then he will find me.” I shook my head. “I don’t know if he’s looking for me. Mars will eventually remember how he knows me. He’s been to my house. He knows I belong to Emerson.”

I kneeled on the floor and pulled the drawer from the dresser. I reached behind to the back, felt around on the floor, and grabbed several baggies.

“Jesus, Stormy, what are you doing with that money?”

“Getting out of here,” I said, setting the baggies of money to the side. I’d used a marker to note the amount on each baggie.

Bristol grabbed them and counted. “You have nineteen hundred here. And another hundred and twelve from today.”

Two thousand dollars wasn’t going to last long. “I was going to run when I had five, but I’ll be fine with two.”

I grabbed my duffel and tossed in the essentials.

“And what are you going to do when a guy in an expensive suit walks into the next club?”

I sat back on my heels. “I don’t know. Run again, I guess. And I’ll keep running. ”

“No.” Bristol shoved my stuff into the duffel. “We’re getting out of here. Come to my place. We need to talk to Bullet. He’ll know what to do.”

Bullet was the biker-boyfriend-pimp. I’d made some bad decisions. The worst was falling for Emerson Barras. Maybe I was a hypocrite, because Bristol and I had a lot in common, but I wasn’t going to fuck guys for money just because I felt fucked over.

“Bristol, I can’t work for Bullet.”

What if he knew about the warehouse? He’d have to because there had been Crawlers, Hellers, and mafia killing each other. I’d heard on the news while I’d been in the women’s shelter that the leader of a cartel had been killed in the gunfire.

The DA had promised swift prosecutions. Good luck with that. Emerson and his associates were untouchable. Hence my reason for running. “You can’t help me, Bristol. If Emerson finds me with you, he’ll hurt you, too. Your friend can’t help me.”

“If he can’t, I’ll help you get out of town.” Bristol swung the bag onto the bed and stuffed the money into the side. “Why didn’t you tell me you were living here? You could’ve stayed with me.”

“Because I have a psycho ex-boyfriend who kills people.”

She snorted. “We have a lot in common.”

I paused at her words. “What?”

“Nothing. Hurry. Take one of the pillowcases. Put the rest of your clothes into it.” She went to the bathroom with the small plastic trash pail and returned with it filled with my makeup and toiletries. “Let’s go. ”

I glanced around the dive motel for the last time. I was in over my head. I had to trust someone. I guess I was trusting a biker with a big dick named Bullet.