TWO

JANE

The Wonder Woman costume was tighter than I remembered. I tugged at the bodice, making sure everything stayed in place. Red and gold leather, the signature tiara, knee-high boots that made my legs look endless. Halloween week at Fantasy Island meant themed costumes, and Madam Fantasy had been clear: go big or go home.

I adjusted my mask in the mirror. Black and silver, covering the top half of my face, with small silver chains that dangled near my temples. The mask was my safety. My shield. Without it, I was just Jane Puckett, broke college student. With it, I was Jailbird, whoever the hell I wanted to be.

The dressing room smelled like hairspray and body glitter. Keiko was beside me, dressed as Catwoman, her mask sleek and minimal. Cammie had gone full Harley Quinn, complete with a baseball bat covered in rhinestones.

"You think this is too much?" I asked, turning sideways to check the back.

"Babe, nothing is too much here," Keiko said. She was applying red lipstick, her hand steady as she read her cupid bow. "Besides, you look hot. Own it."

The door swung open and Madam Fantasy walked in. She wasn't old. She was maybe in her mid-forties, but she carried herself like someone who'd seen everything twice. Tonight she wore a black suit, her hair pulled back tight, her expression carried everything that she was about. Business.

"Jailbird, you're up. Two gentlemen waiting."

I grabbed my small purse, the one that held exactly nothing except emergency cash in case I needed to dash and pepper spray if the men got too creepy. "Who?"

"Investment banker is back. The one from last night." She checked her phone. "He specifically asked for you. Said you were a good listener."

I remembered him. Balding, wedding ring tan line, three whiskeys deep by midnight. He'd tipped well though. Two hundred for basically sitting there and nodding.

"Okay. Where?"

"Visit him second." Madam Fantasy stepped closer, lowering her voice. "The Politician's son is here. So attend to him first. He in the Private booth and he requested you specifically. Asked for Jailbird by name."

Cammie's head whipped around. "Told ya, bitch!" She pointed at Keiko. "I knew it was a politician’s son and I also knew she'd get the VIP request."

Keiko rolled her eyes. "Wait, only Jailbird? What about group rotation?"

"Only Jailbird." Madam Fantasy's tone left no room for argument. "I'm sorry, girls. He made a specific request and I live to make these pricks happy. That's the business."

My stomach flipped. Someone had requested me by name. That happened sometimes, usually repeat customers who liked a particular girl's vibe. But I'd been working here less than six months. I didn't have that many regulars yet. I was growing each night though and that semed to make enemies. But who gave a fuck.

"I'm ready for him," I said, trying to sound confident.

Madam Fantasy looked me up and down, then smiled. "I dig the mask. Very mysterious."

"Thanks. Think I'll win costume of the night?" I was joking, because I needed to lighten the weight in my chest.

"You might." She checked her phone again. "Pleasure corner three. Red tag. Don't keep him waiting."

I left the dressing room and walked down the hallway. The bass from the main floor vibrated through the walls. Fantasy Island wasn't a strip club, not exactly. It was more upscale than that. A "gentleman's lounge" where middle class and new blood rich men came to drink overpriced liquor and pay even more overpriced rates for private conversation with masked women. Some girls did more than dirty talk. That was their choice. But Madam Fantasy's rule was clear: nobody did anything they didn't want to.

I'd never gone past talking. Flirting, sure. Sitting close, laughing at bad jokes, playing the fantasy, twerking and lap dancing. But that was it. My boundaries stayed firm and so far, nobody had pushed.

The main floor was packed. Music pumped through the speakers, something with a heavy beat that made my boots vibrate against the floor. The lighting was low, purple and blue, with occasional red spotlights that swept across the room. Men in expensive suits sat in clusters, drinks in hand, watching the small stage where two girls danced in matching skeleton bodysuits.

I moved past them toward the pleasure corners. These were the private sections, separated by heavy velvet curtains. Each booth had a couch, a small table, mood lighting. Private enough for conversation but monitored by cameras for safety. Madam Fantasy didn't play around with security.

I found booth three. The red sticky note on the outside confirmed it. I took a breath, rolled my shoulders back, and slipped into character. Confidence, Mystery and Control.

Mystery especially.

I pushed through the curtain, letting my hips sway. "You called for Jailbird?"

The lighting inside was dimmer than the hallway. It took my eyes a second to adjust. A man sat on the couch, leaning back, one arm draped across the back cushions. Dark hair, expensive watch, that same black sleeve tattoo I'd seen earlier today.

My brain processed it in fragments. The jaw. The smirk. The eyes.

Ace Monroe.

I gasped before I could stop myself. My heel caught on the carpet and I stumbled forward. His hand shot out and caught my elbow, steadying me. Our eyes locked.

Time slowed down. I could hear my heartbeat in my ears, louder than the music outside. His hand was warm through the thin fabric of my costume. He was staring at me, really staring, his expression curious.

I was frozen. Completely frozen. Every muscle in my body locked up.

He was here. In Fantasy Island. Ace fucking Monroe was sitting in a private booth that he'd specifically requested me for. My brain couldn't connect the dots. What was he doing in a place like this? This wasn't some high-end country club or political fundraiser. This was crass. This was where people came to get drunk and pretend and forget their real lives.

Then it hit me. His birthday. He'd said it was his birthday today. This was where he'd chosen to celebrate.