“I’m just saying,” Janeen says, shrugging as she slides an omelet out onto a plate. “It’s a red flag when a guy doesn’t want to meet her friends and family. I mean, who even is this Daniel guy, anyway?”

I stop dead on the stairs hearing these words, just three steps away from the kitchen. I stay still, hoping to hear what Janeen and dad really think.

“I’m just saying,” dad says, shrugging in his chair at the table. “I think you should trust Fay a little more. She’s a clever girl.” He turns and looks directly at me. “Aren’t you, kid?”

I scowl, embarrassed to be caught eavesdropping. I take the final steps down into the kitchen and give dad a kiss on the cheek, sitting down in the chair next to him. “I’m smart, but I’m not a kid anymore. Time to update the nickname.”

“Never,” he says, smiling at me. “You’re my kiddo forever.”

Janeen brings me a plate of eggs, patting me on the head. Even though we’re not related by blood, she treats me just as any condescending big sister would. I came to live with David and Janeen when David married my mom.

Even after mom died in her car accident only two years after the wedding, David never gave me any reason to think of him as anything besides my dad. I love him just as much as any blood relation. I have no memories of my biological dad and no idea where he is.

“So, what is it about this guy,” Janeen says, settling in her chair across from me. She’s always excited to talk about boys. “There must be something about him, especially because you’ve never called anyone your boyfriend before.”

I blush. She’s right but…well, they don’t know yet that my first relationship has already ended in disaster. I’ll make something up in a week or two.

“Well, he’s really sweet to me,” I say, picking up my fork and digging into my eggs. “He’s not like the other boys I met. They’re always so loud and annoying. Daniel is…different. A gentleman,” I say with a small smile.

And as gay as the day is long, I can’t help but adding internally. The smile falls from my face. But really, they don’t need to know that yet. I eat my eggs quickly, eager to get away from the conversation.

“He’s…gentle?” Janeen asks, raising an eyebrow, her voice skeptical. I look up at her, confused, and nod. She laughs. “Oh, poor Fay!”

I put my fork down and sit up straight. “What? What’s wrong with that?”

“What, he only touches you very delicately? Squires you around town?” Her voice is sarcastic here, saying it as if these are bad things. “Talks to you about books?”

“Yes?” I say, drawing my brows together, getting a little angry. “What’s wrong with that!?”

“Fay!” she says, leaning forward and laughing. “Come on, don’t you want a guy who gets your blood running a little bit? Not someone who gives you a little peck on the cheek, but who throws you down, makes you want to climb all over him like –“

“Oooookay,” dad says slowly, interrupting her and holding out his hands between us. There’s a smile on his face, though, good natured. “That’s a little more than a dad needs to hear.”

Janeen laughs at this, popping another bite of eggs into her mouth. “Okay, touché, dad, but still. Fay, baby,” she looks at me imploringly. “Are you sure this guy isn’t gay?”

My face floods red at this, a deep blush as I look down at my plate. How the hell did she know?!

“Oh my god,” she says, leaning forward, all eagerness. “Is he!?”

“No!” I protest, stabbing at my eggs with my fork. “He’s –“

But whatever I was going to say is drowned out by Janeen’s roar of laughter.

“Come on, Janeen,” dad says, sternly, after a few moments of this. “I’m sure this Daniel is a great guy.” He looks at me, then, a little pity in his eyes. “Like she says, he’s just a gentleman.”

“Okay, okay,” Janeen says, wiping away tears of mirth. “I just want more for our Fay baby! You deserve passion in your relationship, as well as respect and…book talk, or whatever you do.” She shrugs.

“I’m very happy,” I murmur, finishing my eggs as quick as I can.

“Come down to the club with me,” Janeen says, reaching out and taking my hand. I can tell that she’s trying to make amends. “I’m not working tonight, and we can go have some fun! We’ll get free drinks and you can meet the girls!”

I look up at her, hesitating. I love Janeen, but we live in totally different worlds. While I’ve spent my life at school and coffee shops, Janeen has been a night owl, working at various clubs as a stripper. Not cheap sleezy places, either, but really high-end ones where they respect her work as a kind of art. She’s very talented, and she makes a ton of money.

“Come onnnn” she whines. “We’ll get you more in touch with your body, get your blood flowing.” She dances in her chair, showing us some of her moves, ending with a sexy flick of her long purple hair.

I laugh. Janeen has such an effervescent personality, it’s hard not to want to go wherever she’s going. “I’ll think about it,” I say, finishing my plate. “I’ve got some work to do –“

“Work work,” she says, rolling her eyes and scooping up her plate and mine. “You work way too much. Have some fun, baby!”

I roll my eyes at her and pat dad on the shoulder as I head into the living room. He picks up his paper, eyes already on the sports section.

When Janeen first got started in her profession, I wondered if it bothered dad. But he just said that there’s no stopping Janeen from doing precisely what she wants, so why not go along with it? “Besides,” he had said. “As long as she respects herself, why should I care if she dances in a thong or a tutu? Let her be happy.”

I smile at the memory, grateful, again, for such a good dad.

In the living room, I open my laptop and open a search engine. My mind drifts to Janeen’s idea that I should get more in touch with my body and my instincts. My cheeks grow red and I find myself – bizarrely – typing Kent Lippert into the search bar.

I’m surprised by the results. The news channel that dad watches every night calls Lippert the Mafia King, always detailing his dirty deeds, but the sites I’m looking show him standing in front of a tech company in Silicon Valley, calling him the CEO.

Another site lists positive reviews of his many businesses, with employees suggesting that he’s a great boss. Still another…god, is that Brad Pitt he’s shaking hands with in that photo?

I gather my hair in my hands, passively starting to braid it as I look through these results, trying to match it with that ruthless man I met in the prison the other day –

“Whatcha looking at?” Janeen says, flopping onto the couch and grabbing the laptop out of my hands.

“Hey!” I say, snatching at it. “Janeen, give it back!”

“Oooohhhh,” she says, scrolling through the photos of Kent on the page. “Now this is a hottie who could light a little fire under me, for sure,” she says, nodding appreciatively. “Who is this guy?”

“Kent Lippert,” I say, hugging my knees to my chest. “I had to interview him at the prison the other day. He was…unnerving.”

Janeen flicks her eyes to me, considering. “Did he scare you?”

I shrug. “A little.”

She narrows her eyes a bit, snapping the laptop shut. “Okay, that’s it. You’re coming out with me tonight, baby Fay,” she says, coming across the couch to give me a big hug. “You’ve had a hard week with your gay boyfriend and scary Mafia King. You’ve got to have some fun!”

I laugh, letting her wrap me up. “Okay, okay! Geeze, I’ll come.”

Little did I know how much these separate aspects of my life would collide in just a few hours.

The music pounds in the club and, I have to admit, I’m really starting to have fun.

Janeen even dressed me tonight, which would usually make me uncomfortable, but I let her take charge. What she called a “dress” is more a sheet of silver fabric that falls across my front and then wraps low around my hips. It’s strapped together across my shoulders with a spiderweb of silver strings.

She also curled my long red hair into waves and gave me shadowy makeup and full red lips. Looking at myself in the club’s mirrored walls, I feel…well, I blush to admit it, but I feel really sexy.

Janeen sits down next to me then, laughing, waving goodbye to the man she had been talking with. She turns her attention to me, her eyes a little glazed.

“You having fun, baby Fay?” she asks, giving me a wide, inviting smile. I can’t help but smile back.

“Yes,” I say, laughing. But then Janeen stiffens next to me. There’s a man standing across the VIP area, his arms crossed, staring at her. As I look, he starts to walk over.

Janeen gets quickly to her feet, reaching out her arms to wrap this big fat potato of a man in a hug. I grimace a little – he looks like he hasn’t showered in a while.

“Dean!” she says, and I can tell her voice is falsely cheerful. “How you been, gorgeous?”

“Janeen,” he says, pushing her way from him. “We’ve got to talk.”

“Have you met my little sister, Fay?” she asks, gesturing towards me with a big smile. “Fay, this is Mike Dean, an old friend. He’s the manager of the club.”

Dean’s eyes rove over me, taking in the generous portion of my thigh exposed by this little dress. Uncomfortable, I try to tug it down lower with my fist.

“Um, hello,” I say, hesitant.

He takes Janeen by her elbow. “Come on,” he says. “We’re going to talk around back.”

“Okay,” Janeen murmurs, suddenly serious. She leans down to whisper to me. “It’s just work stuff, don’t worry.” I give her a little smile and nod.

With that, Janeen follows Dean into the back.

They’re gone for a long time.

Anxiously, I run my hand over the underwire of my bra, feeling the tiny switch blade that I’ve hidden there. The only possession my mother left to me in her will. I tucked it into my bra tonight, just in case. I don’t really know how to use it, but it calms me to know that it’s there.

Half an hour more and the door opens. Dean come out of it but my stomach drops. Where’s my sister?

Dean’s eyes catch on me as he starts to move further out into the club. I see him mouth the word “shit,” and then he walks over to me.

“Janeen’s sister, right?”

“Yes?”

“She got sick,” he says. “She’s just throwing up, but she’s a little green around the gills right now,” he says, gesturing towards his own neck.

I stand and turn towards the staff door, intending to go find my sister, but he stops me.

“No, listen,” he says, “she won’t want you to see her like this. Come with me, I’ll take you some place where you can wait more comfortably.” He pulls me forward.

I totter after him, confused and worried, as he pulls me quickly across the club to a black door, pushing it open.

The inside is barely lit – a dark room with mirrors on the ceiling and tiny pinpricks of light coming up from the floor. A wide velvet bench wraps itself around the room with little black cocktail tables lined up in front of it. I blink, trying to let my eyes adjust, as Dean settles me into a little table by the door.

“Wait here for a bit,” Dean says, looking beyond me. “I’ll have someone bring you a drink. Your sister will be fine soon.” Then, he walks away.

Someone does bring me a drink and I take a sip of it, but then, realizing that it might be laced with something, I push it away from me. As my eyes adjust, I look around the room and realize that I’m not alone in here.

Bodies, mostly in couples, writhe together on the black velvet seating. Some of them are dancing, but some…well, that girl is on her knees. My eyes go wide as I realize what she is doing.

I jump to my feet, blushing and heading for the door.

As soon as I reach it, though, Dean comes through it again. “Whoa whoa whoa!” he says, putting up hands to stop me. I shrink in front of him.

“Where you going, baby?” he says, rubbing a hand up and down my arm.

Instinctually, I jerk my arm away from him.

Dean keeps moving towards me, but for every step he takes, I take one backwards. Soon, I feel myself bump into a table behind me.

He presses up against me. There’s nowhere else to go.

“You’d better be a good girl for me,” Dean whispers, his hot breath on my face. “Or else your sister’s gonna pay. She owes me a lot of money. Tonight, you’re going to work some of it off.”

I’m scared to death, a little whimper escaping my mouth.

“Do you mind?” The voice drawls from behind Dean. “That’s my psychotherapist you’re harassing there.”

I feel Dean’s weight lift off me as he turns towards the voice. I peer behind him, recognizing it, shocked. It can’t be –

But there, behind him, stands the Mafia King, his hands cooly pressed in his pockets.

“We weren’t quiet finished with our sessions,” Lippert says. “So would you mind getting the fuck off her?”

“Okay, boss,” Dean says, putting up his hands. “I didn’t know.”

Lippert flicks his chin at him, telling him to get lost. Dean gives me a dirty look as he goes.

Lippert moves forward a step and takes my chin between his finger and thumb, turning my face back to him. “Hello, Fay Thompson,” he says, smirking. “Did you miss me?”

I stare at him, all thoughts freezing in my mind. Part of me – the sane part – knows I should scream and run. But I’m fixed in place, a mouse caught by a cobra.

“Well, doc,” he purrs. “We’re going to have to put on a little show, for Dean there. If I let you go now, he’ll probably cut your throat for the embarrassment you caused him.”

I glance over at the bar and see Dean drinking deeply of some brown liquor, staring at us.

My breath ratchets up as I start to panic, as Lippert takes another step closer to me. I’m trapped now – trapped between this king in front of me and the savage by the bar. I want to bolt but I know I can’t.

“Just a little show, Fay,” he says. “Shall we make it more convincing?”

He slides a hand underneath the gossamer strap that holds my dress up at the shoulder. Slowly, he wraps it around his finger, drawing the fabric taught against my skin. Then he yanks, snapping it.

The left corner of my dress front sags down, revealing my silver strapless bra underneath.

“You know, doc. ” he breathes, staring down at my chest. “I wanted to do this the first day we met.”

As I listen to him I know that it’s not just fear that’s racing through my veins anymore. Something in his face, the desire I see there, makes me want more of it. Makes me want him to want me more.

God – what is wrong with me?

At the sight of this dangerous man – this criminal – looking at me with hunger in his eyes - I feel a heat between my legs, feel myself grow wet.

I stand still, letting him stare at me, wanting him to –

My eyes fly wide as I realize the direction of my thoughts. Want him to what, to rape me, here in the strip club? Is this seriously how I want to lose my virginity?!

I gasp at the thought of it, again full of fear and panic. My hand flies to my chest, tucking under my bra, grabbing my mother’s switch blade.

I yank it down to my side, my hand trembling as I flick it open. Then, steeling myself, I scream as loud as I can and whip my hand up, aiming the blade directly for the side of Lippert’s neck.

Kent sees the blade just in time, whipping up his hand to intercept it.

The blade slips between his fingers and then drags down his palm, cutting his skin, but just the surface. Growling, Kent grabs Fay’s fist and twists, trapping the knife between their palms, wrenching her wrist back so that she feels the bones grind together.

Fay cries out, her body bending to follow her wrist, desperate to keep it from snapping. Kay holds her at his mercy as she gasps for pain and looks up at him with wide eyes. His anger turns to mercy in that moment and he huffs a laugh at the girl.

She’s just a frightened little thing.

“Clever girl, carrying a knife” Kent says. “To bad you don’t know how to use it. But we’re not going to do that again, are we, Fay?”

Fay nods, desperate, and Kent lets her go. Fay falls back against the table, gripping her wrist with her other hand, hissing with relief. She looks around on the floor for her knife, but it’s still in Kent’s hand. Quietly, he slips it into his pocket.

Kent takes a moment to study this delicate, beautiful girl. His second in command had wanted to come to this club tonight to check on some business, but Kent’s eyes had gone immediately to Fay as Dean dragged her across the floor to the black door of the Champagne Room.

Kent had known, instantly, that this meant trouble. He had moved on instinct, following her into this room, saving her from that low life.

But now he was in a bind. Dean was a punk, but he wasn’t unconnected. He ran the best strip club in the city and he used his gang connections to exploit his dancers and take their cash. Kent couldn’t take one of his girls away without making waves with Dean’s boss.

If the other bosses knew how quickly Kent had acted to save her, they would see Fay as a weakness, something they could threaten to get what they wanted.

Kent ground his teeth, knowing that there was only one option now. If he didn’t protect her now, she’d be dragged right to the bottom of the underworld, fast.

Kent snaps his head to his second and nods to the girl in front of him. Then, he turns on his heel and walks out of the room.

Behind him, Kent can hear Fay’s protest as his second heaves her over his shoulder in a fireman carry and then quickly follows Kent.

“What? Hey!” she exclaims, and then “Please!”

Kent turns to glare at his second, who gives Fay a rough shake. She shuts her mouth, then, though Kent hears a whimper escape her lips. He steels himself against the sound.

It’s a work of minutes to get out of the club. Nobody says a word to stop the Mafia King from carrying a girl out the front door.

Kent’s black Escalade is waiting out front, his second’s behind it. For safety, Kent never has less than two cars in his entourage.

Fay’s little cry of fear is cut off as the second places her, not very gently, on in the front seat of the first car and then slams the door. Kent goes around to the driver’s side of the Escalade as the second moves to the other car.

Kent’s mind is whirring as he opens the driver’s door and climbs in, making plans for what to do with this unexpected new burden. He peels out onto the road, not looking at her.

A few streets later, he’s surprised by the sound of her voice.

“Where…” she says, her voice breathy.

Kent’s gaze snaps to her, taking in her wide, beautiful eyes, the movement of her throat as she gulps in fear. He sees her jump, almost, at the force of his glare. But then she steels herself.

“Where are you taking me?” she demands.

Kent returns his eyes to the road.

“Please let me go,” she says. “They’ve got my sister back there – I don’t know what they’ll do to her!”

Kent makes a note of it in his mind.

She tries again. “Please let me go,” she whispers, “I didn’t mean any harm at the prison – or here – I don’t know what I did –“

“You didn’t do anything,” he says, turning onto a side street.

Her voice is frantic when she tries again. “Are you…are you taking me to a brothel?”

Kent turns to stare at her, his brow furrowed with disgust and confusion. She’s shaking like a leaf in his front seat. “Why would I take you to a brothel, Fay?”

“To make me…work there. Pay off my debt. My sister’s debt.”

Kent shakes his head again, laughing a dark little laugh. He just saved this girl from Dean, and here she is accusing him of doing precisely what Dean was going to do. Shaking his head, Kent concentrates on the traffic.

Truly, this girl was too delicate for his world.

Kent sees Fay moving in the seat next to him, dipping to the floor to grab something, but assumes she dropped a piece of her jewelry.

It’s quiet for a moment until – click click – he hears the whirring of a mechanism next to him. What was that – a lighter?

Frowning, he turns and is shocked to see Fay with a lit lighter, bringing it so close to her perfect face that he can smell the delicate peach fuzz of her cheek burning –

“Stop the car,” she demands, her voice shaking, flinching at the pain of the lighter against her skin -

“Fay!” He roars.

“Stop the car!” she yells. “Or I swear to god, I’ll burn myself!”

“Fay, you idiot” Kent barks, slamming on the breaks. The car skids to a violent stop and Fay flies forward, slamming her ribs into the dashboard, slipping down to the floor.

Kent works to control the car’s skid, ensuring they don’t hit any other cars, that they’re not rammed from behind, and then throws the car in park, spinning towards the girl.

She’s moaning in pain, her eyes shut, pressing one hand to her ribs. Kent grinds his teeth, frustrated, glancing over her to determine if anything is truly damaged –

No, she’s okay, any injuries superficial -

“Fay, what the hell was that,” he grinds out as he reaches into the back of the car for a metal box he keeps there for moments like this, with uncooperative captives.

She speaks with her eyes closed, still pressing her hand to her ribs. “If you’re going to make me a prostitute,” she whimpers, “then I don’t want to have this face – maybe you’ll let me work off my debt some other way if I’m disfigured –“

Rolling his eyes, Kent works quickly, pulling a rag out of the box and soaking it in the clear liquid. Then he reaches a hand behind Fay’s neck to hold her head steady.

Her eyes fly open as he presses the rag firmly against her nose and mouth. She struggles away from it, but he holds her steady with a practiced hand.

When she goes limp, Kent gently lets her body settle against the seat. Kent turns back to the road and puts the car back in drive, his cut palm smarting at his angry grip on the wheel.

God damnit, this girl was already more trouble than she was worth.

As he drives, Kent feels something in his pocket. Remembering the tiny switchblade, he pulls it out, studying it between glances at the road. So tiny, delicate – so very much like Fay.

She’s got an edge to her, too, he thinks, even if she doesn’t know it herself. He never would have thought that a girl like Fay would have a switchblade hidden in her bra. A mistake that almost cost him a scar on his face, he thinks, a smirk pulling at his lips.

He glances at Fay, again, resting on the floor of his car. What a strange little woman – full of contradictions, full of life.

Despite himself, he is drawn to her.

Frowning at the thought, Kent flicks open the switchblade, studying it.

At a red light, he looks closer, noticing writing along the razor’s edge. He brings it close to his eye.

To my sharp-tongued Victoria, whose words cut as deep as this razor. Love always, Lorenzo.

Shocked, Kent stares at the blade in his hand, and then deftly returns it to his pocket. He drags a hand down his face.

Victoria. Lorenzo. Fay.

Suddenly, he knows exactly who this girl is.