Isabella

The last time I took drugs was back in my early days in high school, when I was desperate to numb the soul-crushing worthlessness I felt. Back then, a quick line of coke was the only thing that gave me the sweet oblivion of what it felt like to be alive. 

But that was years ago before I got tangled up with Kobe, the local drug dealer from a few blocks away from our home. He wasn't into dumb acne-faced teenage girls. He was a good man in his own right. The reason he sold drugs was his kids and his gold-digger baby mamma. My budding coke addiction stopped when he went to prison.

Now, I watched helplessly as Kat snorted line after line, chasing that same artificial high I used to crave.

"I swear you'll get yourself in a grave if you keep shoving that thing up your nose."

Kat just let out a manic giggle, her eyes wild and unfocused. "You know what's the most addictive drug in the world, Izzy?" she asked, already lining up another bump.

I thought for a moment, reeling off a list of the usual suspects. 

"Heroin?"

"No."

I frowned. "Meth?"

"Nah."

Then I rolled my eyes. "Crack?" 

"Nope, nope, and nope," she said, a grin spreading across her glittery face. "The most addictive drug in the world is love."

My brow furrowed in confusion and then eased in realization. 

"At least with this," Kat gestured to the white powder, "I know what I'm getting. Love is the real devil - it fucks you up way worse than any chemical ever could." She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "And trust me, I ain't about to get addicted to that. I'll take the coke any day."

Tap Tap.

"Five minutes, ladies! Get your asses out here and look hot," a gruff voice bellowed from the other side.

I recognized that voice - it belonged to Tony, the club's manager and our boss. As the door swung open, there he stood, all six feet of him towering over us with his permanently rude expression.

"You," he barked, zeroing in on me. "Why the hell aren't you in that lace g-string I told you to wear?"

I cringed, already feeling my cheeks flush with embarrassment. "I was just about to change-"

"Well, get to it then!" he snapped. "We've got a big client out there waiting, and he's not a fan of shy little girls. So make it quick, huh?"

With one last disapproving glare, Tony turned on his heel and stormed back out, slamming the door behind him.

I let out a shaky breath, my hands trembling as I hurried to change into the skimpy outfit. It wasn't the first time Tony had pressured me to wear something so revealing, but it never got any easier. All I wanted was to feel a little dignity, a little control over my own body. But in this place, that was a luxury I could never afford.

Kat, on the other hand, seemed unfazed. She was already dressed in a dazzling gold two-piece that perfectly accentuated her sun-kissed curves. Catching my eye in the mirror, she flashed me a reassuring smile.

"Don't worry, Izzy. You look hot. That boss guy won't know what hit him."

I followed Tony through the heavy red velvet curtains. The music pounding the stage grew even more earth-shaking, it muted my nervous heartbeat. 

Scanning the crowd of leering men, I searched for the elusive "big client" we were here to entertain. And then I saw him - seated front and center, blue eyes cutting through the red and purple lights. 

Tall, broad-shouldered, with features so sharp they could cut glass. A face that was hard to forget.

The Russian Mafia boss who'd been terrorizing me. The man who murdered my fucking stepfather.

A shudder of pure, unadulterated dread raced down my damp back as a thousand emotions threatened to overwhelm me - fear, anger, betrayal. Kat must've sensed my sudden tension, because she tilted in close, her voice low and urgent. "Hey, isn't that... the same asshole we saw at the club?"

I swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly dry as the Sahara. "That's him," I whispered, barely able to get the words out. 

Her eyes went wide with a mix of shock and realization. "Oh, fuck."

Fuck was right. 

Steeling myself against the weight of Tony's unforgiving stare from backstage, I lost myself in the pounding rhythm, Kat and I falling into perfect sync as we let the music take over.

Forcing my body to become one with the music, I let the rhythm take over, the atmosphere turning thick and sultry. All eyes were on us, but I could feel his gaze singeing into me, as if I was his new favorite plaything. It was then that I realized this wasn't just some random bachelor party - this was his show.

 I'd done these kinds of gigs before, of course - men who were desperate to spend one last night as "free" men before trapping themselves with a wife. More often than not, Kat and I would bet on whether the bachelor would end up cheating on his blushing bride. And nine out of ten of them would come out as unfaithful. 

But this was different. This man, this monster, wasn't just any hapless groom-to-be. Who was the poor woman he was going to imprison in his jaws? An innocent victim, blissfully unaware of the darkness that prowled within her fiancé. How many times had I danced for men just like him, men who would betray their wives the moment the ink was dry on the marriage certificate?

Sinking low to the stage, I arched my back and lip-synched the sexy lyrics. It was a performance I'd done a hundred times before, but this time felt different - more dangerous, more personal. I was dancing for a killer, a man who'd casually taken Dario's life like he was killing a pesky mosquito. 

Climbing up the pole, every muscle tensed, our eyes locked: his, icy blue and full of hungry menace, as if he were some kind of predator sizing me up for his next meal. It hit me then -he was here to collect what he believed he was owed. 

Suddenly, a loud, drunken voice cut through the haze of the music. "Hey, sweetheart! How 'bout you come give me a little private show, huh?"

I glanced over to see one of the men in the group, his face flushed with intoxication, leering at me with naked desire. The other Russians around him hooted and hollered their approval, egging him on.

That loan shark gave me one hardcore death stare, practically demanding me to back off. Still, the moment I mulled over doing what he wanted, something inside me snapped—I got pissed.

With a confident toss of my hair, I sauntered over to the drunken patron, hips swaying with feline grace. "You want a private dance, sugar?" I purred, putting on my most alluring smile. "It'll cost you extra."

The man's grin widened as he eagerly pulled out his wallet. "Anything for a pretty little thing like you."

I leaned in close, trailing a fingertip along his jawline. "Then follow me, handsome."

While guiding him toward a hidden nook, I stole a peek at the Loan shark. Couldn't make heads or tails of his face, yet there was no mistaking the tightness around his mouth.

Inside the intimate hideout, the sloshed dude tugged me closer while his roaming hands began exploring. Struggling to keep up appearances, I swayed rhythmically alongside him, moving in sync with the throbbing beat. My brain, however, dwelled miles away, haunted by images of the frosty-eyed Russian.

BANG! 

Sudden damp heat struck my bare butt– caught between bullets and beats. The drunk man jerked violently, a guttural scream tearing from his throat as his hands flew to his thigh.

I froze, paralyzed by shock and fear as I watched red blossom across the man's pant leg, seeping through the white fabric in thick rivulets. Letting out a strangled cry, I shoved him away, stumbling backward as my eyes frantically searched for the source of the gunfire.

Across the crowded, rowdy nightclub, he was there, arm extended, a wisp of smoke drifting up from the muzzle of his gun. As our eyes met, my heart raced like crazy - I swear it felt ready to burst right out of my chest.

The wounded man was cursing up a storm in Russian, his words unintelligible through the shock gripping me. I shrank back against the wall, hands trembling, as the Russian lowered his gun and took a slow, menacing step forward.

"Get out," he snarled at the man on the floor. When the screaming continued, he raised the gun once more. "I said get out, before I put a matching hole in that dense skull of yours."

Then, with a final anguished cry, the drunken patron scrambled to his feet and fled, leaving a smeared trail of blood on the glossy floor. 

I found myself face-to-face with the intimidating Russian, who gradually approached me with a chilling stare that penetrated deep into my soul. I pressed my spine against the cold brick wall, struggling to catch my breath as the acrid smell of gunpowder and terror engulfed every corner of my being.

"What did I tell you about being a tease, huh?"

Oh Lord, was he going to finally end my life now?