Merciless

Chapter 3

Emi

"Get a hold of yourself, Emi."

My whispered self-admonishment doesn't do any good. I can still feel the slight tremble of my hands as I pull on my skinny jeans and fasten them. I've performed in front of people my entire life, including some of the most prestigious members of the dance community. I've experienced a myriad of feelings when I perform, from nervous to exhilarated and everything in between. But never in my life have I felt turned on while dancing...until tonight.

That man. Sitting directly in front of the stage, it was hard to miss him. But the intensity of his gaze had threatened to burn right through me. Any time our eyes met, desire spiked in my belly like I've never known. His focus was all-encompassing and heavy with power. The harder I danced, the more I felt him, as though he was staking his claim on me right there in front of everyone. And heaven help me, I liked it.

Usually after my dances at Cardinal Sin my adrenaline keeps me flying for a while. But tonight was more than just the freedom of dancing without judgment. Somehow the Man Unknown wordlessly offered me a taste of forbidden pleasure, and now I'm shaky and on edge, like coming down from a new and dangerous high.

Which is why I need to get out of here. I'm not even bothering to mess with my wig and makeup. I need to go home and settle my nerves with a glass of wine and a hot bath. Digging through my bag, I finally find my tank and pull it on over the black bikini bra just as I hear the voice of the last person I wanted to talk to tonight.

"Raven, sweetheart, you were fucking amazing as always."

Slipping on my black ballet flats, I take a deep, calming breath before responding to the owner of the club. "I'm not your sweetheart, Geno."

"You could be, though," he says with all the charm of a rattlesnake. "You could be the sweetheart of Cardinal Sin. Treated like royalty, making the kind of money other girls can only dream of."

Geno Tomasino is your stereotypical wannabe-mobster. Nothing like the "old country" Italians I've grown up around my whole life. Geno wears flashy suits, gold chains, and pinky rings, and enough gel in his hair to make me wonder if it's even able to move after shampooing.

Shoving my costume and heels into my bag, I say, "We've gone over this before, Geno. I'm not interested in being a regular. I gotta go."

"Come on, Raven, gimme a chance here, will ya?"

I start to walk away, but his hand clamps around my upper arm, stopping my escape. Fear wars with disgust in my gut at the feel of his fingers banded around my bicep. I slice him into a thousand ribbons with my eyes and infuse my words with the iron of my will and the ice in my veins. "Get your hand off me, Geno, unless you want me to break it in five places."

A total bluff, but the conviction in my voice does the trick. He releases me and holds his hands up in supplication, grinning in that way that looks more like a sneer.

"I didn't mean anything by it. I can see you're in a hurry. If you change your mind, you know where to find me. Be seeing you, Raven."

I shake off the creepy-crawlies left by Geno's touch and make to get the hell out of here. Pulling open the door to the hall, I head left down the long corridor that leads to the employee parking lot. Normally, I'd exchange a quick and friendly conversation with the bouncer who guards the door to the dressing room, but I'm not in the mood for small talk tonight, so I keep my head down as I pass him.

"Night, Derrick," I say, not wanting to be entirely rude.

"Raven, stop."

It's him. I don't know how I know this, only that I do. I also don't know if it's his voice or his command that pulls me up short, but I obey as though reaching the end of a tether.