Chapter One

Anya's POV

The sharp ringing of my phone echoed through the small apartment, disrupting the quiet which was in the room. I dropped the mascara wand I was holding and reached across the cluttered vanity table to grab it.

“Hello?” I pressed the phone to my ear, balancing it between my cheek and shoulder as I leaned closer to the mirror. I didn't bother looking at who it was. I knew who it was already.

There was a pause before my brother's voice finally came. “You're going to the bar again tonight?”

“Good evening to you too,” I said, painting the last coat of mascara over my lashes. “Yes. I'm going. Don't start. Don't even think about it.”

A sigh escaped softly into my ear from the other side. I could picture him pinching the bridge of his nose like he always did when I annoyed him. “You don’t need that job. I told you I’ll handle everything. Rent, bills, whatever you need…”

“Yeah, I know,” I interrupted softly. “But I like it. It’s not about the money.”

“It’s not safe.”

That made me pause, mascara brush hovering midair. His tone wasn’t just the usual protective older brother nagging. It was the kind of tone he had when something was bothering him. And I knew it too well to overlook.

“Is everything okay?” I asked, lowering the brush.

Another pause. His silence made the hairs on my arm stand up. Viktor wasn't the type to just hesitate or go quiet.

“Everything’s fine,” he said finally, his voice sharp and quick like he had rehearsed it. “Don’t worry about me.”

“You don’t sound fine.”

“I’m just tired. Long day.” He forced a chuckle, but it didn’t reach his voice. “Look, little bird, just…stay safe tonight, alright?”

Little bird. Even though he didn't notice, he only calls me that when he's genuinely worried. My chest tightened. I wanted to press him, to demand the truth, but I knew my brother. Once he shut a door, it stayed shut.

“Okay,” I whispered. “Promise me you’ll come by soon? It’s been almost a month.”

“Soon,” he said, softer now. “I’ll bring him with me.”

Him. He didn’t need to say the name. My brother’s best friend always came with him. It made me wonder if he didn't have a home but I knew he was some rich kid who's been with my brother since I can remember.

I didn’t let myself linger on the thought, but my stomach fluttered all the same. I had to say, I'm not complaining.

“Good,” I said quickly, brushing it off. “I’ll make dinner.”

He made a noise of agreement. Then, with one last “Stay safe,” he hung up.

The line went dead, leaving me staring at my reflection in the mirror. My mascara had smudged under one eye. Tch, now I have to do it all over again.

I set the phone down and sat for a moment, hands folded in my lap. Viktor has always been my constant provider, protector, the man who took care of everything without ever letting me see what it cost him. He was gone most weeks, working with “big men,” as he put it. That was the extent of the details he gave me.

I didn’t push. He provided the roof over my head, kept money flowing, and never let me go hungry. What right did I have to question him?

It was all because of him I didn't get shipped off to some far away foster home or orphanage after our parents died when I was eight and he was eighteen. He took care of everything and made sure I never felt our parent's absence. He was always there with his best friend till I was old enough to stay home on my own and then they would go for days, sometimes a week or two.

Still, sometimes I wondered what kind of men demanded so much from him. What kind of job left him looking exhausted, guarded, and sometimes carrying bruises he brushed off as “accidents”?

And then there was his best friend, Roman.

I leaned back, biting my lip at the thought of him. Roman was a tall, dark-eyed man who always seemed more like a block of ice than a man. He never smiled when he visited, never spoke unless it was necessary, and when he did, his voice made me feel something.

He scared me. But he also…fascinated me.

Not that I’d ever admit that out loud. He was my brother’s best friend, off-limits in every sense of the word. But sometimes, when I caught him looking at me with those sharp, cold eyes, I felt something stir in me that I couldn’t explain. Especially whenever he walks out of the room shirtless with his sweatpants hanging loosely around his waist and I swear, I could see his outline.

I wonder from time to time how huge he is.

I shook my head. Ridiculous. He probably saw me as nothing more than a burden he had to tolerate when visiting my brother.

Still, I couldn’t deny it. Somewhere, deep inside, I had the smallest, most forbidden crush on the man I barely knew despite seeing a lot of him.

I glanced down at the screen of my phone before letting out a slight curse. “Fuck, I'll be late.”

The bass thumped in my chest as I stepped into the familiar haze of smoke and neon. The bar was alive, pulsing with energy, drunk laughter spilling over the loud music.

I clocked in with a nod to my manager, grabbed a tray, and slipped into the rhythm of the night. Drinks. Smiles. Quick banter with customers who thought they were clever.

I liked it here. Not because it was glamorous, it wasn’t. The floor was sticky, the air smelled like stale beer, and some nights ended with me scrubbing vomit off the tables.

But working here gave me a sense of freedom. Or maybe just because of the crowd, I didn't feel alone.

Guys and ladies were all around, grinding against each other in the dark and some even fucking themselves openly against the wall already. They had no shame but who cares? It's a norm in the place already and the manager made sure to satisfy their cravings with more strippers.

“Anya.” The assistant manager purred in my ears as she pulled me aside. I could already bet on what she was about to say.

“A lot of our customers have their eyes on you. Just one night against the pole, I promise I'll pay you well.” She said, giving me a puppy eye.

Cassandra loved the money and would do anything for it as long as she got your consent of course. She would never force her lust for money on you but she does hint at it. “You've got a nice body. And a nice ass.”

I let out a small chuckle, twirling a bit for her to see. “Sorry Sandy. You know better than anyone. I'm not here for the money, just the life. Love you.”

I left her there, moving from table to table, weaving through swaying bodies and spilled drinks. My phone buzzed in my apron pocket, but when I glanced at the screen, it was just a message from my best friend, Alina: Don’t get into trouble tonight.

I smiled, shoving it away. Before I could move, three huge guys stepped in my way.

I forced a smile, straightening. “Can I help you?”

They didn’t answer. One of them stepped forward, his gaze pinning me. Before I could move, his hand shot out, grabbing my wrist. The tray clattered to the floor, shattering glasses.

“Come with us,” he said in accented Russian, his grip like iron.

I didn't know why, but suddenly, fear surged up my throat. “Let me go!” I twisted, but he yanked me forward. The bar’s noise dimmed around us as people noticed what was happening.

“Zatknisʹ, suka, poshla s nami!”