Total pages in book: 187
Estimated words: 177397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 887(@200wpm)___ 710(@250wpm)___ 591(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 177397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 887(@200wpm)___ 710(@250wpm)___ 591(@300wpm)
“We can’t. Zak can barely leave his room, so there’s no way he will survive an international flight.”
“Then we will bring the surgeon here along with his new heart!”
I understand his frustration. I fullheartedly understand it. But it doesn’t alter the facts. “A heart can’t survive outside its host for longer than four hours. The longer it is without oxygen, the more damaged the cells become, meaning we could replace Zak’s heart with one more damaged.”
“Fuck!” Mikhail knocks over the crystal bar no home in Russia is ever without before shooting his hands up to tug at his hair.
He yanks on it firmly enough for my roots to sympathize, his hand only dropping when I murmur, “But I know a way around the block.”
He looks confused until I raise my eyes to the floor above us, and then his expression switches to disgust.
He doesn’t want to play by their rules any more than I do, but we don’t have a choice.
All bets are off once Zakhar has a new heart, though.
40
ZOYA
The loud chatter of the crowd displays why the dancers at Le Rogue are more family than competitors. Mars could have steered me wrong when I asked her advice for getting a favorable outcome for a first-time performer.
She could have pushed me to dance on a Tuesday so her tips weren’t reduced further than the long spell in the strip club circuit most dancers face. She didn’t because her job description doesn’t change who she is.
She is a good person, and so am I.
The remembrance clears away the last of my nerves and has me reared up and ready for my first, but not guaranteed last, performance.
The euphoria is addictive, and the energy is thrumming.
I haven’t felt this alive since…
Mercifully, I am cut off by Mars this time instead of guilt. “Are you ready?”
I jiggle my chest before jerking up my chin. “As ready as I will ever be.”
With a devilish grin, Mars flickers the lights on the stage, announcing to the patrons that my show is about to begin.
It doubles the muttering and sets my belly ablaze with untapped excitement. Even if I only earn one quarter of Mars’s predicted revenue, I will have plenty of funds to pay for Grampies’s unexpected in-home health visit, and perhaps add a little garnish to the items I’ve purchased over the past two weeks for the two women who mean the world to me.
As I approach the wings of the stage, I take in Le Rogue from a new vantage point. Just like Vixens, Le Rogue isn’t much to look at from the outside. Its outer shell is old and rundown, and the neon lighting at the front flickers more than the doorman’s flashlight when he checks the patrons’ IDs upon entry.
The insides of the brick-and-mortar building on the outskirts of town are far more elaborate. The stage is made from a pricy wood you can only import on the black market, the bar is stocked with whiskey that costs as much per nip as an entire bottle at a corner store, and the stage lights are the best money can buy.
Rich clients come here, hence my unexpected nerves.
I squint when the lighting crew switches on the stage’s main lights. When I collect the money men toss onto the dancer’s feet during each performance, the lights are switched off, so I’ve never faced the full intensity of their warmth. I’m not complaining. It’ll be easier to prance around naked since I’ll only be subjected to the heat of multiple ogling stares instead of seeing them directly.
Also, with the temperature reaching roasting, I’m more than ready to remove my first piece of clothing.
“Give them another thirty seconds. The hungrier they are, the better they’ll tip.” Mars wiggles her brows.
Nodding, I drag my sweaty palms down my pleated skirt. I went for the naughty secretary skit. Mars said it produces the best tips because most of the men who visit Le Rogue work in a corporate setting and fantasize about fucking their secretaries.
The glitter on my chest sparkles under the stage lights when the curtains are drawn, and I’m encouraged on stage by the vocal cheers of the dancers who should see me as competition but don’t.
I feed off their energy and burst onto the stage like I was made to perform.
I was. Just not in the way most people think.
As Mars predicted, the crowd goes apeshit when they realize I’m not on the regular schedule. They holler and shout, and before my hands can move for the buttons on the business shirt I tied midway on my stomach, several bills of multiple denominations land at my feet.
They’re not close to the amount I’m seeking, but they are a great start.
I move in sync with the music, my set as choregraphed as the lie I told Gigi this morning when she busted me garnishing the savings in Nikita’s box with the leftovers of my second paycheck.