I sent Beefcake Jones a smug smile and watched him mutter with his massive shoulders slumped as he left the room. When the door closed a second time, I became painfully aware that I was alone with a man I didn’t know.

“So, you want to dance for Caesar?”

Confused, I looked around before answering. “You’re not Caesar?”

“I am.”

Apparently, his ego was as flamboyant as this club and his gold-tipped shoes. I tried to think of what to say or do next, but instead, I fidgeted and tried to recall Brandi’s version of a pep talk before I abandoned what was left of my virtue behind along with my son.

“I know I said I liked that you didn’t talk much, but this is an interview. If you have nothing to say, then let’s get down to business. Lose the coat.” My hands flew up to the belt. “No, girl. Do it slowly.”

He extended his hand to the left and pressed a button I didn’t see. A rhythmic beat I didn’t recognize filled the room. I stood frozen trying to recall the moves Brandi showed me hours before. The singer took over now. The beat just background noise now. I instantly recognized the sexy, harmonious croon of Beyoncé singing about rolling up a partition.

“Any day now.”

I jumped into action and lifted my foot to take an exaggerated step forward.

But something went wrong.

Horribly wrong.

The heel beneath me wiggled causing me to collapse and tumble forward.

Shit.Chapter ElevenShe’s no damsel.

ANGEL“Run that byme again?”

“She went into Caesar’s wearing a black trench coat and red heels, Boss.”

“How long?”

“Ten minutes.”

“Report to me thesecondshe leaves.” My keys bit the inside of my palm as I tore through my father’s house for the garage with Lucas and Z on my heels. We had been going over our plans for Mian when Lucas got the call. He listened as the caller spoke while I sat frozen. Instinct, perhaps, had warned me that Mian was the cause of the call. When he wordlessly handed me the phone, my suspicions were confirmed.

I knew Caesar’s. Lucas, Z, and I used to sneak in when we were kids to get an eye full. A blue-eyed, buxom beauty named Candy introduced me to the pleasure of blowjobs. My classmates who I had fucked on a regular basis were always too prude or scared to take the step.

“What’s the plan again?” Z questioned rhetorically. I could hear the amusement in his tone after Lucas finished explaining what had sent me into a rage.

What was the plan?

I wasn’t ready to take her yet.

She hadn’t made her move.

Caesar was a businessman, and a greedy one, but he wasn’t interested in anything that didn’t have to do with tits and ass. Not to mention his strip club was a front for something much more lucrative.

Selling pussy.

Any girl that worked for him sold their pussy whether they wanted to or not. It was a condition for a job at the Palace.

Mian risking her life to rob me started to make sense. She was never the type to use her body for gain. With my family’s secrets to sell, she would be free of Caesar.

How far down exactly had Mian spiraled?

I considered for the first time that I no longer knew anything about the girl I practically raised.

“He’s got a point,” Lucas said, siding with Z. I came to a stop at the entrance of the garage and faced them. “We still don’t know who her buyer is, and I’m not convinced it’s her pimp.”

My rage was clouding my judgment, so much so that I wanted to smash Lucas’s face in. And for what? To defend her honor? It was clear she had none from the moment she welcomed the first John between her legs.

“Besides…” Z smirked when I glared. “She’s your target, not your damsel.”Chapter TwelvePick on someone your own size.

MIAN

Eight Years AgoMy scraped handsrested loosely against my sides as I limped home.

No.

Not home.

It was just the place my father dumped me so he could rob and chase riches around the world with Uncle Art. Some days, I questioned why I still loved him despite his need to keep distance between us. I had been reduced from being his favorite person to spend time with to an obligation he checked in on whenever he remembered I hadn’t died with Mom.

I dug out my keyring when I reached the brownstone. The rough material of my shorts rubbed against my sore hands, and I hissed from the sting. My knees were just as bad and so was my busted lip from hitting the ground when I fell.

I turned the key in the lock and pushed to open the door, but it didn’t give. I twisted the knob again but the door refused to budge, and I realized the top lock must have been turned. Disgust made me forget my scraped hands and knees.