AS I REINVENTED MY LIFE, Joaquín rotted in a jail cell for five months. Per his request, I made no further contact. Just one final call to his lawyer, telling him that I’d been accepted into a theater program in England and that I’d check in when I could.

I missed Joaquín so much, every day, but I couldn’t focus on that pain. Today was game day.

I pulled my car into the parking lot at Panthers. Was I really going to do this? The thought of taking my clothes off for a bunch of leering men made my throat burn.

Roma had helped me secure a new driver’s license, social security number, and birth certificate. He’d even found me a place to live—a tiny room in an elderly Russian lady’s apartment in El Cajon. The place reeked of pierogies and tea, but it didn’t matter. I was pretty sure Roma had Mafia ties, but we’d both adopted an unspoken rule about not asking about each other’s activities.

One final glance in the dashboard mirror and I was ready to go. My hair was now bleached and blended with platinum blond extensions, my hazel eyes were masked with brown contacts, accented with heavy dark eye shadow and false eyelashes, and my lips were painted pale pink and frosted. And thanks to the combination of my depression and my physical training, my skinny frame now looked like it could grace the cover of a Victoria’s Secret catalog.

And I hated to admit it, but I loved the way I looked. Conceit. Vanity. Pride. My lack of humility saddened me. Though I would’ve never gone under the knife in any other circumstance, this dilemma forced me to fix every one of my physical insecurities. As a woman, it was almost empowering, no longer having to worry about my thin lips or crooked nose. I did realize through the recovery that my previously low self-image didn’t matter, that my soul and dedication was what was important. I just wish I could’ve understood this new truth without having to change myself.

I’d transformed myself from cute girl next door to, according to Emma the stripper, Grant’s ultimate fantasy. It was still hard for me to believe her; I would have to see it with my own eyes. But if Grant dreamt about blonde bombshells, I would become the woman of his nightmares. I was unstoppable. I was in control.

I pushed by some guys in the parking lot, made my way to the entrance, and spoke to the bouncer. “I have meeting together with Jim,” I said in my affected Russian accent. Roma kept telling me no one would be able to distinguish me from any other Russian speaker. I’d studied not only the language but also the grammar mistakes the recent immigrants often made when they spoke in English.

The bouncer eye-fucked me. “Ka-sen-e-ya? Jim is expecting you. In his office.”

I nodded and made my way toward the back of the club, watching the girls on stage out of the corner of my eye. Smoke filled the place from the adjoining private hookah lounge. The sweet, musky smell made my eyes water. Better get used to it.

Jim greeted me at the door. Bald, fat, hairy, pretty much what I expected the owner of a strip club to look like. “Welcome, Ksenya. Wow. You’re a little minx, aren’t you?”

Gross. I’d made a strict pact with myself—I’d go rogue, but under no circumstances would I sleep with a man who disgusted me. “Good to meet together with you.” I hated using improper English, but it was a necessity now.

“Come into my office and relax. Tell me about yourself. Where are you from?”

His office consisted of a squalid cum-stained couch, a desk with papers piled all over it, and walls of framed pictures of him mugging with celebrities who had come to this joint.

I perched on the edge of the sofa. “I’m from Kharkov, in Ukraine. I was ballroom dancer. I come here with my baba, my grandmother, who was engineer. But she is dead and so I must work. I do not disappoint you. I hear you are the best, and me, I always want to be the best.”

He motioned me to stand up and twirl around, and I obliged, wiggling my hips.

“Let’s see what you’ve got. We have striking girls come in here every day, but I need to know you’re the real deal. You can give me a dance in the VIP lounge.”

He led me to the room, which was painted electric purple. The pole in the middle glowed from the bright lights.

“Undress.”

I slowly took off my sweat suit, fighting the urge to flee. Now stripped down to my matching pink bra and panties, my cheeks burned, and I hid my blush behind my hair. I’d always been modest; the only man to ever see me naked was Grant. The music started, almost as if it sensed my presence. The hypnotic rhythm of the R&B song seemingly overtook my body. Centered, calming, crafted. Seducing this dirty old man with my moves would be easy—tricking Grant would be the true test.

My eyes focused on Jim, but I didn’t see him. I wasn’t dancing for Jim. I wasn’t even dancing to save my brother. I was dancing for Grant—I saw Grant’s face, his lips, his eyes trace my movements. Slow and seductive rather than fast and frenzied. How many times had he sat in this room, watching a broken girl dance for him? What had these women given him that I hadn’t been able to? Did he open up to them? Truly let them in instead of how he always tried to be tough and resilient for me?

As I made love to the pole, my heart pounded, my stomach fluttered. This was where I was meant to be. After seeing Grant again and having him shut me out, literally and figuratively, I realized I wasn’t done with him. As much as I didn’t want to admit it, I missed him, despite the fact that he had been an asshole to me. I’d hurt him, but behind his vicious words to me, I wondered if he still loved me no matter how much he tried to fight it.

A loud clap sprang me from my haze. “Bravo. Ksenya, you are enchanting. Can you start tonight? We have a huge party booked. VIPs, extravagant spenders. They love seeing a new gem. Are you game?”

I wasn’t sure if this transformation would work, that I could even get close enough to any of the Team guys, but I had to try. My plan was to strip here until I saw Joaquín’s Teammates. I’d focus on the first one who paid me any attention, entertain them at a similar party, and try to figure out what happened to Tiffany.

“Da. Thank you, Jim. I won’t let you down.”

I put my clothes back on, and Jim gave me a bunch of forms to fill out. Surprisingly, he actually ended up being quite nice and went out of his way to make me feel comfortable.

VIPs. It was Thursday night. I’d done my research—driven by the houses of my brother’s Teammates, seen their cars in the driveway, the “Welcome Home Daddy” banners in the windows. They must’ve just returned from a training exercise or a deployment. Which meant they were due to make their appearance here any day.

When Grant walked through these doors, I’d be on that stage. And I would be able to dance for my man. In the shadows.