Page 8 of Intense
Again.
“Fine. My thirty seconds are up. Please move.”
I say it as sweetly as I can muster.
He steps aside. Barely.
“Have a lovely evening, Stephanie. I’ll see you bright and early.”
“Yeah… bye.”
I race to my car and whip out my phone. My second life is calling.
Ever since my last club burned to the fucking ground, I’ve had to move to a new one. The manager there, Paulie, is a dick, but he’s strict, and that works for me. One night a week. Just enough to do what I need.
It’s how I scope out my next victims.
Because the men who preyed on girls when I was eighteen? They still haunt these places.
And now, I haunt them back.
It’s my favorite game.
It’s also the only time I get to stop being Dr. Miller.
When I’m on that stage, I’m Angel.
Bright red hair. Brown contacts. Heels like weapons. There, I have power, and my rage is disguised in rhythm.
And every dollar they throw? I send straight to the women’s shelter downtown.
Heaven and hell. I like to strike the balance.
I rid the world of monsters. And help the girls clawing their way out of the dark.
My Mercedes hums beneath me as I fly through the streets.
Paulie’s name flashes on the dash.
“Fuck.”
I press the answer button on my dash.
“Angel, where the fuck are you?” he barks.
“I’m on my way. Got caught up at work.”
He sighs hard, like I’m the bane of his existence.
“You wanna keep this gig? Stop being late. I’m already doing you a favor letting you work one night a week. This isn’t a fucking part-time hobby. Women would kill for this slot.”
“I know. I’m trying. Okay?”
I try to keep him sweet. The same as I did with my last boss, Ben. It seems to be the trick of being a woman in this society: pretend to be nice to men. And it’s a damn sight harder than it should be.
But there’s only one other place I’ve heard about I could move to.
Inferno.
