Chapter 3

Club Lex.

Where shady deals get made by even shadier people.

I swear, that should be the damn slogan.

Good thing I don’t care whose name is on the check as long as the money clears. That’s for damn sure.

Walking into Lex is like stepping through some kind of portal. One wrong move and I might not walk back out. It’s that kind of place. Dangerous. Fancy on the outside, deadly underneath.

And it all belongs to Chicago’s most powerful man—Sylan Ward.

Alpha. Dangerous. Cocky. All man.

Just hearing his name makes my skin feel too tight. The man’s a walking warning sign dressed in custom suits. Dark eyes. Muscles like he was carved out of stone. Cold as winter. Sharp as a blade. He doesn’t forgive, and he doesn’t forget.

And damn it, he’s fine. Too fine.

Same goes for his partners—Grey Hudson and Drake Montgomery.

All three of them? Gorgeous. Rich. Deadly.

All three of them? Enemies of my father.

They run their world with fists and fire. Steel rules. No second chances. If something happens in this dirty city, you better believe it went through them first.

I’ve worked here long enough to see the truth. These three? They’re monsters dressed like men. Beautiful, powerful monsters. And if that weren’t enough, they’ve got one strange habit that sticks out like a sore thumb—they share their women.

Not something most people would expect from men like them. But it’s real. A soft spot, maybe. If they even have those.

I don’t get it. I haven’t figured them out, not all the way. What they want. What they chase. What makes them tick.

Maybe I never will. Doesn’t matter.

What matters is I keep my head down. Keep out of their sights. Because once they notice you? You’re not just another waitress anymore. You’re something else. Something they own.

And I’ve got no interest in being anyone’s anything.

So I take my paycheck and I hold onto my plan tight.

Get out. Run far. First stop? Rio. After that, maybe Spain. Beaches, sunshine, and quiet. I want to breathe. I want to be free. I could run a little ice cream shop. Hell, I’d sell coconuts if it meant I never had to feel this kind of fear again.

The cab pulls up outside Club Lex, and I pay the fare without a second thought. I force the mess of today into a box and shove it to the back of my mind.

Lex looks like something out of a dream—tall spires, black carpet rolled out like we’re royalty. I square my shoulders. Time to become Katriona, not the girl from the run-down apartment with a busted door. Not the daughter of William Kane. Not the girl who nearly got a bullet to the skull this morning.

In here, I’m flawless. I make dreams come true.

Sex. Booze. Drugs. That’s the game.

Six nights a week, I serve drinks with a smile. I make sure the right girls find the right men. And for the top members—the ones who have access to the Attic—I walk them up to the third floor.

That place? It’s a mystery. Locked behind a heavy steel door. So quiet, so private, even I question if it’s real. I’ve never seen what goes on inside. I don’t ask.

I tell myself, you don’t want to know.

I live by a rule: stay in the shadows. Do your job. Go home.

That’s it. That’s the plan.

My phone pings. I pull it from my bag, heart already speeding up.

Nikki.

Her name flashes on the screen, all caps lighting it up:

HEADS UP, TRIO JUST WALKED IN AND THEY LOOK PISSED.

Shit.

The Trio means all three bosses. Sylan, Grey, and Drake.

But… they’re not supposed to be here.

Ping.

They’re asking for you. Do I stall?

My breath catches. I grip my phone like it’s going to slip right through my fingers.

What the hell do they want with me?

My first thought? Quit. Right now. Walk away and never come back.

Because when they ask for you, it’s never good.

I stare at the screen, thumb hovering over the reply button. Do I run? I could. I should. But money talks. And if I want out—if I want beaches, and coconuts, and real freedom—I need to stack my cash. Fast.

My stomach turns. This isn’t normal. They’re like clockwork. They don’t change schedules. Ever.

So why tonight?

Not even the planets going crazy could explain this.

On the nights they show up, I always stay low. Keep my mouth shut. Smile, nod, pour drinks. Easy. Invisible.

Apparently, I suck at invisible.

I never tell anyone who my father is. Why would I? That name? That name could get me killed. I’m just another girl in black heels and a short dress.

That’s it.

Lots of people have the last name Kane. They probably don’t even know who I really am.

Right?

My brain says run. Just get out of here. Now. Before it’s too late.

But my hand moves on its own. I hit reply and type fast:

ON MY WAY.

I push into the dressing room and lean back against the door as it shuts with a soft metallic click behind me.

Silence.

God, I needed this.

My chest is tight. Panic’s tapping at the edges of my mind, begging to come in. I press my palm over my heart and fight it off. I tell myself to breathe. To stay calm. To hold on. After a moment, my heartbeat starts to settle.

I wipe at my tears and drop my bag on the floor. It’s the same old bag I always carry. Inside? Just my phone, the charger, clean clothes, a picture of my mom, and maybe a tampon. Not much else. Nothing of real value.

I press both hands against the cold door behind me and suck in a slow breath.

No one was waiting at the door for me. That could be a good thing, right? Maybe they got distracted. Maybe they moved on to someone else. I hope so. God, I hope so.

The room is dark, just like always. They keep the lights low to help us ease into the right mood. Some nights it feels soft and warm. Tonight? It makes me feel like something’s crawling across my skin.

I glance at the big clock hanging above the lockers.

All the other girls are already out there—leather and lace in full swing. I’m late.

I hurry to pull off my boots and jeans, shoving them into my locker without caring how they land. Ten minutes later, I’m dressed. If you can call it dressed.

The tiny red skirt barely covers my ass. It’s the shade of the devil’s soul, no joke. The top is red leather, soft as butter, trimmed in white lace meant to show off cleavage. It’s tight. Really tight. I shift, wiggle a little, then get my D’s in place and tie the front with a thin bow that looks one second away from snapping.

I slide into my stilettos, heels sharp enough to stab someone. Then I go to the mirror. Makeup’s already done from earlier, so I touch up the corners of my red lipstick. Just a swipe and the look is locked in. Sexy. Dangerous. That’s the fantasy they pay to see.

The air behind me shifts.

The door swings open smooth and silent, but I feel it before I hear it. I spin around, heart in my throat.

Green eyes. Glittered lids. Black eyeliner sharp as hell.

Nikki.

“There you are,” she hisses, rushing over.

“You scared the hell outta me,” I say, blowing out a breath. “I just got here.”

Nikki moves like she owns every room she walks into. She steps up behind me and spins me back toward the mirror. Her hands are fast and gentle as she pulls my long hair into a bun, soft strands falling just right around my face. I reach for the lipstick again and clean up the corners one more time.

We finish getting ready quick. I give myself one last look in the mirror. Painted, perfect, not me at all.

We head toward the door, but I stop her before she can go off to the third floor.

“Real talk,” I say, catching her arm. “How much trouble am I in?”

She rolls her eyes and smirks. “You’re such a drama queen.”

I let out a weak laugh. She pulls me in for a hug and I hold onto it for half a second too long.

Friends like Nikki? Hard to find.

And when I leave this place for good, she’s the one I’ll miss the most.

We break apart. She goes her way, I go mine.

And just like that, I let the real world fall off my shoulders.

Katriona disappears, and the girl from Lex steps into the light.

I keep to the shadows, tray in hand. First order of the night. A booth in the back. Curtains drawn tight. Whatever’s happening behind those soft walls of satin? None of my business.

I move quick. Lights on the floor guide my heels. I slide the tray in and place three mojitos down on black napkins. My eyes stay low, like I was taught. Always look down. Never too long. Never too curious.

Just as I start to back out, a fat hand grabs a fistful of my ass.

“Where are you going?” The man’s voice is slow and sloppy. “Join the fun, baby.”

He sounds like he’s smoked cigars since birth. His breath is thick with booze. That voice—it scrapes down my spine like nails.

He reminds me of my father.

My stomach turns.

My hands shake, but I’m still riding the last of my panic from earlier, and something inside me snaps. I throw his hand off me with more strength than I knew I had and jerk back hard.

My heel slips and I crash into the curtain of the next booth, dragging it wide open.

Everything stops.

The world goes quiet.

And just like that, I’ve made a scene. A big one.