Chapter One

Shit. I am in such deep shit.

The silence of the bus ride gives my mind free rein to dive head first into my past and torture me with it. I swore I'd never go back knowing they'd be there if I did. Sometimes I used yo wonder if they would ever stoo and miss me. Wonder where I am and how I'm doing. If they still care. Then, that's probably wishful thinking. They wouldn't have betrayed me if they actually ever did care about me. If all can't have been a lie. We became friends before I found the secrets hidden in the diary I was left with when I was dumped on the orphanage's front steps. It had my father's name in the margins or I assumed it was my fathers. 

Markus Johnsen.

So, that's the last name I was given. Not that it means anything to me. It's just a name that belonged to someone who didn't want me. Therefore, the abandonment issues. Told you.

Those issues just got worse after the only friends I've ever had abandoned me too. I still remember the day Mr. Rux came to the orphanage with the people who had adopted me. You would think. I would've been to happy to finally have a family but you see I already had one or so I thought. We were so closed to finding the treasure and then daddy Rux shows up with a middle-aged wowan saying she's my new mommy. I asked where the boys were, if they knew about this when Mr. Rux said they'd been the ones who asked him to find me a home far away from there. He asked for the diary and that's when I knew. They sent me away to find the treasure on their own. To make their little gang proud, prove themselves to daddy Rux and be initiated in the gang they always told me they never wanted to be a part of. 

It doesn't matter now anyway. I gave Mr. Rux the notebook I'd witten down some school crap in, quickly scribbling some ideas of where the treasure might be, as if I'd tried to break the code, before handing it over. 

Leading them to the wrong place hoping they'd give up after that assuming I'd been wrong. Turns out most of our friendship was a lie. But at least, for a little while, it was a beautiful one.

That was a little over ten years ago. They probably wouldn't even recognize me now nor them. I hope. Still, I wonder what to do about my hair. The chocolate brown color needs to be renewed my natural color peeking out at the roots. But if I keep it dark Gregorio could pick me out in a crowd. The smart thing would be to change it. 

To something that doesn't stand out too much of the course. If I go natural, I'll be recognizable to my past. I could always go red. Though I doubt it would look good on me. Especially not in my place where it's summer almost year round. 

My pale skin has never taken to the constant sunlight. If I'm not careful or covered in sun lotion I'll turn red within five minutes.

So, if I become a red head, I risk my skin and hair matching. I scratch red from the list. We have a lighter shade of brown, my natural ashy blonde or a cold nearly white or silver blonde.

First of all, I need to find a place to sleep, which should be easy enough I've slept under a dark blue star filled roof morr than once, a job to get some money and then I can head to the salon to fix my hair.

--

My heart hammers in my chest as I get on the next bus. Two more hours and then I'll be back home. 

Home.

I shouldn't think of it like that anymore but no other place has ever felt so much like this. They say home is where your heart is and I left mine in King's cove ten year ago. Returning to it is terrifying.

We pass the border and enter the outskirts of town. We drive fast and rich summer houses. Even though it isn't summer the houses aren't left empty. Other people live in them and take care of the gardens while the owners wherever they spend the rest of the year. 

The security on these places is rediculous. But I suppose they are aware of the gang running this town and won't any chances.

My thoughts stray to the run-down house at the beach. It sits against the cliffside and the slab of curved beach in front is private. I used to dream of buying it. Renovating the place, it beautiful again. Paint it white all around. The living room would take up most of the lower level with floor to ceiling windows that open onto the deck would have steps that lead down to the patch of grass that separate the sand from the house. A picket fence with a little gate would be at the grass' edge marking our property.

The kitchen and the living room would be one big space with no walls between them. The kitchen would have dark brown cupboards while everything else is white. 

There would be a kitchen isle in the middle with four bar stools on one side. To the left of the kitchen would be the stairs leading up to the bedrooms. Five in total. 

Mine would of course the largest with a queen size bed and a bookshelf with all my favorites on it. One of the windows looking out to the ocean would have a window seat where I can sit and read. The connecting bathroom will have a built-in bathtub that sits beneath a round window.

To the left of the living room there'd be an office and library that everyone would share. There, I'd have all my other books kept safe and put prettily on display. The days we decide to work from home we'd spend in there running whatever business we'd settle on. Of course, by the time we'd have enough money for this we would have already travelled the world and seen everything we wanted for while getting our degrees.

It was a nice dream. But that's all it was. All it will ever be. A dream.

The bus rolls to stop. Ten bucks lighter I step off. Taking a moment to breathe in the ocean scented air and listen to the people busting about. Heading home for the day or going shopping. The bus stop sits in the rich part of town that's relatively safe from gang business so I don't have to worry about running into anyone familiar up here.

Sadly, to find work I have to head over the border into pack territory. Praying that I don't run into any wolves I make my way into the rougher part of town. Restaurants, small shops and bars litter the roads closet to the sea. It looks mostly the same. People mill about, thankfully none are familiar. I catch sight of the wolf tattoo that marks members of the pack on a few people I pass and duck my head going unnoticed.

I head only to the only stripper joint in town. Not daring to try for a bartender gig in one of the bars since wolves are more likely to hang out there. Few of them frequent the balck peony.

Those wolves that are there will likely be too distracted to look closely at my face. I doubt anyone would recognize me even if my face was inches from theirs but I don't want to take any chances. 

The place is quite empty. The door was open so I just walked in but its clear they're not open yet.

"Hey!" A voice calls from the right where a long bar strands against the entire wall. Bottles of different kinds of expensive liquor sits on the glass shelves at the back. "What are doing in here?" The figure behind me the bar questions eyeing me suspiciously. His eyes are framed with eyeliner and he wears a tight black button up drawing attention to the thick muscles beneath. His dark skin gleams under the spotlights lighting up the place.

Giving him a sweet smile that isn't forced at all because this guy is really fucking hot. "I'm sorry, the door was open so-"

"You just wandered inside," he finishes for me.

Nodding sheepishly, I walk closer adding a swing to my hips. His gaze travels down my body openly checking me out. "Yeah, sorry. I was just wondering if you're hiring?" I lower my hood and pull my hair out letting it tumble around my face. The strands are looking and in desperate need of cutting.

"You're a stripper?" He questions looking slightly surprised. Eyes wandering over the bruise sadness shining in them.

"Yeah, and a bartender," I add just in case they're in need of that too. Looking over me one more time he nods and puts the towel in his hands down on the counter. Elegantly he hops over the counter landing on his feet next to me. The graceful movement and effortless show of agility makes my mouth pop open. Releasing a low whistle of appreciation, I let my eyes trail over his tall form.

He grins knowingly ta me. "Alright then. Come on, I'll take you to boss."

He leads me backstage down corridors lined with doors. Some are marked as costume or workout rooms others a bathrooms. We pass one marked "dressing room" before reaching the end of the hall.

BOSS is written on it, plain and simple. The hot bartender raps his knuckles against the door leaning one shoulder on the frame. A short burly man in his forties drag it open. His dark beard is short cropped and his green eyes stand out against his tan skin.

He gives the bartender a lopsided smile. "What can I do for you, Max?"

The hot bartender, Max, nods his head back at me. "Girl wandered in said she's looking for work. Stripping or bartending apparently, she does both." Max kicks off the frame and steps back letting boss get a look at me. His eyes imme go to my eye.

Nodding he motions for me to come inside his office. Max gives me a wink before heading back the way we came. Closing the door behind me follow boss to his desk where he slumps into a brown leather chair.

"Sit, sit," he murmured motioning at the two chairs in front. Boss watches me closely as I sauter over as if calculating my every movement. "So, you've worked before?"

Nodding I look at his office. There's not much except for the desk in it. It's littered with papers. By the window to the right there's a cart with some whiskey and a couple of glasses on it. That's about it. The walls are bare the tapestries an empty dark blue.

"I haven't stripped in a few years since I've been bartending but I'm sure it'll come to me quick. I've got old routines I can do to begin with and am comfortable on stage." I tell him trying not to sell myself short.

"Well, you're not hard to look at." He stared and it doesn't sound creepy or like a compliment just a fact. "May I ask how old you are?"

"Twenty-three." I supply without hesitating. "Sixteen when I started stripping and eighteen when bartending,'' I add knowing that's his next question.

"Sixteen." He breathes. "That's young." His eyes go distant lost in thought. Boss opens a drawer pulling a oack5 of cigarettes out. "You mind?"

Shaking my head in answer I watched as he places one in between his lips lightening it before offering me one. "I don't smoke," I declined it and he gave me a smile.

"Don't start. It ain't good for you." He puts the packet down and huffs out some smoke. "Tried to quit a few times but failed every time so I gave up on trying." Boss says conversationally turning the cigarette in his hand over. "Now, my back to the matter at hand. I don't force my dancers to do anything they don't want. Most of them make up their own routines and you make you own rules. 

You want to add private dancers, do it. This establishment doesn't offer any other physical services but some of the boys and girls are escorts on the side to earn some extra and they all have my protection no matter that it isn't connected to working here. So, you'll have my protection and help to get out of that sort of work if you should ever need it."

"I don't, but thank you. Private dancers are where I draw the line," I tell him happy to hear he looks after the people working for him. This can be a dangerous business to be in and not all bosses are like this one.

"That makes things simple. You set your own hours but if there's extra hours I hand them out equally. Can you start tonight?" He stands holding out a hand.

"Absolutely, boss," I responded taking it.

"Great, I'll draw up your contract first thing tomorrow morning. Come in some time around lunch to sign it and get your schedule."

I nodded relieve at how easy this was. "Thanks, boss."

"Call me, Ken."