Bianca was shoved into the sleek black car, her hands trembling despite her efforts to appear calm. She didn't fight it. What was the point? Jesse's men wouldn't hesitate to put her in her place, and she had already decided to endure whatever came her way for Binks's sake.
At least Jesse wasn't here. A bulky henchman sat beside her in the back seat, his face devoid of emotion.
"Where are we going?" Bianca asked, her voice firm despite her nerves.
The man didn't answer.
"Fine, don't tell me," she muttered under her breath, turning her attention to the city lights blurring past.
The car slowed, then came to a stop. Confused, Bianca leaned forward to look out the tinted window, but before she could make sense of the barren surroundings, a rough hand clamped over her arm.
"Don't struggle," the henchman ordered as a black hood was yanked over her head.
"What—" Bianca's words were cut off as the fabric tightened around her face. She thrashed instinctively, panic rising, but a sharp tug on her arm froze her.
"Boss's orders," the man growled. "Stay still, and you'll be fine."
Bianca bit back a scream, her breath quick and shallow beneath the hood. Her mind raced, imagining the worst. Was this it? Was Jesse planning to kill her now?
The car resumed its journey, the hum of the engine a sinister soundtrack to her spiraling thoughts. Time blurred as she tried to focus on staying calm.
When the car stopped again, Bianca was roughly pulled out. She stumbled, her disorientation complete as she was led blindly through what felt like a maze. The muffled thump of club music grew louder, vibrating through the ground beneath her heels.
The hood was ripped off without warning, and Bianca blinked against the dim red lights. Her breath hitched as she took in her surroundings—a lavish dressing room filled with women in revealing outfits. They stared at her, a mix of curiosity and indifference in their eyes.
"Ladies!" A cheerful voice with a thick British accent called out. A wiry man in a tailored suit strolled into the room. "This is Bianca, your new colleague. Treat her nicely—or don't. I don't care. Just make sure she's ready for tonight."
The man turned to Bianca, giving her an exaggerated once-over. "Hope you can dance, love. If not, you'll learn fast." He smirked and left, slamming the door behind him.
Bianca stood frozen, her eyes darting around the room. A girl with a sleek bob approached her, offering a friendly smile.
"Don't mind him. I'm Valentina. You must be new."
Bianca nodded hesitantly. "Yeah. I guess I am."
Valentina's smile widened. "Stick with me. I'll help you get through this."
Bianca followed Valentina to an empty vanity. As they sat, Bianca whispered, "What kind of place is this?"
"It's Jesse's underground club," Valentina said casually, like she was stating the weather. "It's exclusive. High rollers, mobsters, and the 'masters,' as we call them."
"Masters?" Bianca frowned.
"They're Jesse's top clients. If you impress tonight, you'll get to work privately for them. It's… better than the crowd, trust me."
Bianca wasn't sure she agreed. She glanced at the other girls, each stunning and confident, their movements practiced and precise. A pang of insecurity hit her.
"Don't worry," Valentina said, sensing her doubt. "You'll do fine. Just survive tonight."
As Valentina helped her pick out an outfit—a daring silver corset and matching stilettos—Bianca tried to steady her nerves. She caught her reflection in the mirror and barely recognized herself. The lingerie left little to the imagination, and the heavy makeup made her look older, harder.
"You've got this," Valentina said, giving her a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder.
Bianca forced a small smile, but her heart raced. The club doors opened, and the pounding music grew louder.
The time had come. She stepped into the dim, smoky room, every eye turning toward her. Bianca clenched her fists, forcing herself to walk forward.
**One night at a time,** she told herself. **I just have to survive this.**
---
The smoky haze in the air thickened as Valentina led Bianca through the dimly lit club, guiding her toward the center stage. The strippers' platform gleamed under the spotlight, an island in the middle of the sprawling room. Every eye in the house was fixed on it—the focal point for the night's entertainment.
Bianca hesitated at the edge of the stage, her legs trembling beneath her. The layout of the club only amplified her dread: the VIP booths ringed the platform, while overflow areas and the general crowd all funneled their attention toward her. The unspoken rule for new strippers was clear—she would perform solo, judged by the crowd and, more importantly, by Jesse and the elusive "masters."
The lights dimmed as a heavy, pulsing beat filled the room. A rocky tune blared over the speakers, the lyrics taunting her to move.
"You got this," Valentina whispered, giving her a nudge.
Bianca took a shaky step forward, her heart hammering in her chest. She caught sight of Jesse, his cold gaze piercing through the shadows. It was enough to force her body into action. She gripped the pole, her hands slick with sweat, and began to move.
Her curves swayed to the rhythm, each beat coaxing her into a trance-like state. The room melted away as she let muscle memory take over, twisting and curling around the pole with surprising fluidity. Her hips rolled, her body bending and arching with a grace she hadn't realized she possessed.
The crowd roared its approval, their cheers a mix of excitement and predatory hunger. But the more Bianca danced, the more she felt trapped, as though she was feeding a pack of wolves with no escape in sight.
She forced herself to push through, sliding into a final, dramatic pose. Her back arched, legs spread, leaving nothing to the imagination. The room erupted into applause, but Bianca's mind was elsewhere. She scanned the crowd, her gaze darting back to Jesse.
"I need to talk to him," she thought. "I can't keep doing this. Not like this."
The music cut out, leaving an uncomfortable silence in its wake. A drunken man in the crowd leered at her, stepping closer to the stage.
"Come here, girl. Let me feel those curves," he called, his voice slurred.
"No, no. I get first dibs," another chimed in, his eyes bloodshot and ravenous. He stumbled toward the stage, reaching out as if to grab her.
Bianca froze, her breath catching in her throat. Panic clawed at her as she backed away, her legs unsteady.
"Enough!" Jesse's voice boomed through the room, freezing everyone in place.
The tension snapped like a rubber band as the men retreated, muttering under their breath. Jesse rose from his seat, his expression dark and commanding.
"She's done for tonight," he declared, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Step down."
Bianca obeyed, climbing down from the stage with unsteady legs. Jesse's gaze never wavered as he motioned for her to follow him.
The whispers and laughter of the crowd faded as Jesse led her toward a private lounge. The moment the door shut behind them, his demeanor shifted.
"How dare you?" he growled, his voice low but menacing.
Bianca turned, startled, only to realize she had accidentally knocked over a glass of champagne onto his tailored suit. The liquid dripped down his jacket, pooling at his shoes.
"I'm so sorry!" she stammered, fumbling for a napkin. "I didn't mean to—"
Her apology was cut short as Jesse grabbed her wrist, yanking her toward him.
"You're here to pay off your brother's debt," he snarled, his grip unrelenting. "But clearly, you're not up to the task."
Bianca's vision blurred with tears. "Please, I— I'm trying. I'll do better."
"Trying isn't enough," Jesse spat, his cold gaze boring into hers.
Her legs buckled, and she collapsed against him, her body trembling with exhaustion. She felt her strength leaving her, the weight of the night finally crashing down.
"Get up," Jesse ordered, his voice as sharp as a blade.
Bianca clung to his arm, her tears soaking into his sleeve. "I can't," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I can't do this anymore."
For a moment, Jesse said nothing, his jaw tightening as he stared down at her. Then, with a frustrated sigh, he let her go, her body crumpling to the floor.
"Get yourself together," he said coldly, turning toward the door. "You don't have the luxury of falling apart."
The door slammed behind him, leaving Bianca alone in the suffocating silence. She curled into herself, the weight of her situation pressing down like a vice. **Survive. Just survive.** It was the only mantra that kept her breathing.