Cinzia entered the dressing room just as Bethany secured the red glittery wig on her head.

“It’s another full house, cara.” She sat down on the other spare chair in Bethany’s dressing room.

Cinzia was generous to her girls, treating them equally, giving them their own private space and dressing rooms. Just as well since she owned the Grade II listed building. Bethany had been one of the girls until Cinzia realised that Bethany was keeping a business degree locked inside her brain and offered her a partnership at the club. She had also offered Bethany a partnership in Expectation Blooms a flower shop she had been trying to get off the ground. Bethany would have opted just working for the flower shop but with a mortgage to pay, the rent of her parent’s house, and Amara’s occasional school trips out of the UK, earnings from flowers didn’t really cut it at the moment. They needed to land a lucrative deal where they would exclusively supply flowers. Just one break that would lead to other bigger breaks.

“Great! More money.” Bethany continued to look at herself in the mirror framed with more light bulbs than the Rockettes’ stage in Radio City, making sure her wig was snug against her scalp. She was part of the chorus line that gave men wet dreams and women the desire to be one of them. All she had to do was rock the body she worked hard at and pretend to make love to a chair. So few props to raise so many flagpoles. It was better than what she had to resort to after leaving college. Men paid to watch her move, dance, raise their temperatures like it was the weather forecast for the summer, and feed their fantasies.

No matter what man came to demand he take her outside of the club, the answer was always no. There were prettier and younger girls in the line than her. And who would want to be with her after seeing the hearing aid in her left ear. Appearances mattered. No one wanted the ignominy of being with a partially deaf female.

Bethany stood, gliding her hands down her figure to make sure the red bustier and thong didn’t fold over any bulges she had. Not that she had any. Her breasts were pushed up making them look bigger than they were. Her garter belt held the red lace trimmed stockings that still gave a view bare skin of her thighs and the swell of her buttocks. Knee length Victorian lace-up boots and a detachable skirt completed her ensemble.

Bethany made sure no one would recognize her. It wouldn’t do well for her parents to know how she could pay the bills. Let them think she had been promoted in the fashion retail company she told them about.

The time was drawing near for her to show her body once more to every strange man hidden in the dark. Drake’s face popped in her mind. Every time. But it was a younger version of Drake, not the man she saw at the church a week ago, all corded muscle and strength underneath the dark grey dress shirt and slacks. Bet he tasted just fine.

A wry smile lifted one side of her shiny red lips. Back then she wouldn’t have thought of describing the opposite sex like they were decadent food. She’d gown up a lot since then.

A mixture of nervousness and excitement churned and ruffled her belly. It was always the same. No matter how many times she danced on stage, her heart wanted to burst out of her rib cage and sulk inside her dressing room. Cinzia handed her a pill which Bethany gratefully popped and swallowed it dry, working the muscles of her throat to push the tiny courage booster down to her gut.

She ambled to the curtained stage. Tonight was going to be different. She could feel the change like fast running sludge making her heart skip differently—every beat louder than the bass pounding the floor. She looked at the closed curtains.

Who was out there?

“Places,” the floor director barked. Chairs grated against the wooden floor. The other dancers whispered to each other for the last time, positioning themselves by their chairs. Cinzia gave Bethany the thumbs up sign. Bethany smiled at her briefly.

The lights dimmed just as Bethany lowered her head. She balanced on the sole of her foot on the chair. The first bars of ‘Burlesque’ was drowned by the crowd’s roar of approval that Bethany couldn’t hear her heartbeat. The curtains opened. Her trepidation transformed to a burst of adrenalin punching through her pores. This was it. This was one of the reasons why she agreed to Cinzia’s proposal. In a way, she was exposing her body once more, the music tantalising her and taking her somewhere else. To someone she would have loved to dance for.

Drake.

Reality didn’t allow for that to happen so she imagined Drake watching her, his eyes burning her inside and out. Every. Single. Fucking. Time.

Because she could only have him that way.

She snapped her fingers in tandem with the beat, moving her body in the choreography she knew by heart. Her hips rolled from side to side, the effort tightening her glutes, knees bending, shoulder dropping, then arms pulled back so her chest pushed forward. She snapped her head towards the audience of men and women. Tables with sheltered candles flickered like huge stationary fireflies. The bartender continued dispensing drinks under the bar counter’s blue light.

Bethany took it all in while she sat on her chair, opened her legs before moving her leg to the side, her hand running from her leg, her thigh, up the side of her body before letting her arm rise above her head. She turned around and faced her chair. Arms braced against the seat, her pelvis moving up and down in the space between the chair and the floor. She sat on the chair and laid back, her head only an inch from the floor as her foot rose, extending upward in the air.

Then it was over.

The sound in the hall pierced her cocoon the same time she became aware once more of her racing pulse. A smile lit her mouth as her heartbeat hammered in pleasure at the fulfilment of another night. She joined the line of dancers in a row near the edge of the stage for their bow. Then they’d have ten minutes to rush and prep for the next dance. There’d be time to retouch make-up, costume changes, toilet breaks. Bethany was relieved her dance wouldn’t be until later.

She sashayed to the front of the stage, a smile fixed on her mouth. She looked at the tables close to the stage, then froze.

Drake Rosen was looking at her with fury in his eyes.

 

* * *

Drake’s blood boiled the moment he saw Bethany dancing in a skimpy outfit meant for the bedroom. It didn’t matter that she remained at the back of the stage most of the time.

Damn did his cock take notice.

He didn’t get kicked out of school only for her to parade in front of men years later.

What the fuck?

Bethany’s smile faltered the minute she saw him. Her shock and fear came in waves at him and it soured his gut. The guilt he carried for God knows how long had lifted when he saw Bethany last week. He should have followed her afterwards to know where she lived. Could have found out what she had been doing all this time.

He just didn’t expect to see her in a burlesque club dancing.

Drake stood, slugging his drink back.

“Where the hell are you going?” A puzzled frown marred Caius forehead.

“Talk to someone.”

“But my contact is just outside.” Caius snapped, also standing. The lights shone on his bald pate.

“If he wants to buy my business, he’ll wait.” Drake turned away. “You told me he was going to at the fight tonight. He didn’t show. The hell I’m going to wait for someone who appears uninterested in the business.”

“Rosen!”

Drake moved so fast, before Caius could even blink. He pushed him down on his chair.

“Do you think I don’t know about your debt?” Drake hissed in Caius’s ear. Caius inhaled sharply. “You fucking bastard. You could have come to me!”

“And let you bite my head off?” Caius defended.

“Better that than see you dead.” Drake pushed Caius so hard he nearly toppled to the floor. The dark surrounding them camouflaged what just happened. Drake had no intention of getting kicked out before getting some answers from Bethany.

He stalked to the side of the stage. A bouncer loomed ahead of him, scowling before his face cleared. Part of a tatt peeked through the collar of his shirt but was seen in all its glory down one arm. Vines and roses.

“Shouldn’t you be inside the octagon?” The bouncer pumped Drake’s hand until Drake thought there was no blood left. “What happened to you, man? I stopped watching because you left.”

Drake grinned and couldn’t believe his luck. “Retired. Just managing the fighters now. Listen…”

“Hasan.”

“Hasan,” Drake repeated. “Want to give it a shot?”

“Shit, are you serious?” Hasan’s face lit up like the fireworks on New Year’s Eve. “Fuck yeah. Been practicing at the gym when I can.” Hasan looked at the card Drake handed him before pocketing it.

Drake braced his feet crossing his arms over his chest. “You plan on being a bouncer and maybe a fighter only?”

Hasan’s dark brows knitted before he scratched the back of his neck.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“How about getting a degree?”

This time Hasan’s brows high on his wide forehead.

“You become one of my fighters, you have the option of finishing a degree,” Drake said before the bouncer could speak. “It’s not mandatory but it’s yours to take.”

Hasan took out the card from his pocket. His face mirrored tentative hope and expectation. Something Drake only new too well.

“I…uh, well I didn’t get to finish.” The bouncer stammered. “Too fucking expensive.”

Drake smiled. “Think about it. You don’t have to pay anything until you start earning moolah.”

Hasan grinned. “And if I can’t? Earn big moolah I mean.”

Drake smacked his hard as a rock shoulder. “We work something out and what you can afford. But trust me on this one. You’ll defo earn a lot with me.”

Hasan nodded in respect. “Won’t you lose money in the beginning? I mean you have to get something out of it.”

“Yeah I do.” Drake stuck his thumbs around his waistband to fix his black Hermes belt. “Satisfaction I got to help someone out. That’s payment enough.”

Hasan laughed the laugh of bemusement and more hope. “Okay, I’ll think about it. But what are you doing here anyway?” He pointed to the bar. “The drinks are over there.”

Drake twisted to look at the bar before facing the bouncer again. “Listen mate, I need a favour.”

“Sure.” The bouncer touched the side of his nose, amused. “You want to meet one of the girls, huh.”

Drake laughed. “Caught me.”

Hasan scratched his buzz cut. “Well, Miss Cinzia is very strict. I don’t want to lose my job. Got a baby on the way, you know.”

“I have no intention of getting you fired.” Drake assured him. “But one of the girls is a childhood friend and we lost touch.”

Hasan’s forehead creased. “I’m very protective of those girls, Mr Rosen. If you’re lying—”

“Look, I’ll wait here,” Drake said quickly holding up his hands. “If Bethany Brooke doesn’t want to see me, I’ll back off.”

“What happened to your hand?”

Drake’s jaw tightened. “Accident.” He hoped the bouncer called his bluff because he couldn’t let Bethany disappear again.

Hasan sighed. “Bethany Brooke. How did you—never mind.” He stepped aside.

“What?” Drake was confused.

“No one knows any of the girls’ real names, unless they’re related. You do.” He waited for Drake to pass through before locking the cordon back in place. “I’m coming with you. If you make one sleazy move, I won’t give a rat’s ass to throw you out on yours.”

Drake’s tension eased and he gave a nod. “Fair enough.”

Hasan spoke into his ear piece requesting for someone to man the backstage door. As soon as another bouncer arrived, he preceded Drake to the dressing rooms.

Every step they took bringing Drake closer to Bethany was a notch up of the sound of his heartbeat thundering in his ears. His throat thickened. After the way he behaved when he saw Bethany on stage, Drake wanted to apologise and explain. Just to remove the stricken look on her beautiful face when she pivoted on her heel and left the cynosure of every man’s eyes.

At least Drake was grateful for that. Seeing other men ogling Bethany made his stomach acid—he’d probably finish an entire bottle of Gaviscon.

The long and winding corridor was well-lit with small vases of roses and gardenias on small pedestals along the way. Drake inhaled their scent. It wasn’t overpowering as he thought it would be. He had expected a dimly lit hallway with women in different costumes and silk robes moving from one room to another, not the subdued sounds of classical music, the hidden lights gracing their path, or the scent of flowers wafting in the air.

Finally, they arrived at their destination. Drake could hardly hear himself breathe let alone think. The hell he was going to get struck down mute the moment Bethany opened the door. He had so much to say – more than a decade’s worth.

Hasan knocked but it wasn’t Bethany who opened the door. It was the woman with Bethany in Sandbanks. Drake’s pulse slowed.

“Hasan, what are you doing here?” Her gaze narrowed at Drake, appraising him from head to foot. “Who are you?”

“My fault.” Drake apologised, hand on his chest. The woman had an accent. Italian, maybe? “I told Hasan I needed to speak to Bethany.” He paused. “You were with her in Sandbanks.”

A flicker of alarm filled her dark eyes before it disappeared. Her chin rose. “She’s not here.”

“Again?” Drake couldn’t stop the frustrated scowl or the long drawn out exhale. “When will she be back?”

“She isn’t coming back tonight.”

Drake wanted to growl but the dark haired woman was his only lead to the girl he had been searching for.

“What’s happened to Soie?” Hasan used Bethany’s stage name. He took the words right out of Drake’s mouth.

“She’s in the hospital,” the woman replied looking down. “Her father has had another heart attack.”

Another?

“Sweet Jesus, Cinzia.” Hasan rubbed his face even as Cinzia arched an eyebrow. His face was a canvas of worry.

“Yes, we can all pray for Bettina and her papa,” Cinzia said, moving into the corridor and closing the door behind her. “But the show must go on. Hasan, please have Justine take over Bettina’s dance. She’s been her understudy. I have to go.”

“Go where?” Drake asked following Cinzia towards the opposite side of the corridor.

“I don’t think she’d want to see you.” Cinzia gave him the once over before she opened the door to what Drake saw was an office. She snatched her thick coat before walking briskly back into the hallway. “You must have done something to hurt her.”

I had no choice.

“I want to hear it directly from her that she no longer wants to see me.” Drake caught up with her. She halted, looking at him with disdain. “And don’t stop me. You won’t get anywhere.”

Cinzia narrowed her eyes before she exhaled. Reluctantly, she tilted her head “Okay, let’s go.” She paused when she saw a woman ahead of her.

“Ahh Justine. Take care of tonight, will you? I have to get to the hospital.”

“What’s happened?” Justine’s made up face crumpled in concern.

“Bettina’s father is in hospital.” At Justine’s gasp, “You were her understudy. Can you take her place in the dance later?”

“Of course,” Justine replied, her face lighting up then dimming again. “I hope everything’s okay.”

“It will be, cara.”

Cinzia and Drake emerged onto the main floor.

“Drake!” Caius pushed his way through the growing crowd, making Cinzia stop in her tracks. “What the fuck, mate? The buyer’s been waiting.”

“Let him have a good time at my expense. He made me wait before. It’s my turn. Charge it to my account. Change of plans.”

“What?” Caius’ shout over the din of music and conversation caused some of the patrons to hush for a second before they resumed talking. “He’s come all the way from America!”

“Billet him in the Lowry, I don’t fucking care.” Drake growled. “Tell him I’ll call tomorrow and make it up to him.”

“Tabler’s not going to like this one bit.”

Drake would have been amused at Caius literally pulling at whatever was left of his hair but his attention narrowed on one word.

“Tabler?” He scanned the room and honed in on their table. His eyes narrowed to slits.

“Andrew Tabler,” Caius said. “He’s the buyer…what?” he stepped back in confusion.

Drake pinned his partner with a look that poured out his rage.

“You bastard.”