Chapter 3: Nikki

Fury was easier to manage than fear, and that was the emotion I'd clung to while I took off my clothes for the likes of a bunch of losers who thought running the streets was more productive than lucrative jobs. I'd do what I had to in order to keep my mom safe, even if it meant sacrificing my dignity to people who didn't matter. They couldn't touch me on the stage, so that was where I'd stayed. And as soon as I'd finished, I hadn't bothered to get dressed.

While I waited for Sam on the corner, I pulled the zipper on my corset, securing my breasts back in a cage one size too small. The wind picked up, and my hair tangled with the breeze. It dawned on me that to any passerby, I appeared to be working the street. The last thing I needed was to get propositioned for sex. I dug a pair of black shorts from my bag, slipped them over my stockings, and slid my arms through my black, leather jacket. It wasn't much, but at least I wouldn't be arrested if a cop came by before my ride showed.

The back door to Club Swank slammed against the brick building, startling me. My heart raced from the sudden adrenaline rush, but it didn't settle, even after I saw who'd caused the commotion. I'd never seen him, even though I was familiar with all his friends, which meant he was U21 just like the rest of the deadbeats inside. Although, there was something different that I couldn't put my finger on. I'd noticed him before I went on, and he hadn't interacted with the other girls. He hadn't put a single dollar in anyone's lingerie. He hadn't so much as paid the least bit of attention to anyone other than Chase Silvano. Everything about him screamed Union member. Aside from his face, ink covered every inch of visible flesh-stunning ink, but ink all the same. The huge gauges in his ears would normally turn me off, yet somehow, they suited him. And who the hell thought a nose ring could make a man look so broody. Every nuance hardened him. Add to it the T-shirt that hugged his biceps and caressed his pecs, the jeans I imagined that hung in the perfect spot to highlight the V God gave well-built men, the flat-studded belt, and black Doc Martens, and he was sin amped up on testosterone.

And then my eyes met his.

He didn't see through me; he saw me. His dark eyes clung to mine like he could read my secrets. But instead of extorting them the way U21 was famous for, it was as if he tried to cloak them from across the way. Shield me from exposure. Protect me from the thugs. He hadn't moved then, and he didn't move now. The man held my stare across the parking lot, and then Sam pulled up in the same black Lexus he'd dropped me off in. Only this time, the back door to the sedan opened, and my mother sat inside.

The right side of her face was puffy and tinted an irritated shade of pink. Dried blood clung to her nostril. She'd pissed off someone, and while I couldn't be certain of exactly who, even I could hit an elephant with a dart on that guess. I didn't bother to look back when I slid in next to my mom. Sam didn't wait for me to pull the door closed, either. He took off, and the gravitational pull of the sharp left turn shut it on its own.

"Ma, what happened to your face?"

Sam's eyes flicked to the rearview mirror and dared my mother to answer honestly.

She waved me off. "You know me. I'm just clumsy. I'm fine." Clearly, she wasn't. Studying her face, her nose leaned slightly left where it had always been straight. She'd been hit...hard.

I hated seeing her like this, but she had known what she was getting into when she decided slinging dope would be more profitable than her job at the call center. And just like every other woman on U21's payroll, she'd fallen victim to the pull of her product. It began with a line here and there to keep up with the late-night hours, then she skimmed off customers without their knowledge, and when she started turning up short with Sam, trouble began. And that left us in our current predicament.

Sam turned north when he should have gone south. He wasn't navigating the streets to our apartment, although he hadn't mentioned any other stops on the agenda. It was late; I was tired and overly emotional. "Where are we going?" My eyelids fluttered, and I took a deep breath to calm my nerves and agitation.

"Seems your ma hasn't learned her lesson. So Jesse wants to speak to both of yous." Sam wasn't Italian, nor was he a Yankee. He was as white as snow, and I was fairly certain he'd grown up in Nebraska. Aside from the blond hair and light-blue eyes, he was about as stereotypical as one could get. He fit the part of a gang enforcer well-meathead who wore fitted, black T-shirts and tight, black jeans. I assumed the addition of the black sports coat was due to seeing his boss since he never wore one on the streets.

I let out an audible sigh. "Seriously, Ma? What the hell?" When I turned, her chin nearly touched her chest in shame. She was an addict who couldn't control herself. Unfortunately, she was also an addict who didn't want help-not yet, anyway. "I can't believe you're adding to the bill."

"I'd do it if I could." That was fucked up. Neither of us should be stripping to pay off a drug debt.

I rubbed my temples and tried not to lose my cool. "How about just quit stealing shit that doesn't belong to you."

Sam's fake Northern-English-Italian-wannabe brogue came tumbling into the back. "You should listen to your daughter before you find yourself swimming with the fishes."

He couldn't see my eyes when I rolled them, but I doubted that even his dumb ass missed my tone. "Didn't you grow up in the Midwest? Who the hell talks like that?"

"Nikki!" My mother's sudden burst of energy irritated me. "Do you know who you're talking to?" She had to be joking.

"I'm well aware, Ma. I have to wonder why you're worried about me talking to him a certain way when you're stealing from his boss. Jesus. Talk about irony."