Page 1 of Forgotten Deeds

Chapter One

Darius

Shifting closer to the door, my left trainer is now stuck in God only knows what kind of bodily fluid. I yank my shoe free, positioning myself in the darkest corner of the alley.

The back door to Glitter strip club opens, and out struts a red-head with huge fake tits to match her collagen-filled lips. “Amethyst,” I call, stepping out from the shadows.

She jumps like a scared cat, dramatically placing a hand over her heart. “Sorry, you got the wrong woman.”

I’m on her in a flash, dragging her to the back of the alley with my gloved hand over her mouth. A shame, as I’m curious to know what those lips feel like. If I cut them off her face, would they ooze poison like a pufferfish? Shaking that thought away, I focus and say, “Mr. Parisi warned you to keep your fucking mouth shut,” I menace. “Now I hear you’ve been running your flap about his girl, Nicky Thomas.”

She struggles against me, but freezes with fear when she spots the calling card on my forearm. Ah, so my reputation as the Parisi family enforcer precedes me. How nice.

I inhale deeply, savoring the smell of this woman’s abject terror. Fear really does have a smell—pheromones secreted to send out a non-verbal SOS—and for me, there’s nothing sweeter. “This is your last chance,” I warn. “Next time Diávolos comes calling, he’ll make sure to collect. Keep your fucking mouth shut. Understood?”

Amethyst bobs her head, and while my fingers are itching to unsheathe my knife and find out about those lips, I reluctantly let her go. The woman sprints away from me; turns out she does have half a brain cell.

I start to walk away when I hear it—a tiny whoosh of air. Spinning around, I hustle to the end of the alley to find a petite woman with a halo of blonde hair crouched behind the dumpster.

Offering her my hand, she just looks at it. “Don’t be afraid.” Jesus, did I really just say that?

She hesitantly takes my hand, and it feels like she’s scanning my soul for every bad deed I’ve ever committed. I hope she’s got all day, because it’s a long fucking list. Not that I would complain; it wouldn’t be a hardship to look at this beautiful thing for hours on end. Likely in her early twenties, she’s tiny compared to me—I’d guess five feet four inches—with long, light blonde hair curled into loose waves; pouty lips; and hauntingly pale blue eyes. I can’t make out much about her figure with the baggy sweater and pants she’s wearing, but that only piques my curiosity.

Her body trembles under my scrutiny as she stands, and suddenly, I don’t like the smell of fear—at least not coming from this sweet little angel. She looks down at our hands still connected, her eyes traveling up my forearm, stopping at my tattoo. Dropping my hand like she’s been burned, she takes off in a dead sprint.

I easily catch up to her, my arms banded around her petite frame before she can make it out of the alley. “You going to keep your mouth shut about what you heard, aggeloudhi mou?” Leaning in, I inhale deeply—fear, mixed with lemons and something else I can’t quite place. A clean smell; it’s nice. She struggles against me, and my dick turns to stone. Interesting.

“I didn’t hear anything,” she whispers with a shaky voice.

“Good girl.” I reluctantly release her from my arms, and she scurries to the door, punching in a code before disappearing inside the club.

Silly little angel, thinking she can run from the devil.

* * *

Lily

Entering the dressing room of the club, I try not to hyperventilate. I just came face-to-face with the devil. Hades, more accurately, since he was Greek.

I don’t know what kind of shit Amethyst has gotten herself into, but now the bitch has dragged me into it—with a man who looks like a Greek god, and whose menacing voice sounds like the epitome of death and destruction.

Good girl. Replaying those two little words in his gravely tone has my pussy clenching.

Ugh, what is wrong with me? Pretty sure that man wouldn’t give a second thought before snapping my neck like a twig. Besides, haven’t I learned my lesson about bad boys? “Bad” is in the description for a reason.

I shake those thoughts from my head, changing into my stage clothes—what little they are. Slipping on the see-through fishnet dress over my bra and thong, I fasten my pleasers. Moving in front of the mirror, I touch up my makeup, adding one final coat of pink lipstick while marveling how my life has taken this turn. I never would have envisioned myself as an exotic dancer; I’m pretty reserved in real life. Then again, I never would have envisioned myself being threatened by the god of the underworld in the back alley of a strip club.

After some quick stretching, it’s time to hit the floor. Giving myself a once-over in the mirror, I mentally slip on my dancer persona. Bubbly. Flirty. Confident. I repeat my mantra as I step into the hall, passing the club owner’s office.

“Hey, beautiful,” Leo calls, only because I’m sure he doesn’t remember my stage name. I’ve only been dancing here for about a week. My old club—Joe’s Cabaret—shut down out of the blue, leaving us dancers scrambling to find something else. A few of the girls came to this club with me—Amethyst included—but I don’t know what happened to my friend Candy. Maybe she got out of the biz. Smart woman.

“Hey, Leo. I’m going to hit the floor,” I tell him in a no-nonsense tone.

“Sure, sure. But know my door’s always open if you ever have trouble covering your house fee. We could work something out,” he tells me with a slimy smile.

“No thanks, I’m good,” I say, walking briskly on. Oh, I know all about that open-door policy, being that I walked in on Amethyst blowing Leo my very first day at this club.

Stepping onto the floor with strobe lights flashing and music pumping, I try to get into the right headspace. The hustler headspace. I hate having to start from scratch at a new club—I’ve lost my regulars, and that’s where a big chunk of my money came from.

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