Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 142728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Not this week.
Friday can’t get here fast enough. Work is something to endure until I have the privilege of being in Emily’s aura again.
I groan and lean back in the sturdy leather chair, propping my feet on the wide wooden desk in the back office at Crystal Ball. Something about one of the invoices Willow left for me seems off. I’d rather gnaw on glass than ask Teller to look at it though. I’ll figure it out on my own.
My phone rattles against the desktop. I set my feet on the floor and grab it. I recognize Z’s number and answer.
“Hey, traitor,” I say. “How’s Downstate treating you?”
“Like a puppy who’s finally learned to pee outside. Who you calling a traitor?”
I chuckle at his description of his downstate crew. Without Rooster, Grinder, and Jigsaw as his officers, Z would be fucked. Hustler can barely count up a week’s worth of socks let alone balance the club’s books. Without Teller overseeing Downstate as well as Upstate’s finances, Downstate would probably go bankrupt.
“You’re missed, that’s all,” I explain. “Not only did you leave us, you abandoned Crystal Ball too. Girls ask me when you’re coming back every day.”
“Who you tryin’ to bullshit? You’re the cuddly big brother. I’m the one always yellin’ at them.”
As if Z’s ever yelled at one of our girls. “Yeah, I’m real fuckin’ cuddly.”
“Where you at?” Z asks.
“In the office. Thinking that we should’ve burned this desk the last time we remodeled the place.”
“That’s a new desk, asshole,” he laughs. “Everything good there?”
“I’m looking over some invoices. Stuff we’re getting from Empire Beverage seems to be running out quicker than usual, but they’re charging us the same.”
“They’re shady as fuck.”
“So are we.”
Beyond my closed office door, I hear the back door open and slam shut. Must be one of the girls arriving to spread sunshine and bad vibes.
“You’re about to get your wish, brother,” Z says.
“World peace?”
“Such a romantic. No, I’m on my way up there. I’ll go through the paperwork with you.”
Z’s got enough on his plate, so I wouldn’t ask him to stop by to help but if he’s offering, I won’t turn him down. “Appreciate it. Been too long since I’ve seen your pretty face.”
“Aw, shucks. I’m blushing, Dex.”
We trade a few more sarcastic jabs, he promises to be here in an hour, and we hang up.
As I’m setting my phone on the desk, someone knocks on my door.
“Come in.”
The door opens so slowly, I almost yell for whoever’s there to come in again. But finally, a head of shiny black curls appears. Kamryn? Kynslee? Kaylin? Something with a K and an oddly placed Y. Always on time. Never any trouble. What the fuck’s her name? I should know it by now. She’s worked for us for at least six months.
Gee, who’d you meet about six months ago?
Is Emily the reason I can’t remember an employee’s name? Or is it because dozens of dancers come and go through Crystal Ball every year?
“What’s up, Kyra?” I’m ninety-nine percent sure it’s Kyra.
“Kyla,” she corrects.
So close.
“Kai-luh.” She repeats each syllable in slow motion.
“Kyla. Yes. What’s on your mind?” I curl my fingers, motioning her closer.
She shuffles into my office, closing the door behind her. Threads from the hem of her tight, flared jeans trail over the floor. Those, combined with her snug brown turtleneck, hint that she’s not planning to grace the stage tonight.
“Swan told me to come see you.”
I stand and walk around the edge of my desk, stopping to lean against the front of it. Swan’s moved on to teaching yoga instead of dancing, but she still works here as a sort of “den mom” for the other dancers. She could’ve sent Kyla to me for a number of reasons. I glance at my phone. No texts.
A heads-up would’ve been nice, Swan.
I cross my arms over my chest and run my gaze over Kyla’s small, thin frame. She squirms and shifts her feet, her sneakers squeaking against the industrial-tile floor.
My gaze lands on a patch of blue skin near her eye. Something she didn’t quite cover with her heavy makeup.
I stand straighter and lean toward her. “Come here.”
Hesitant, she steps closer. I rest my hand on her shoulder. She winces. My gaze drops to a ring of purple around her wrist, and she quickly tugs her sleeve down.
Gently, I pick up her hand, push the material out of the way, and study the mark. Someone gripped her hard for a period of time. I release her hand and touch a finger to her chin, turning her head slightly. Jesus fuck. This close, bruising on the whole side of her face is visible.
Her bottom lip trembles and I feel like an utter asshole for treating her like a bug under a microscope. “Who did this to you?”
She jerks away. “No one.”