Keeping His Siren (Ever Nights Chronicles)

Chapter 2

Naia checked her reflection in the grungy backstage mirror, waiting for her time slot. Five of the ten bulbs that lined the mirror were burned out, but the remaining light softly illuminated her skin. Ignoring the harsh crack down the middle of the glass, she applied one last layer of lip gloss and sat back, satisfied.

She practically vibrated with anticipation. It was the same before every performance, but it wasn't from nerves. Excitement surfed her bloodstream. She felt alive on stage. It was home to her; her voice stoking and guiding the mood of the audience lit her up like nothing else ever did.

Unlike the other ladies getting ready for their turn on stage, her clothes would remain on. Her talent was in singing, not stripping, though she'd been told she'd make bank doing both. Many of the girls teased that she was wasting the goods, and that she could clean up, but they never really pushed her to join the ranks. Truth be told, they didn't want the added competition. Goldie had told her once, "With that sick voice and rad bod, you'd put the rest of us out of commission."

Just then, Goldie stumbled into the dressing room on three-inch-high platforms that sparkled like diamonds with each step, even in this dim light—well, cubic zirconia.

Judging by the wads of bills sticking out of her bejeweled thong, the room must be packed now. As soon as the sun even hinted at setting, patrons began meandering in. Each night was the same. Naia could almost set her watch to it. It was as if men clocked out of work and beelined it to the nearest dive. Many of them wore wedding rings—or a telltale tan line around their ring fingers. Scum. If Naia had a partner waiting for her at home, she certainly wouldn't spend her time at a broken-down place like Dante's. But then, men were stupid.

Two vanities down, Tiffany applied a generous amount of mascara to her fake lashes. "Nice haul," she said to Goldie. "I hope you left some for the rest of us."

Goldie turned the money into a fan. "Ooh, suckers are just begging to hand over their cash tonight. Though they're awfully rowdy. One guy grabbed my ankle and wouldn't let go. Finally Landon noticed and came over to pry the guy off me. Bastard took his time, though."

Landon was one of the bouncers. Nice guy for the most part, but he definitely had his favorites. Naia and Goldie weren't among them. But then, they'd never given him any favors.

Naia said, "You should have kicked him in the balls with those bejeweled clodhoppers you're wearing."

"Who, the client or Landon?"

"Either. Both."

Goldie lifted her leg forty-five degrees and twirled her ankle. "And scuff these beautiful babies? Besides, I could see Dante's response now. Oh, wait, no I can't, because I'd be dead." Goldie plopped down in the seat next to Naia, counting her bills. "Maybe you could sing something soft to calm them down a bit, Sapphire."

Naia contemplated that, already coming up with a list of songs that would do the trick.

"Boss don't want 'em calm," Boomer scoffed from the doorway. Skeevy letch that he was, he always liked to linger there when the girls were changing. "Boss wants 'em good and loose. Especially their pockets."

Naia never liked to engage Boomer in conversation—or eye contact, for that matter, but sometimes she didn't have a choice. There was something about him that gave her the willies, which surprisingly had nothing to do with his grotesque potbelly, perpetually stained shirts, greasy hair, or the green tint to the few teeth his gums managed to cling to, though none of that worked in his favor. Without all that, the guy would still be a walking sleezeball. But she had to play nice if she wanted to remain on the evening schedule. Piss Boomer off and you might never work nights again. Some of the girls would cuddle up to him for the best time slots. Ew. Gag. And ew again.