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it.
    Sometimes, when I close my eyes, I can see my bakery. It’s a small, cozy building, drenched in shades of sky blue and cream. I bake pastries and offer little samples on the counters for my customers.
    I’m so close.
    With that thought in mind, I slowly make my way up to the VIP room. Rick escorts me to the door.
    “You okay?”
    I nod. I haven’t had to step foot inside since that night with Jax. After promising my boss that I’m fine, I wait until he’s back downstairs before taking a deep breath and stepping inside.
    The man is tall with deep, ebony skin. His tie hangs loose around his neck, and there’s a drink in his hand. He offers me one, but I decline. Instead, I reach for the remote and turn on the sound system. A punishing beat floods the room, and his eyes travel up and down my legs before he finally sits in the chair.
    I close my eyes.
    Automatic pilot.
    Robotic.
    I sway to the music, and he follows the rules. He doesn’t touch me, but his eyes are wide and hungry. It used to make my skin crawl, but now . . .
    Automatic pilot.
    I move a little closer, placing my hand along the back of his chair, and he groans. That’s when I feel his hand on my hip.
    “You know the rules,” I warn him.
    They get one warning.
    “You’re so hot,” he murmurs thickly. “Come on, baby. I wanna get my money’s worth.”
    The smell of booze on his breath makes me want to puke. I glance at the black button on the bar. Our panic button. The silent signal that alerts Rick that we’re in trouble.
    I’ve never used it before.
    But when his hand starts to slide up the inside of my thigh, I remind myself there’s a first time for everything.

 
    I miss her.
    It’s been over twelve hours since I’ve seen her, and I miss her.
    Is that normal?
    Tara says it can be, but I don’t believe her. You miss soldiers who’ve gone off to war. You miss relatives you haven’t seen in years. You miss loved ones who’ve passed away.
    You don’t miss someone you kissed just last night.
    Do you?
    I do.
    I miss her smell. I miss her laugh. I miss the way her eyes light up when she calls me on my bullshit.
    I miss her.
    She’s working tonight. The club isn’t something I like to think about, because then I have to think about what she’s doing, and who she’s doing it with, and while I know the club has rules, I also know there are fuckers out there who don’t give a shit about the rules, and it’s that possibility that drives me insane.
    Tara says it’s jealousy, but this is the one area where my sister and I disagree.
    It’s not jealousy.
    It’s rage.
    Mind-numbing fury.
    I don’t want anyone else to see her naked.
    I don’t want anyone else to touch her.
    Ever.
    But I don’t say it, because I know it’ll just lead to a fight. Tesla is headstrong and proud, and I know voicing any sort of opinion about her job is just going to cause an argument I can’t win.
    Besides, if everything goes to plan, maybe she won’t have to work at the club much longer.
    We have no plans to meet after work, but I miss her.
    I want to see her.
    I call my driver, and twenty minutes later, Gus drops me off at the club. There’s a redhead on stage, and the men seem to be enjoying the show. I don’t even glance in her direction. I just sit down at the bar. The bartender walks over.
    “Your usual, Mr. Monroe?”
    “No, thanks . . .”
    “Carlos, sir.”
    “Carlos. I’m just waiting for Tesla. I think her shift ends soon.”
    “Ah, she’s a sweet one.”
    “She certainly is. I guess she’s backstage.”
    “Actually, Rick just escorted her upstairs. I’m guessing she’ll be a half-hour or so. Are you sure I can’t get you something to drink while you wait?”
    I look toward the stairs just as Rick appears at the bottom. One of the dancers grabs him by the arm, leading him backstage.
    Upstairs.
    Half-hour.
    My hands shake and my vision blurs, because I know where she is.
    And I know what it means.
    I’m having a heart attack.