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“Alright, alright. I’m sorry for doubting your skills,oh great one.”

She lets out an exasperated breath. “I have more than justblueprints.”

Olivia smiles wickedly and then turns to blow a kiss to Jason. I roll my eyes in response.

23

Justice

Idon’t want to be here. Well, I never want to be here, but tonight, a burning ripple bubbles in my stomach and an invisible weight sits on my windpipe. Like a bad feeling, a warning or premonition of sorts. My body is trying to tell me something, but there’s a connection failure. As per usual.

Typical me. I never listen to my gut.

My shoulders roll with a need to ease the tension, but it’s no use. Instead of figuring out a way to relax, I adjust the chain dangling over my ribs. I have on a cute pleather brasier with six rings dangling down the center, and six chains connecting the rings to both sides under my armpits. My black lace undies are covered by a ruffled skirt that looks like a tutu. I flip my hair so that the confetti from earlier falls to the floor, and adjust my black and silver fox mask.

I hate birthday celebrations atNym-Pho.

Greedy motherfuckers with slippery hands–there aren’t nearly enough bills being thrown at us for the extensive and prolonged ass shaking we do.

This is my second outfit for the night, and now I’m off to a private dance reserved by someone unknown to me. I want to go home.

And not the trailer. Nope. The shit box hasn’t felt like home for a while now. Maybe it was when Noah fucked me over, or perhaps when his posse beat my ass in my own home. Or when Dylan moved in next door.

I’m not sure. When the fuck did my life take a sharp left at FML Lane?

I close my eyes before leaving the breakroom and the ranch appears before my closed lids. It’s the first time I feel this overwhelming need to jump into my old truck and race to the lot my parents left us. To one of Helena’s home-cooked meals and the warm duvet covers of my bed. I want to crawl underneath their secure embrace and turn my back on the life I created for myself here.

An annoyed voice clears their throat behind me. “Can you move?”

Shit. “Yea, sorry.” I open the door, shake the sadness away, and head out to the dark and cool hallway that leads to the main floor.

The veiled goddess that stood behind me struts ahead and flips her hair. I swallow, hoping that the act soothes a dry tickle threatening to cower my body back into thesafeconfines of the staff room.

The flashing lights dance across my face and hit my eyes, stinging them. The music tonight is a seductive and promiscuous staccato of hip-hop and the crowd is eating it up. The club is packed tonight. The birthday of some hot and filthy rich broker brought in a crowd of hooting men ready to smack asses and toss singles on the floor like raindrops.

I was supposed to be headed to a cage above the stage, but some mystery man reserved the last hours of my shift for himself in a private room. I fucking hate private dances.

I wonder what Dylan would say.

He’s a no-show tonight. I hadn’t heard from him since he last texted me while I was with Jas in his kitchen. Something about our fuck sessions made me think he’d reach out by now and I don’t know why. He’s got tabs on me, and there’s no need to message me to find out where I’m at. He can figure that out himself. I don’t feel foolish so much as somewhat empty.

I’m comfortable with ‘fuck and forget’, but not with Dylan. I can’t forget him and I don’t want to. Especially not after I confided in him.

He says I’m his, and he is mine. Whatever the fuck that means.

I was intoxicated by his entire persona and the words that left his sexy lips were like a siren song pulling me to the deep. This has never happened to me. It feels like I’m both drunk and high and roaming about, starving for a man covered in tattoos, with calloused hands tainted by unknown sins. Searching for him blindly, desperate to be consumed and ruined by him in whatever fucking way he wants.

I need him.

“Hey. Shake it off, Justice.”

Jasmin collides with me at the circle where all the halls connect.How long have I been standing here?

“The client is waiting. Here.”

She hands me a matte black card with a shiny, embossed black wolf on the surface. I nod and tuck the card in my bralette, then saunter toward the right corridor.

Spine straight, shoulders back, tummy tucked, tits perky, ass-bone up. I go over the mental checklist detailing what I have to present myself as and swallow back my sudden cowardiceand sulking thoughts. Once I reach the door with the same card now stored in my bosom, hanging on the magnet just above eye level, I turn the copper doorknob.

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