THE ALPHA'S DEADLY ADDICTION

Chapter 3: VIP

Angel’s pov

I shoved through the back entrance of Silk & Skin more than forty five minutes late, my hair still damp from the rain and my bag slipping off my shoulder.

Fuck f**k f**k.

The bass was already thumping through the walls, which meant the late night shift had started without me. Which meant Sasha was going to murder me.

I burst into the dressing room and immediately felt the temperature drop.

Crystal was perched on the counter in front of the mirror, reapplying her signature red lipstick with a cruel smile that could cut glass. The second she saw me, her grin widened.

"Well, well, well. Look who finally decided to show up." She capped her lipstick with a sharp click. "You're so dead, Angel. Sasha's been asking for you every five minutes. I've never seen him that pissed."

I dumped my bag on the bench and started pulling out my things, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a response.

"I'm serious," Crystal continued, her voice dripping with false concern. "He said he was going to mount your head on a spike. And I, for one, will be there every second of the way to cheer him on."

"Crystal—" Jade warned from her station, not looking up from lacing her heels.

"What? I'm just being honest." Crystal hopped off the counter, her sequined outfit catching the light. "Angel acts like she can do whatever she wants just because the boss has a soft spot for her. But there's a limit to everything, and I think she finally found it."

"I said enough." Jade stood up, all five-foot-ten of her in six-inch heels, and Crystal wisely shut her mouth. Jade turned to me, her expression softening. "Sasha wants to see you. In his office. Now."

My stomach dropped.

"How bad?" I asked.

Jade grimaced. "You had three regulars request you specifically tonight. They've been waiting."

Shit.

"Thanks, Jade." I grabbed my mask and bodysuit from my locker, not bothering to change yet.

"Good luck, babe." Jade squeezed my shoulder. "And for what it's worth? Crystal's just jealous because Mr. Volkov tipped you five hundred last week and barely looked at her."

I managed a weak smile and headed down the hallway toward Sasha's office, my heels clicking against the sticky floor.

The door was half-open. I could see him inside, sitting behind his massive desk, one hand pressed to his temple like he had a headache.

I knocked.

"Enter," he barked.

I pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Aleksander Petrov, Sasha to those of us who worked for him, was a mountain of a man. Six-foot-five, built like he'd spent his youth breaking people's kneecaps for the Russian mob (which, rumor had it, he had), with steel-grey hair and dark eyes that could make grown men piss themselves. The eyepatch over his left eye only added to the intimidation factor.

Right now, those dark eyes were fixed on me with the kind of fury that made my mouth go dry.

"Sit," he said flatly.

I sat.

For a long moment, he just stared at me, his jaw working like he was physically restraining himself from yelling.

"Forty five minutes," he finally said, his accent thicker when he was angry. "You are forty five minutes late, Angel."

"I know, and I'm so—"

"I do not care for excuses." He leaned forward, his massive hands folding on the desk. "You have loyal clients. Good clients who pay very well and request you specifically. They do not come here to wait. They come here to be entertained."

"I know, Sasha, I'm sorry, the bus was late and—"

"The bus." He let out a short, humorless laugh. "The bus is always late, devochka. This is not new information."

I bit my lip, knowing he was right.

"I give you privileges the other girls do not have," he continued, his voice dropping dangerously low. "I give you the high-paying customers. I let you take time off for your schooling. I am lenient with you, Angel, because you are good at your job and you bring in money. But you—" He jabbed a finger in my direction. "—you do not look like you appreciate any of what I do."

"I do appreciate it—"

"Then show me!" His fist came down on the desk, making me jump. "Show me by being on time. Show me by not making my best clients wait while Crystal and the others circle like vultures trying to steal them."

The image of Crystal gleefully taking my regulars made my stomach twist. She was a good dancer, a beautiful entertainer, but she was dsperate. As was I, actually, but Crystal showed she was desperate. Men always wanted what they thought was elusive, what they thought they couldn’t have. A little graze, a little taste, a little show, enough to keep them placated but never to satisfy them fully, that’s what made them coming back for more. That was what Crystal didn’t understand when it came to finessing.

"You're right," I said quietly. "I screwed up. I should've left earlier, should've planned better. I'm sorry, Sasha."

He stared at me for a long moment, then let out a heavy sigh and rubbed his hand over his face.

"You are lucky you are one of my best," he muttered. "Anyone else, I would have fired by now."

"I know."

"Do you?" He fixed me with that one piercing eye. "Because this is second time this month, Angel."

"It won't happen again."

"You promise this?"

I met his gaze steadily. "I promise."

He held my stare for another beat, then his expression softened just slightly—the closest thing to affection Sasha ever showed.

"Go," he said gruffly, waving his hand. "Get changed. You have client waiting."

I stood up, relief flooding through me. "Thank you, Sasha."

"Da, da. You say this now, but—"

A sharp knock interrupted him.

"What?" Sasha bellowed.

The door cracked open and one of the floor managers—Viktor—stuck his head in. "Boss, we have a situation."

"I am busy, Viktor."

"But it’s a VIP request. The girls at the front are excited for this one but they say he’s being very specific. Asking for Angel."

Sasha's eyebrow rose. He glanced at me, then back at Viktor. "Tell them she is unavailable at moment. Give him Crystal or Natasha."

"I figured. I tried this already but the girls said he insisted. Said Angel or no one."

"Blyat." Sasha pinched the bridge of his nose. "How much is he offering?"

Viktor named a figure that made my eyes widen.

Sasha's good eye narrowed. "For one dance?"

"For a private session. He paid upfront. Must be one of those new clients that saw her performance last week. Stacy said he seemed sure he’d be getting his money’s worth."

Sasha was quiet for a moment, calculating. Then he looked at me with an expression that was half-exasperated, half-impressed.

"You see?" He gestured at me dramatically. "This is why I cannot fire you, even when you make me want to pull out my other eye. You reel in the high-paying customers like fish on hook."

I tried not to smile. "So... I'm forgiven?"

"Nyet. You are on thin ice." But there was no real heat in his voice anymore. "Now go. Make this client very happy so they come back and spend more ridiculous money."

"You know you love me, Sasha," I said sweetly, backing toward the door.

"I love money," he corrected. "You just happen to be very good at making it. Now go before I change mind."

I slipped out of his office with a grin and practically jogged back to the dressing room.

Crystal looked up when I entered, her expression souring when she saw I was still in one piece.

"VIP request," I said, grabbing my white bodysuit from the locker. "Better make it good."

I changed quickly, ignoring Crystal's muttered complaints about "teacher's pets" and "unfair advantages." The bodysuit was one of my favorites—white lace and silk that clung to my curves without revealing everything at once. Strategic cutouts showed just enough skin to tease. Elegant. Expensive-looking.

Perfect for high-paying clients.

I adjusted my mask in the mirror—white this time, to match the outfit—and took a deep breath.

You've got this. Just another dance. Just another client.

Jade caught my eye in the mirror. "You good?"

"Always am." I rolled my shoulders back, slipping into my performance persona like a second skin.

The walk from the dressing room to the VIP section was familiar. Past the main floor where girls were already working the poles, past the bar where regulars nursed overpriced drinks, through the velvet curtain that separated the VIPs from the rest of the club.

The lighting was dimmer back here. More intimate. Private booths lined the hallway, each one separated by heavy curtains.

Viktor was waiting for me at the end of the hall, standing outside the largest booth.

"He is in there," Viktor said, gesturing to the curtain. "Paid for full hour. Very generous tip already."

"Got it." I straightened my spine, lifted my chin, and plastered on my most confident smile.

Showtime.

I pushed through the curtain, my hips already swaying to the music, my voice dropping into that low, sultry tone I used for clients.

"Good evening," I purred, not looking at him yet, keeping my eyes lowered as I stepped into the space. "I hear you requested me specifically. I'm flattered—"

I looked up.

And every word died in my throat.

Jason Beauregard sat sprawled on the leather couch, his blue eyes locked on me with an intensity that made my knees weak.

He was wearing all black—expensive, tailored, the kind of clothes that screamed money without trying. His blonde hair was slightly mussed, like he'd been running his hands through it. And that face... God, that stupidly perfect face was watching me with an expression I couldn't quite read.

Surprise? Satisfaction? Heat?

All of the above?

No. No no no no—

He was sitting there like he owned the place, oozing confident charm, boredly flipping through a magazine.

For a second—just a second—I forgot how to breathe.

Then reality came crashing back.

He's here. In Silk & Skin. In the Scarlet District.

And he'd requested me.

My hands flew to my mask to make sure my identity was still intact. He was smarter than people gave him credit for and if he requested specifically for me...

I should never have given him the damn address. Should never have mixed my private life with my professional life. It never occurred to me that he’d show up here of all places. Yes he was an entitled spoiled brat and used to debauchery but this district was for the low of the lowest, the most depraved, most abhorrent human beings. Him and his entire crew of old money wealth would rather roll in soot than be caught dead here. Knowing I worked here and even taunting him with it was one thing, dancing for him was another. I thought– I just– I thought…

"What—" My voice came out strangled. I cleared my throat and tried again, dropping the sultry act entirely. "What are you doing here?"

He looked at me like it was pretty darn obvious. That bored and disinterested look shattered my confidence.

"I believe," he said, leaning back and spreading his arms across the back of the couch like he owned the place. Not a single hint of familiarity crossed his face just that predatory gaze that pinned me in place. "I'm here for a dance."