Isabella

The dressing room reeked of cheap perfume and stale cigarette smoke, the air dense with the kind of suspense that only a pack of semi-naked women can conjure. I shrugged off my tattered coat, catching a glimpse of my haggard reflection in the cracked mirror. Time to put on a show.

"Swear to God, it was like a scene straight outta Scarface." Kat's shrill voice caught my attention. 

I tensed at her words, but kept my eyes trained on the garish makeup splayed out before me. Just another night at the Candy Club.

"No shit?" Crystal piped up, her fake lashes batting rapidly. "Them Russians don't fuck around, that's for damn sure."

A few of the other girls nodded sagely, like they were scholars discussing ancient philosophy instead of barely-legal strippers gossiping about gang violence.

"They came strapped, disguised as bouncers," Kat continued breathlessly. "Popped that rich kid right in the middle of his lap dance. Blood everywhere, girl."

I fought the urge to gag. Flashes of that night with the Russian gangster playing at the back of my head. The gunshots, the screams, the reek of coppery blood...

"Crazy shit," Crystal mumbled around her lip gloss. "Lucky we wasn't workin' that night."

Lucky. The word knocked the wind out of me. These bimbos had no idea how luck figured into the equation. How I was caught in the eye of a storm that threatened to rip me apart at any moment.

Two days without a peep from the loan shark, and still I couldn't shake the feeling that I was a hair-trigger away from my world imploding. Who were those gunmen, really? Had they been after him? 

I was aware they shot a young man named Sergi. He was barely eighteen, and was rushed to the hospital. No clue if he'd made it out alive or not. 

The queasiness churned in my gut as my manicured nails dug into the cheap wood of the makeup counter. I need to leave this town soon or else I'll--

"Earth to Isabella!" Kat's grating laughter pierced my panic. "You even listening, girl?"

I pasted on my most vacuous grin, the same one I deployed when drunk assholes at the club got too handsy.

"Whatever, just stay outta trouble, Kat," I retorted, popping my gum obnoxiously. "You know us good girls gotta watch ourselves around the bad boys."

The others cackled like I'd just uttered the funniest shit they'd ever heard. I turned back towards the mirror, letting my gaze drift over the deep crescents my nails had carved into the wood.

Trouble was already here. And he wore an Armani suit and carried a Beretta 1with my name on it.

"Dance for me," he growled, his voice laced with a terrifying blend of rage and desire.

Part of me wanted to run, to flee from this monster who had so casually taken lives. But another part, a darker side I could scarcely admit existed, felt a twisted thrill at his commanding presence.

As I straddled his lap, I could feel the solid bulge in his expensive trousers pressing against me. A reminder that despite the brutal violence, this man was undeniably, devastatingly male.

His commanding grip guided me effortlessly onto his lap, forcing obedience from my reluctant body. 

My mind revolted against his perceived possession, that a man owned and controlled my body as he liked. And some twisted part of my psyche was aroused by the sense of being possessed by such a dangerous, powerful man.

I swear, this twisted desire of mine was going to be the death of me.

***

Just another night of slinging overpriced drinks to handsy dirtbags while grinding against poles slick with desires better left unfulfilled. I shrugged off my tattered jacket, the coarse fabric scratching against skin that had seen too many roaming hands and insistent caresses. At least tonight's haul would keep a roof over my head for another week.

The streets of downtown Miami yawned before me, shadows deepening as I trudged towards my rundown apartment building. 

My gaze darted furtively at every shifting silhouette, every sudden movement. Couldn't be too careful these days.

My pulse quickened as I rounded the corner, the hairs on the back of my neck prickling with that all too familiar sense of being watched. Shadows stretched long and menacing in the flickering glow of the streetlamps. I clutched the canister of brand-new pepper spray until my knuckles turned white, fingers trembling as I fought to control the rising tide of panic swelling in my chest. Just make it home in one piece, Isabella. 

One foot in front of the other.

A rustling in the alley up ahead had me freezing mid-stride, heart pounding a staccato rhythm against my ribcage. I strained to pierce the inky blackness, desperate to catch any movement, any sign of danger lurking. The shadows seemed to shift and undulate, every creak and groan of the dilapidated buildings needling my frayed nerves. 

Get a grip, you're just being paranoid again.

I forced myself to continue forward, muscles coiled tight as a cornered animal's, ready to bolt at the first provocation. Keys clutched between white-knuckled fingers, I hastened towards the ramshackle apartments, scanning every nook and cranny for potential threats. Just a few more steps and I'd be--

A figure detached itself from the shadows, looming in the sickly pool of light beneath the flickering streetlamp. My heart seized in my chest as I fumbled for the pepper spray, whipping it up in a defensive stance. A ragged chuckle broke the tense silence, the sound maddeningly familiar.

"Easy there, Izzy. It's just me."

The wiry frame, the crooked smirk, the haunted eyes... Theo stepped fully into the wan glow, hands upraised in a placating gesture. My bones turned to liquid relief even as my pulse continued to thunder in my ears.

"Dammit, Theo! You trying to give me a heart attack?" I wheezed out a shaky exhale, lowering the spray but keeping it clenched in my fist.

Then it clicked me. "Wait, are you stalking me?"