Page 108 of Deceitful Vows

My stomach gurgles when my vision clears enough to see the first row of chairs. The number of people filling the seats is thin. Barely a backside fills a chair, and the ear-piercing whistle of my shocked sigh loses me the last of the stragglers as well.

“Keep going,” Mars encourages when I peer back at her, seeking assistance.

After rolling my shoulders back and sticking out my ample chest, I strut to the side of the stage still in view of half a dozen patrons.

I barely jiggle my bra-covered breasts before the paltry number of guests remaining slim further. They practically sprint for the exit, racing through the doors like recently pronged cattle burst out the gate.

Within minutes, the club is empty.

Not even the male bartenders remain.

Yet my confidence climbs out of the trenches instead of seeking a safe place to hide. The stage is littered with bills, and I have someone so desperate for a private show they’ve scared off the other admirers.

This may be my biggest payday to date.

I shoot my eyes to the side when a deep, booming clap breaks the quiet. The stage lights hide the man’s face from view, but even with his features hidden, my intuition switches my excitement to unease.

Something feels wrong.

Very wrong.

This isn’t how my first performance is meant to go.

Artic-blue eyes break past the shadows first.

Then a malicious smirk.

Although they’re the same features that find their way into my dreams every night, the lines bordering them keep my heart rate at a leisurely jog instead of a sprint.

It isn’t Andrik as my heart is endeavoring to convince my head.

It is his father.

“Brilliant. Wonderful. Keep going.”

Ellis moves to the front of the stage before he spins around a chair and straddles it backward. He’s so close to the action hotspot that every breath he releases batters my scarcely covered vagina.

When I remain frozen, he assumes my lack of motivation is because he hasn’t paid for the honor. With a smirk that is as condescending as it is sickening, he pulls a thick wad of bills out of his wallet before tossing five at my feet.

He tilts his head to hide his smirk when I step back from them like they’re covered with the blood of his firstborn son.

“Not enough?”

He doesn’t wait for me to answer. He removes another three bills from the stack before holding them out in front of himself. Their denominations are larger than their predecessors, but not close to the amount he’d have to pay to convince me to finish my performance.

He could offer me millions and I still wouldn’t take his money.

I have class—it’s just hard to demand respect when half your ass is hanging out.

An annoyed huff commences his barter. “Come on, Zoya. I know I’m not the man you were hoping to see tonight, but any money is better than none, right? And you won’t get a single penny from him after the stunt you pulled last week.”

It takes everything I have to walk away, but he continues to push like I’m not seconds from ramming my fist into his face.

“Two thousand, and you can keep your panties on.”

I continue walking.

“Five thousand.”

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