Page 5 of Vicious

I head to the back room, hoping to grab five minutes to myself to freshen up, at least. I see some of the other girls adjusting their make-up and costumes, all of them hurrying to keep the show going. Ntimacy has regular stage shows, while individual girls walk around to give lap dances… or more, depending.

Touching is definitely not discouraged here.

“May, there’s a customer at table five,” Elena, the assistant manager, says. “He said he wanted an Asian woman.”

I groan but nod.

Despite being a woman, Elena isn’t any more sympathetic toward us than Donny, the manager. She has burn marks covering half her face, which she sometimes covers with a veil.

Did the scars make her hate everybody else? Is that why she’s so willing to treat other women like chattel?

I start to head toward table five, wincing each time my too-loose high heels touch and pull away from the sticky floor with a disgusting sound that seems to penetrate even through the loud music. The heels are bad enough, but none of them seem to fit me. Too tight, too loose, it doesn’t matter; Giulio Pavone isn’t buying costly shoes tailored to each of the women here.

Especially since they come and go with alarming regularity.

I fight back the urge to shudder as I near the table, but the smile I pasted onto my lips vanishes when I see just who’s sitting there.

It’s Chase Vicious.

By all rights, Chase is a handsome man. He has monolid eyes from his Chinese mother, with a defined jawline from his British father. His dark hair is a bit longer, pulled back into a half ponytail, and he has a well-trimmed beard and mustache.

He’s rich, too. Chase Vicious is one of the top corporate lawyers in New Bristol, working for the kind of firm that is more than happy to screw over the little guys if it means their billion-dollar corporate clients can save a few cents. But even if he didn’t collect a small fortune in legal fees, he’s still from one of the richest families in Beijing.

Above all else, Chase Vicious is a fucking creep.

Chase meets my gaze, and his eyes widen. “May. What a surprise.”

My heart pounds hard in my chest, and I stare at him for a long moment. For all that he’s pretending to be surprised, I’ve seen enough of him in his stalkery attempts to pester me into dating him to know he’s not.

He expected to see me here.

He just might not have expected to see me in next to nothing.

The pathetic excuse for a blouse hangs open, the skimpy bikini top barely covering my nipples, and the g-string leaves little to the imagination. I’ve never had cause to be particularly self-conscious about my body before, but now my cheeks burn because this is the last man on earth I would ever want to see me like this.

Chase’s eyes rake over me, and I squirm. “Not what I would have chosen for you, but not bad.” He settles back into his chair and holds up a few bills. “What kind of dances do you do?”

I stare at him, dumbfounded. “Chase? What are you doing here?” Just as he’s the last man I want to see, he’s the last man I’d have expected in a hellhole like this one.

“Getting a lap dance, I hope.” He laughs and places the bills on the table next to him. “This is your new job? Does it pay better than the catering gig did?”

“You knew I was here,” I state, though my voice trembles. “How?”

But one glance behind me tells me that Elena is watching, and I curse under my breath. I can’t risk getting into trouble, especially not over the man who could probably buy Ntimacy ten times over and still have enough left over to buy several small villages.

I move so that I’m in front of him, and I realize I’m trembling in a way I haven’t since the very first lap dance I gave to one of Giulio’s men the first night.

“I heard your father got into a bit of trouble,” Chase says, his hands flat on his thighs. “Very nasty business. He’s on medical leave right now. The gossip mill is churning.”

My head snaps up, and I meet his eyes. I can’t hide the desperation there even as I step forward. I can’t make this happen too quickly. I can’t touch him immediately. I can’t.

I run my hands lightly along his shoulder—teasingly, tantalizing… and stalling. They’re so warm, muscular in a lithe, slender way. “How is he?” I ask, needing to know that he’s all right, that this fucking sacrifice is worth it.

Ha. Sacrifice.

Like I’d really had a choice to volunteer myself as tribute.

Chase regards me carefully. “I haven’t seen him myself, of course. But he’s alive. There’s talk of him taking an early retirement, though. Something about him clearly not being fit for his job.”

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