WARNING: This story contains content that depicts violence and contains mentions of drugs and sexual harassment, profanity, and strong language that may be upsetting for some readers. Reader discretion is advised.
Nicolai
Fuck this shit.
"What was that, Nicolai?"
Goddamnit, did I say that out loud? "Nothing, Juri. "
"That's what I thought, malo sranje," Juri grumbles. "Are you there yet?"
I roll my eyes. I don't care that he's my cousin. Let Juri call me a little shit one more time, and he's going to get a fist to the face.
I whip my Harley into a dimly lit alley beside a strip club Juri's sent me to for my next job. As I shut off the engine, a wealthy-looking man in a fancy suit stumbles out of a non-descript doorway and pushes past me, disappearing into the glow of the Upper West Side.
"I just pulled up. Why the fuck are you sending me to a seedy strip club on a Saturday night?" I ask, taking my helmet off and leaning to lock it onto the back of the bike. A thick envelope brimming with hundred-dollar bills from a drug deal I ran earlier feels stiff in my jacket pocket.
Juri knows I hate doing jobs on this side of Manhattan, so I swear he makes me do them just to spite me. He's only six months older than me, but he never lets me forget he's running the show.
And I don't have much of a choice but to put up with it.
I wasn't exactly born with a silver spoon in my mouth, and while my mom tried her best, I've come to accept that I was destined for a life of crime.
It's not like I can just walk away.
"This is a classy place, rođaka. Not like the strip clubs you've probably gone and gotten your dick wet in before," my cousin says, and I can practically see his sneer through the phone.
"I've gone to plenty of cla—" I shake my head; I'm not going to argue with this fucker today. "Never mind."
As I tread around to the street front, I realize he's right. The building in front of me is nondescript, but it isn't seedy. It's in a nice part of town, and if I didn't know better what was happening behind that dark-tinted glass, I'd think it was an event hall where weddings or bar mitzvahs or some shit took place.
"Thanks, asshole. Anyway, as I was saying, this is a classy place. This guy owns like six of them in the city. If we can get in there and claim some of his customers as ours, it could be life-changing for business. And he's part of The Ring. A big part."
My ears perk up. The Ring? The Ring is the most powerful crime network in New York City.
"Why are we fucking around with The Ring, Juri? Isn't that dangerous when they're our ri—"
"You let me and Boss worry about that, yeah? Your job is to case the joint, stay under the radar, and don't act like an ass and get yourself kicked out. If you do, Boss will hear about it. Got it?" Juri snaps.
"Yeah, whatever. Got it," I say, tapping the end button on my phone. Immediately it buzzes with an incoming text from Juri.
Juri: I wasn't done, dickhead. Don't waste time fucking around with any of the women. I don't give a shit how hot they are.
Curling my lip, I shove my phone into my pocket without answering. I had no plans to "fuck around" with anyone, but now, I might just do it because he told me not to.
Did I mention I can't stand him?
I show the bouncer my ID and as soon as I enter the club, I realize just how long it's been since I've had a woman in my bed. My cock twitches behind my zipper as I immediately make eye contact with the beautiful woman that's center stage right now, her dark hair falling over her bare shoulder, the ends barely grazing her pert nipple.
My gaze darts to the redhead next to her, who is still partially clothed in a lacy green thong and bra, her breasts spilling over the top. I can see the freckles sprinkled across her creamy skin from here, and my mouth waters. I can't help it. I have a thing for freckles.
Damn, these women are fucking works of art.
I look from woman to woman as they glide across the stages, some twisting around poles, others dancing with each other, the sensual movements of their bodies doing things to my insides that I haven't let myself feel in what seems like months.
Focus, Nicolai. See what there is to see, take some mental notes for Juri, and then, if you happen to end the night tangled up with one of these beautiful women, that's just icing on the cake.
To try to center myself, I look around, taking in the club's appearance. The floor is white marble tile, the mood lighting sets the perfect glow without being too harsh, and all the seating is plush, free of any cosmetic wear and tear. It's clearly been kept up well.
No wonder this is the kind of place wealthy people frequent...the kind of people we'd want as clients.
The redhead keeps glancing my way, and no matter how hard I try to concentrate on the task at hand, all I keep thinking about is getting her down off that stage and asking if she wants to spend the rest of her evening with me.
By the way she's running her gaze up and down my body, I'm pretty sure her answer would be yes.
It's not a half-bad idea. If anyone knows the inner workings of a club, it's the dancers and the servers. I could get some information and have a little fun at the same time.
I order a gin and tonic from the bar and push through the crowd until I am standing right in front of the stage where she's dancing, and damn, this is the perfect view.
She saunters over to me, her body even more curvy and perfect up close, and when she squats down so we are eye level, I lift my chin and say, "You got a break coming up?"
Her blood-red lips lift into a grin, and she shakes her head, leans into me and whispers, "No, but I do have a shift in the private rooms up next, and you can be my first client of the night if you can afford me."
I reach into my pocket and pull out a wad of cash from the deal earlier today. "How much to be your first and last?"
She raises an eyebrow and holds out her hand to me, and I realize after a moment that she wants help off the stage. I grip her waist instead and lift her off her feet and down to the floor in front of me. She's at least a head shorter than me, even in the heels she's wearing.
Looking up at me with those fuck-me blue eyes, she says, "Follow me, and we'll discuss payment."
I gesture toward the rooms in the back of the club as she takes my hand. "Lead the way."
When we reach the second to last door on the left, she stops and holds out her hand. "I get off in two hours. That'll be a grand," she says like she thinks I won't be able to afford it.
I just lift an eyebrow as I take the money from the deal earlier out of my pocket again and count out fifteen one-hundred-dollar bills, placing them in her palm.
"Done. With a fifty percent tip."
Now it's her turn to raise a brow. "Well, fuck me."
I smirk. "Is that allowed here?"
Drawing her bottom lip between her teeth, she shakes her head. "Not on company time."
"Damn." I follow her in the room, shamelessly checking out her ass in the emerald lace and satin thong now that it's so close to me. "I'll take what I can get, though. What's your name?"
"Heidi. That's all I can—"
I hold up my hand. "That's all I need to know. I'm Luka."
I know, I know; it's a dick move to lie about my name, but I'm here under some shady business; I don't want my identity known if some shit hits the fan.
Heidi pushes me back on the velvet sofa behind me and straddles my lap. "Luka. Here are the rules. I can touch you like this as I dance on you," she says, trailing her hands down my chest, sweeping a fingertip over the waistband of my jeans. "No lower than that. And your hands can't leave my waist."
There's a wistful tone as she says it, and when she straightens to wrap her arms around my neck, the center of her barely-there thong brushes my already stiffening cock.
And it's most definitely damp.
I recline against the cushions and place my hands behind my head. "Tell me, Heidi—do your panties get wet for all your customers?" I ask, meeting her gaze.
Her cheeks flush, and she chews her bottom lip. "Actually, no. They don't. Only for the ones I wish I could do more than dance with."
I sit straight again and return my hands to her waist, gripping it as tight as I can without making her uncomfortable. "The feeling is 100% mutual." I lean in, desperate to taste her.
She swallows and a delicate flush decorates her high cheekbones. "Yeah?"
I hate myself a little because I know I'm just trying to soften her to get information out of her, but my hands glide along the curve of her waist, further up her ribcage. She shivers under my touch, and I know I'm breaking the rules by moving my hands from her waist, but she isn't stopping me. In fact, her own hands are sliding underneath my shirt, her fingertips brushing against my lower stomach, sending coils of pleasure between my legs.
"Yeah. You knew as soon as you laid eyes on me that I wanted you, though, didn't you?"
She smirks, the expression downright devilish on her otherwise angelic face. "I had a vague idea."
My hands slide just a few inches higher until my thumbs graze the underside of her breasts, nearly able to feel her skin through the thin lace. "Will you let me break the rules, Heidi?"
Her breath catches, causing her to utter the sweetest little whimper. But then she shakes her head, like she's just realizing the gravity of our proximity.
She puts some space between us. "We can't do that. Mr. Banks is really serious about stuff like that, he—"
My blood runs cold, and I feel the color drain from my face. Banks.
The rest of Heidi's words completely fade to static in my ears.
"Wh—Who did you say?" I stammer, my eyes snapping back to hers.
She shifts on my lap, clearly alarmed by my reaction to her statement, but I don't have time to worry with appearances. "Mr. Banks? Xavier Banks? The owner of Wicked Sins?"
I gently push her to her feet and stand, heading for the door. "This has been nice, and I'm glad to have met you, Heidi, but I have to go."
"What?" she chirps, grabbing my hand. "What did I do wrong?"
I turn to face her and shake my head.
"You didn't do anything wrong. You're beautiful. You should take the rest of the night off and stay here in this room in peace and quiet by yourself. Don't go back out there, Heidi. Do you hear me?" I place both hands on her shoulders and gently shake her. "In fact, you should get another job. As soon as possible."
Confusion is written all over her face. "What? I—I can't quit. They won't—they won't let—" Cutting her sentence short, she reaches behind her and pulls the fifteen hundred dollars off the table. "Here, take this back. I didn't earn it."
I stop her with my palm out as I open the door. "No. Absolutely not. Keep it. And I meant what I said. Get out of here, Heidi. It's not worth it."
I don't waste another second, taking off down the hallway. I don't know what reason I'm going to give Juri, or what bullshit lie I'm going to make up, but we will not be doing business with Xavier Banks.
As I push my way through the crowd toward the main room, desperate to leave and never come back, I'm snapped out of my thoughts when the thumping bass of the hip-hop song playing fades out, and classical music takes its place.
Live classical music.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I stall at the end of the hallway, torn between the pull of the escalating piano and the relative safety of the world outside. Because there's only one person I know who can play music like this.
It's dangerous to stay, knowing all hell could break loose if I'm recognized, but I can't stop myself as I turn left toward the main stage. I have to know why she's playing piano at her father's strip club instead of Julliard or on Broadway.
Jebeni pakao.
Fucking hell.
The woman in front of the piano with her fingers flying across the keys is the most gorgeous creature I've ever laid eyes on.
Her dark brown hair falls in loose waves down her back, a few strands escaping over her shoulders. Her freckled shoulders are bare except for two thin jeweled straps that barely hold up her ample chest. Her cleavage spills over the black velvet deep v-cut dress, which falls all the way past her ankles, trailing behind her. Her eyes are downcast, but I don't need to see them to know they're the most stunning shade of jade.
I'd recognize her anywhere, no matter how many years have passed, whether it be three or thirty-three.
Sutton Banks, my best friend.
The girl I left behind three years ago.
I can't move from this spot. I'm still gripping the back of the chair, frozen, hypnotized by her performance, transfixed by every move she makes.
Goddamnit, I need to move before she sees me.
But I can't. I physically can't make myself take a step away from her while she's playing. I never could. I could have listened to her play until the end of time. And I would have...until—I shake my head.
Stop it, Nicolai. It doesn't fucking matter now. That part of your life is done. It's not your business why she's playing at the club. Maybe that's what she wants. And what do you expect, idiot? She's the daughter of a Captain. She's part of the Ring too.
Get the fuck out. Go tell Juri that customers can be found here, but you can't be the one to work this job.
She flips her hair over her shoulder, exposing more of her face, and the shiver that snakes its way through my veins is electrifying. She's even more breathtaking now than she was the last time I saw her.
I need to move my ass because I just know she's going to look up at any second and see me. I can't let that happen. I can't look into her eyes again. Not when it was hell to pull myself away from her the first time.
She lifts her beautiful face, jade eyes radiant in the main stage spotlight, and I almost choke on my own regret.
As she scans the crowd toward the spot I'm riveted to, my head screams that it's time to go, to disappear like I did all those years ago. But my pounding heart knows the minute I walk out of Wicked Sins, I might never see her again.
If only I could leave my past in the past.