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Stopping in the hallway, I tried to calm the nerves that Nico’s warning had set on alert. Everything in Valemont had become dangerous, and this job was no exception.

I had no idea what awaited me on that stage.

Trying to shake the fear, I walked past the DJ, put in my song request, and stopped right before the velvet curtain that led to the stage.

An applause filled the club, a few angry yells followed behind Diamond as she stepped back behind the curtain.

Face scrunched up, Diamond shook her head as she saw me. “Good luck. They’re fucking rowdy tonight.”

“Clearly. Sorry, babe.” I rubbed her bare shoulder as she walked past.

Sucking in a deep breath, I waited for my music cue. I fucking hated the shouting. Rubin’s followers were always here now. They watched us dance, didn’t tip, and then shouted about repenting as we left the stage.

Nico hired some extra security, making sure the parking lot was safe after our shifts and kicking out at customers who crossed the line.

But at this point, nearly every man in Valemont could have been a member of The Messenger’s cult. No one was safe.

Shaking it off, I stretched my neck and let the fur coat around my shoulders warm me up.

The techno snare of Nine Inch Nails’ “Closer” told me it was time to walk on stage. Pushing the curtain out of my way, I strutted onto the stage to some applause.

The funky bass line gave me something to time my act to as I approached the pole. I twirled around a few times, letting my heels do the walking.

I stopped at the front of the pole, facing the audience as I lowered myself to the ground.

Until I saw her. Nearly falling over, I blinked through the bright stage lights as I tried to keep pace as the first verse began.

Sat in the front row, Cyrus leaned back in a leather booth. Her muscular arms stretched over the back of the bench, her cheekbones looking like they could cut diamonds under the hard club lights.

Her dark eyes were glued to me.

As I squatted, letting my hips bounce to the beat, I saw the stacks of cash in front of her. More money than most of the girls here saw in a week. And I knew Cyrus wouldn’t leave here with a single bill left in her stack.

No one sat near here, a five foot perimeter around her as she ruled over the front row.

She wasn’t just some rich asshole She was a fucking kingpin.

And everyone in the club knew it. One sharp look over her shoulder and every angry holler died with a whimper.

Standing back up, I turned my back to her. I shook my ass, knowing that the fur coat would cover most of its jiggling.

A few hollers came from the dark, back corners of the club.

But I felt Cyrus’s eyes on me.

I let the fur coat drip down my shoulders, exposing my bare back. Even as I spun around the pole, lifting my legs off the ground while holding the coat over my tits, I knew how toned my back would look.

When I stopped spinning, the song turned to its instrumental, stuttering bridge.

That’s when I let the fur coat fall to the floor, a puddle around my feet as I stepped over it.

Whistles came from the crowd, rowdy hoots and screams as my pastie-covered tits were exposed.

Cyrus’s jaw tightened, the veins in her temple pulsing as she watched my stomach flex as I moved.

When I came to face her, her gaze dropped to the ground before returning to my eyes.

I knew what she wanted, what she was saying.