Page 42 of Murder & Mayhem

“He only comes in the nights you’re working, you know,” Chrissy says, sidling up to me at the bar while I drop off a tray of empty drinks.

“Who?” I question, playing dumb.

“What do you mean who? Him.” She gestures toward the table where Dante is stoically sitting, on his phone and not paying any attention to the dancers on stage. “You know he’s the Don’s son?” She leans in closer to whisper in my ear. “Apparently, he’s a psychopath.”

My brows scrunch together, and I finally look at her. “What do you mean by that?”

“He can’t feel emotions or some shit.”

I scoff. “I’m sure that’s not true. Probably a scare tactic to keep people in line.”

She makes a bubble with the gum she’s chewing on. It pops, and she begins chewing again. “Nah, I don’t think so. Some of the stories I’ve heard. You’d have to be really messed up in the head to do some of that shit.”

Frowning, I take my restocked tray and distribute the drinks around the room. The entire time, Chrissy’s words play on repeat. Not the psychopath stuff. Honestly, despite my protests, I think that might be true. I can sense it when I look into his eyes. The emptiness. But it’s the fact that he only shows up when I’m working. I obviously knew he was here most nights that I’m working, but I wasn’t sure if he also made an appearance on the nights I was off. Seemingly, not. It’s too much of a coincidence, meaning he’s here for me. But why? What is his obsession with me? Is it because he still doesn’t believe I’m telling the truth about the night Chad was killed—fuckingChad—or is it something more?

Standing at the far side of the room, I’m shrouded in shadow as I take the time to watch him, trying to figure him out. He’s still on his phone, ignoring everyone and everything around him, including his still untouched glass of whiskey in front of him.

As the closing beats of the current song come over the speakers, I return my tray to the bar and head up on stage. The opening bars ofToxicby Britney Spears play out, and I move to the fast-paced beat. Spinning around the pole, I hold on tight while I arch my back and tip my head back, looking upside down out over the audience. My gaze collides with Dante’s. His phone is out of sight for the first time since I started my shift, and now I have his full attention. I have to look away as I shift into my next move, but every time I glance his way, he’s staring just as intently.

Several songs later, I climb down from the stage, going back to circulate the floor. The room is busier than it was earlier, and I’m rushed off my feet for the rest of my shift, unable to do anything more than tossing the odd glance Dante’s way. Not that he’s been doing much. If he’s not watching me, he’s on his phone.

At the end of my shift, I’m heading to the bar to drop off my tray before getting out of here, when a tall, non-descript man blocks my way. “You’re a pretty little thing.” I give him a tight smile even while his gaze dips, and he takes his time drooling over me. “You’d do quite nicely for tonight.”

“Sorry, sir. I’m just a dancer, but I’m sure one of the other girls would be happy to help.”

Irritation flashes across his face. “I said I wanted you.”

“And I said I’m just a dancer.”

His hand whips out, his fingers digging into my upper arm. I immediately tense and begin pulling against his tight grip. “Do you have any idea who I am?” His voice is a low, angry snarl, and I find myself staring into his menacing face, but I have no fucking clue who he is.

“No.” My snarky tone is easy to hear, riling him up further. His nostrils flare, and he tugs on my arm, causing me to fall against him. My heart rate picks up as I wrack my brain for a way out of this. I can’t make a scene and risk losing this job, but equally, there’s no fucking way I’m about to let this guy drag me off somewhere.

Before I’ve figured out what to do, a large palm claps down on his shoulder, and in a glacial tone, I hear. “Let her go, Sam.”

Sam whips his gaze over his shoulder. “Dante,” he chuckles nervously. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here. Don’t worry, man. It’s all an act. She’s into the whole rape-fantasy thing.”

While I might be open to trying such a thing with the right partner, that person sure as fuck is not this asshole in front of me. With him distracted, I try once again to yank my arm out of his hand, breathing a sigh of relief when it works.

He glowers at me, but Dante speaks up again. “I don’t care. She’s off-limits.”

“What?” the idiot scoffs. “She’s a club whore.”

“I’m a fucking dancer,” I snap. My lip curls up in a sneer, Dante’s presence bolstering me to speak my mind. “Even if you did pay me, I still wouldn’t sleep with you.”

“Why you little—” Sam lunges at me, but Dante grabs the collar of his shirt and yanks him back. Without another word, he starts pulling him across the room, drawing the attention of some of the patrons and staff. After a second's hesitation, I scurry after them, dropping my tray at the bar as I pass.

Exiting the room, I spot Dante shoving Sam behind drapes that cover the wall of a hallway leading to the next themed room of the club. They disappear as I rush over and pull aside the drapes, discovering a hidden emergency exit door. I catch it before it slams shut, and slip out into the cold evening air. I’m still dressed in just a thong and bra, and it’s fucking freezing at this time of night. Still, the thought takes a back seat as the door clicks shut, taking the only light and plunging me into pitch blackness. There isn’t a single outdoor light, and I look around blindly, trying to work out where Dante and that guy went.

A pained grunt comes from my right, and I slowly pick my way along the back of the building in the direction it came from.

“I’ve already told you she’s off-limits. Youreallydon’t want me to repeat myself.” Dante’s low snarl serves as my guiding light as I get closer until I can just about make out the silhouette of two figures.

“N-no. I-I got it. I won’t touch her.”

“And no one else will either.”

“N-no. I-I’ll make s-sure of it.”

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