Alaina stared at her reflection in the dirty mirror of the underground club's locker room.

She barely recognized herself. Heavy, dark smoky eyeshadow covered her eyelids, masking the redness from her crying.

She pulled the tight, black lace bodysuit up over her hips. The fabric was so restrictive she could barely take a full breath.

Last night, she had pawned her last diamond watch to pay the ICU deposit. It wasn't enough. She needed cash tonight, or they would pull her father's life support.

Roxy, the floor manager, walked into the locker room. She threw a cheap plastic nametag onto the makeup counter.

"Put it on," Roxy ordered.

Alaina looked at the tag. It read: Lexi.

"The guys out there are Wall Street animals," Roxy warned, crossing her arms. "They tip big, but they have sick requests. Do not cause a scene."

Alaina nodded numbly. She pinned the tag to the deep neckline of the lace bodysuit.

She strapped on a pair of seven-inch platform heels. Her raw, blistered ankles screamed in pain, but she forced herself to stand up straight.

She followed Roxy out of the locker room.

The heavy bass of the electronic music hit her chest like a physical punch. The air was thick with the smell of cheap perfume, sweat, and expensive cigars.

Alaina was handed a heavy silver tray loaded with glasses. She walked out into the main floor.

Within ten minutes, a drunk trader in a wrinkled suit reached out and tried to grab the lace edge of her bodysuit.

Alaina twisted her hips, dodging his sweaty hand.

The trader's face turned red. He grabbed a full martini glass and threw it straight at her chest.

The freezing alcohol soaked into the lace, chilling her skin. "Stupid bitch!" he slurred.

Alaina locked her jaw. She did not say a word. She grabbed a bar towel and wiped the sticky liquid off her chest.

Roxy watched from the bar. She walked over and shoved a crumpled hundred-dollar bill into Alaina's hand. "Good girl. You kept your mouth shut."

Alaina gripped the bill so tightly it almost tore. She needed more.

At midnight, the club manager sprinted into the back hallway. He was sweating profusely.

"The Viper Room just arrived!" he yelled. "Where is Chloe? They want the best girl!"

"Chloe passed out in the bathroom from bad powder," Roxy yelled back.

The manager's panicked eyes scanned the hallway. His gaze locked onto Alaina.

"You," he pointed a fat finger at her. "Get on the cart. The tip in the Viper Room is ten thousand minimum."

Ten thousand dollars.

Alaina's heart slammed against her ribs. That was enough to keep her father alive for another week.

"I will do it," Alaina said instantly.

Roxy loaded three bottles of Louis XIII onto a heavy brass cart. The bottles clinked together, sounding like alarm bells.

Alaina gripped the handle of the cart. She pushed it down the dark, narrow hallway toward the heavy black doors at the very end.

Two massive bodyguards stood outside. One of them patted her down roughly, checking her waist and thighs for recording devices.

He nodded and pushed the heavy doors open.

A dim, blood-red light spilled out into the hallway.

Alaina pushed the heavy cart inside. The thick smell of Cuban cigars immediately burned her throat, making her cough quietly.

The room was completely soundproofed. The deafening music from outside was gone. The only sound was the clinking of ice cubes in crystal glasses.

"Well, look at this," a sleazy, familiar voice echoed from the leather sofas. "A new toy for the night."

Alaina's blood ran cold. Her spine stiffened into a rigid line.

She knew that voice.

She slowly lifted her head. She squinted through the red haze, looking toward the center of the room.

When her eyes finally focused on the faces in the shadows, her hands jerked.

The heavy brass cart slammed violently into the edge of the glass table. The three bottles of Louis XIII wobbled dangerously.

The loud crash of the cart hitting the table shattered the quiet atmosphere of the Viper Room.

The men on the leather sofas stopped talking.

The man who had spoken stood up. He walked over to the cart, his face twisted in annoyance.

Under the red spotlight, Alaina saw his face clearly. It was Tucker. He used to be a low-level lackey who followed her brother around, begging for scraps from the Gay family.

Tucker leaned in close. He squinted at Alaina's heavy makeup.

Suddenly, his eyes widened. He threw his head back and let out a loud, obnoxious bark of laughter.

"Hicks!" Tucker yelled over his shoulder. "You are not going to believe this! Come look at the mighty princess of the Gay family!"

Another man stepped out of the shadows. Hicks. Another former parasite.

Hicks walked up to Alaina. He raised his hand, his fingers stained yellow from cigar smoke, and roughly grabbed her chin.

He tilted her face from side to side, inspecting her like a piece of meat.

"Well, damn," Hicks whistled, his eyes dropping to her exposed chest. "How the mighty have fallen."

Alaina jerked her head back, tearing her chin out of his grip. Her stomach churned so violently she thought she was going to throw up.

Tucker reached out and ripped the plastic nametag off her chest.

"Lexi?" Tucker mocked, reading the tag. "That is a great stripper name, Alaina."

Alaina grabbed the handle of the cart. She turned around to run back to the door.

The two bodyguards immediately stepped forward, blocking the exit with their massive bodies.

"You do not leave the Viper Room until the guests say so," Hicks sneered.

From the deepest, darkest corner of the massive circular sofa, the sound of ice clinking against glass echoed again.

"Bring her here."

The voice was low, cold, and carried absolute, terrifying authority.

Alaina's lungs stopped working. Her blood literally froze in her veins. Her legs felt like they were made of lead.

Tucker and Hicks immediately stopped laughing. They stepped aside, bowing their heads slightly in respect.

The man in the shadows leaned forward. The red light caught the sharp, cruel angles of his jaw.

Hardin Dyer.

He was wearing a black dress shirt, the top two buttons undone. He held a glass of whiskey in one hand. His dark eyes stared at her with the cold detachment of someone looking at a dead insect.

Alaina took a step backward. Her spine hit the cold, hard wall of the room.

Hardin swirled his drink. "Well, Miss Gay? Are you not going to pour the guests their drinks?"

Tucker grabbed Alaina's shoulder. He shoved her forward, forcing her to stumble toward the low glass table.

He pushed down on her shoulder, forcing her to bend over the table.

The tight lace bodysuit stretched dangerously across her back, exposing even more of her skin to the room.

Alaina's hands shook violently as she reached for the heavy bottle of Louis XIII.

She moved toward Hardin's empty glass. Her hands were trembling so badly that the heavy crystal bottle slipped.

A splash of the amber liquid poured over the edge of the glass and landed directly onto the toe of Hardin's polished leather shoe.

The temperature in the room plummeted to zero. Tucker gasped and took a step back.

Alaina's face went completely white. Panic seized her throat. She instinctively reached for a napkin to wipe it away.

Hardin kicked her hand away.

He raised his foot. He pressed the hard leather toe of his shoe directly under Alaina's chin, forcing her head up.

He looked down at her heavy makeup and her trembling lips. A storm of violent, dark emotion raged in his eyes.

"Is this why you tore up my contract?" Hardin asked, his voice a lethal whisper. "So you could come here and sell yourself to anyone with a wallet?"

Alaina bit her bottom lip so hard she tasted her own blood. Tears burned the back of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.

Hardin pulled his foot back. He leaned back into the leather sofa, his face an impenetrable mask of ice.

He wiped his hands on his slacks, a subtle, dismissive gesture that made Alaina feel like absolute dirt.

Tucker watched Hardin's reaction. Assuming Hardin wanted to see her completely destroyed, Tucker stepped forward.

He grabbed a fresh, unopened bottle of Louis XIII and slammed it onto the glass table.

"Since you spilled Mr. Dyer's drink," Tucker barked, pointing at the floor, "get on your knees and lick the liquor off his shoe."

Alaina's head snapped toward Tucker. Her eyes were wide with pure, unfiltered shock.

Hicks laughed loudly. He reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills, and threw them directly at Alaina's face.

The heavy stack hit her cheek and burst open. The bills rained down around her feet.

"Ten thousand dollars," Hicks sneered. "Just get on your knees and use your tongue."

Alaina stopped breathing. Ten thousand dollars.

The image of her father's pale face in the ICU flashed in her mind. The heavy weight of the hospital bills crushed her chest.

She slowly turned her head and looked at Hardin.

She searched his dark eyes, begging him silently to stop this insane humiliation.

Hardin just stared back. He slowly lifted his glass and took a sip of his whiskey. He did not say a single word. He was going to let them do this to her.

Alaina's heart shattered into a million jagged pieces.

She closed her eyes. Her legs began to tremble. Slowly, agonizingly, her knees began to bend toward the floor.

Tucker pulled out his phone, a wicked grin on his face, ready to record her ultimate degradation.

Just as her knees were an inch from the carpet, the heavy doors of the Viper Room burst open.

The club manager ran in, completely out of breath.

"Mr. Dyer, I am so sorry!" the manager stuttered. "There is a guy outside screaming. He says his name is Ashton and he is looking for his sister!"

Alaina's eyes snapped open. Her body jerked upward as if she had been electrocuted.

Ashton. Her older brother.

She shoved Tucker out of the way with a sudden burst of adrenaline. She ran toward the door like a wild animal.

The bodyguards moved to block her, but Hardin raised one finger.

The guards instantly stepped aside.

Alaina sprinted out of the room, down the hallway, and burst through the back exit of the club.

The cold rain hit her instantly. She ran into the dark, filthy alleyway behind the club.

Next to the overflowing dumpsters, she saw him.

Ashton, the golden boy of the Gay family, the Harvard graduate, was pinned face-down in the muddy puddles by two massive thugs.

His expensive suit was torn to shreds. His face was covered in blood and mud. In his fist, he tightly clutched a few crumpled, bounced checks.

One of the thugs raised his heavy combat boot and stomped down hard on Ashton's right hand.

Ashton let out a blood-curdling scream of pure agony.

"No!" Alaina shrieked.

She threw herself into the mud, grabbing the thug's leg to push him off.

The thug backhanded her. Alaina flew backward, landing hard on the rough pavement. The skin on her palms tore open, mixing blood with the dirty water.

"Your brother owes the underground bank three million dollars," the thug spat down at her. "If he does not pay tonight, we chop off his hand."

Ashton lifted his bruised, bloody face from the puddle. He looked at Alaina, taking in her cheap makeup and her revealing lace bodysuit.

Tears washed the mud from his eyes.

Slowly, Ashton pushed himself up. He got onto his knees in the filthy water, and he bowed his head to the thugs, begging for his life.

Watching her proud brother beg in the mud, something inside Alaina permanently snapped.

Her spirit shattered. She realized that serving drinks in a club would never save her family. The hole was too deep.

Alaina pushed herself up from the ground. Her eyes were completely dead, hollowed out by despair.

She turned around and walked slowly back toward the club's back door.