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1

Today could go straight to hell.

I leaned against the rusted fire escape railing, staring out at the city. As the night deepened, the lights in a thousand windows flared in the darkness like a blanket of stars. The buzz of taxi horns, murmured conversation, and clinking glass swirled around me. A pigeon kept me company, nibbling on the chunks of bread I tossed into the air. I’d named him Hendrix. He visited more days than not, always recognizable by the single black spot above his eye. This place had begun to feel a little like home, even though I’d only moved to New York a few months ago.

Moved. Ha! I’d been living out of my car before this.

My best friend, Serena, joined me on the fire escape and handed me a coffee mug full of white wine—the cheap kind that came in a box. Her midnight hair cascaded around her slim, dark shoulders in perfect waves as she tipped back her head to stare up at the sky. A crescent moon glowed over the buildings. She caught the look on my face and frowned.

“Bad news again?” Serena asked.

I sighed and took a sip. The wine tasted like boiled socks, but it was better than nothing, especially on a night like this. “Rejection. Again. They went with someone else. Surprise, surprise. No one is ever going to give a job to someone who was charged with involuntary manslaughter. The HR guy said I was more than qualified, but they had ‘concerns’ about me. What a dick.”

It was at least the fiftieth job I’d applied to since moving to the city. I’d managed to make it to the interview stage a few times, but it always ended the same. As soon as they Googled my name, it was all over.

“You were acquitted.”

“Only because they couldn’t prove it. Everyone thinks I’m guilty.” I glanced at Serena, who swirled the wine in her mug. “Except for you.”

She slung her arm around my shoulder and sighed. “This sucks. I’m so sorry. You know I love the hell out of you, Mia.”

“But you still want me out of your very voluptuous hair.” I gave her a knowing smile. “Is Noah coming over tonight?”

Serena flushed and downed her drink in one gulp. “I’m supposed to hang out with him tonight, but I’m not going to kick you out of your own apartment just to see a guy.”

“Your apartment,” I corrected. “And this studio is not big enough for the three of us, especially when there’s a date involved.”

I glanced at the open window that led back into the Brooklyn apartment. It was in the shape of an L. Along with a minuscule kitchen, the longer section was just big enough for a two-seater couch, a small TV, and a few cluttered shelves. The smaller corner fit nothing but a bed. Serena had hung up a beaded curtain between the two spaces, so we could have the illusion of privacy, but we could still hear each other breathe at night. The place was barely big enough for Serena, let alone the two of us, but she’d insisted I crash on her couch until I found a job and a place for myself.

Unfortunately, my past refused to let me move on.

“Doesn’t matter,” Serena insisted with a fierce smile. “This is your place for as long as you need it to be. Noah and I will go somewhere else. There’s a new bar in Bushwick I’ve been meaning to check out.”

“You’ve been dying for some alone time with him.” I ducked through the window and jumped down onto the warped hardwood floor. “I’ll make myself scarce for a few hours. No big deal.”

Serena followed me inside, frowning. “Mia, I don’t want you to feel like you have to do this. Where will you even go?”

I shrugged and grabbed my knee-high boots from the rack beside the door. “Exploring. It’s New York City. It’s not like I’ll be bored.”

Before she could object, I tossed her a smile, grabbed the handle, and tugged open the door. I jogged down the three flights of stairs and pushed out into the night. Hordes of people bustled past. The commuters with their backpacks and scuffed sneakers they changed into after a day spent in office shoes. Then, there were the ‘artistes’ with their hipster beards and artisan coffee cups. The harried mothers and the children, the grocery store workers, and the locals who had lived in the neighborhood for decades.

I joined the fray, wandering aimlessly through the streets, until a flyer nailed to a telephone pole caught my eye. The big bold letters announced a job opening for a club in Hell’s Kitchen, of all places. They needed a dancer, someone to wriggle around in one of the elevated cages while the drunken partiers watched. Auditions were open only on Monday nights when the club was shut to patrons.

There was a strange symbol drawn at the bottom of the flyer. Squiggly lines wrapped around each other, ending in what looked like a devil tail.

Tonight was Monday. I shook my head and stepped back. It was a crazy idea. A dancer at a club? My parents would hate that, not that they would ever hear about it. They hadn’t spoken to me in months. Unlike Serena, they believed the lies about me.

But still. Me, a dancer? Sure, I’d taken ballet and jazz in high school, but I doubt I’d be prancing around in a tutu. This was way out of my comfort zone.

There was really only one way to find out.

I was in desperate need of a job. My bank account was in the negative, and I had nowhere to live. Serena wouldn’t kick me out, but I knew she wanted her space. The other day, I’d overheard her and Noah talk about moving in together one day. I’d squatted in her tiny studio for three months. She’d saved my ass when I had nowhere else to go. It was time to repay the favor.

I snatched the flyer off the telephone poll and turned my feet toward the subway station.

* * *

It took me well over an hour to reach Hell’s Kitchen from Clinton Hill. The subway ride was long, stinky, and boring as hell, and it was enough time for me to rethink my hasty plan. I hadn’t really come dressed for a dance audition, and I had no routine prepared. My dark skinny jeans and black crop top would constrict my movements, and my boots were clunky and heavy.

Still, I found the club anyway and eyed the door from the opposite side of the street. Fitting for Hell’s Kitchen, the owners had dubbed it Infernal. The sign was dark, but it looked as though the words glowed with flames when the place was open. Set inside an old, industrial warehouse, it took up half the block. That same strange symbol had been painted onto the single door out front.

Other than that, it was impossible to tell anything about the place. I shifted on my feet and bit my lip. This was probably a terrible idea.

I glanced down the quiet street. Hell’s Kitchen had once been a grungy, crime-infested corner of the city, but the past few decades had transformed it into a bustling, lively, trendy place with popular bars and nightclubs. But this street was as dark and as silent as a tomb, and I swore I felt a pair of eyes on the back of my head. Fear skittered down my spine.

I rolled my eyes at myself. This was ridiculous. All I had to do was walk through that door, put on a good audition, and go back to Brooklyn. By that point, Noah and Serena would have spent several hours alone, and I could crawl onto the couch, cozy into a blanket, and watch Netflix until my eyelids fell shut. Maybe have another few mugs of that shitty wine. Just like I did every night.

Ugh. What a life.

Squaring my shoulders, I strode across the street. My boots clicked on the pavement, the only sound in the strange silence. When I reached the club’s entrance, I tried the handle. Locked. I took a deep breath and pushed the buzzer.

A moment later, the door swung open. A blast of heat slammed me square in the chest as a tall, dark-haired man gave me a single glance. Time seemed to slow. My heart flickered beneath my ribs. This guy was hot. Broad chest, chiseled cheekbones, and—he slammed the door in my face too fast for me to see anything else.

I scoffed, my mouth dropping open.

How rude.

Narrowing my eyes, I knocked again. Immediately, he opened the door, as if he’d known I wouldn’t go away that easily. It was all I could do not to stare at the guy. His sweeping cheekbones cut like glass, and his piercing blue eyes were flecks of ice. A fitted black tee draped across his well-muscled chest, and his snug jeans hung low around his hips, showing off just a hint of his washboard abs.

My heart pounded as I glared up at him. Nice to look at, but still rude.

“I’m here about the job.” I held up the flyer, grateful that my hand didn’t shake. “It says auditions are tonight.”

He eyed me, a strange expression rippling across his face. “The job is only open to a specific type of dancer. As far as I can tell, that isn’t you.”

His voice was deeper and smoother than I expected, like a big mouthful of melted dark chocolate.

I narrowed my eyes. “What kind of dancer?”

“One you aren’t.” He moved to shut the door again, but I stuck out my boot to stop him.

“How can you tell what kind of dancer I am if you don’t let me audition?” Honestly, I didn’t know why I was fighting so hard for a chance at this job. It wasn’t like I really wanted it. Something about this place didn’t sit right in my gut, and I had no idea what went on behind these closed doors. So, I should take his hesitance—and total assholery—as a sign and go home.

The only problem was, I didn’t have a home. Not a real one, at least.

He folded his arms and smiled. “Trust me. I can tell just by looking at you.”

“And I can tell you’re a dick just by looking at you.” The words popped out of my mouth before I could stop them. Whoops. Probably not the best way to impress a potential employer. I ground my teeth together as I watched another job lead fall through. At least it meant I wouldn’t have to look into this asshole’s perfectly-sculpted face every day.

His brows winged upward. “I own this place. I can be as much of a dick as I like.”

Inwardly, I rolled my eyes. Of course he owned the place. With a deep breath, I bit back my agitation and swallowed a little pride.

“Look, I’m new to the city, it’s been a rough few months, and I just really wanted the chance at this job. I have over ten years of dance experience. Unless the gig involves parading around topless, I know I would be good at this. Nothing against it, of course, but it’s not for me. The topless thing, I mean. Dancing is for me. Clothed dancing. What I’m trying to say is that I don’t want to show my boobs.”

Heat flooded my cheeks, and I cut myself off before I rambled on about my boobs for another five minutes. Hopefully this guy didn’t think I was trying to flirt. He might look good, but I’d rather sleep on Serena’s couch for the rest of my life than even think about touching him with a ten-foot pole.

“Over ten years?” He regarded me again, and a strange sizzling heat trailed down my spine. I swallowed hard beneath his gaze, my heartbeat flickering like butterfly wings. It almost felt as though he was peeling back the layers of my skin and staring into my soul.

But that was ridiculous.

“I got serious about dance when I was twelve. I’m twenty-three now…although, I haven’t done much dancing recently.”

“College?”

I nodded. “I graduated two years ago.”

“What have you been doing since then?”

I swallowed hard. There it was, the question I wanted to avoid. If he knew about my past, he’d never let me step foot through that door. “Nothing important.”

A beat passed in brutal silence. His eyes bored into the very depths of me. At least, that was what it felt like.

“I see. What’s your name?”

I frowned. What was with the fifty questions? I didn’t want to tell him my full name. He would look me up—they all did. And nothing good ever came of that. But if he decided to hire me, he’d have to know my name for the paperwork. Ugh.

“Mia McNally.”

“Hmm.” His sharp blue eyes flashed as he took a step toward me. I stiffened, and my breath caught in my throat. He was taller than I’d realized. At least six foot and brimming with pure muscle. I swore I could smell a hint of bonfire rippling off his skin. The tension in my body rocketed up a notch. “I’ll give you five minutes for an audition, but only because I can’t quite figure you out.”

I swallowed hard and laughed awkwardly. That made two of us. Who the hell was this guy? Why was he such an asshole? And did I really want to work for him?

He turned and stepped into the shadows of his club. Without another glance in my direction, he held the door open and waited. “Aren’t you coming?”

I pulled the night air into my lungs and stepped into Infernal.

2

“Welcome to my club.” The owner, whose name I still didn’t know, led me through a dimly-lit corridor. The walls were lined with framed photographs of famous people. Actors and pop singers, politicians and reality stars. My heart thumped as we drew close to a gleaming oak door. Had all of these people been here? What kind of place had I ended up in, and why had I never heard of it before?

This guy’s opinion of me was starting to make a little more sense. With my casual, well-worn clothes and flaming red hair, I wasn’t exactly a shiny, glamorous kind of girl. I was more at home stomping on a bar top than mingling with women who wore glittering jewels that cost more than my entire life’s earnings.

He pushed open the oak door, and I followed him into the main section of his club. The once-gritty warehouse had been transformed. A black marble floor stretched out before us, leading to a small stage with a DJ stand. Intimate booths ran along the walls where leather seats curved around tables stocked with champagne buckets. Above the dance floor, seven human-sized birdcages hung from the lofted ceiling. Diamonds glittered along the bottom of each one.

Infernal was a club alright, but it was unlike any I’d ever been in before. This place was meant for people with money.

“What do you think?” the owner asked.

I jumped at the sound of his deep voice, and then inwardly cursed at myself for the reaction. “It looks expensive.”

His lips curved into a wicked smile. “That’s because it is.”

“So, that’s why you didn’t want to give me an audition. Because I look like I’m poor.” Again, my stupid mouth betrayed me. I really should learn how to keep my thoughts to myself in situations like this. But something about this guy really brought out my snark.

“That’s not entirely accurate,” he said smoothly before strolling across the floor with his hands slung into his jean pockets. I watched him. I couldn’t help myself. His dark hair was the color of night itself, and something about the way he moved reminded me of shadows. Very mesmerizing shadows. Gritting my teeth, I glanced away.

“This is where you’d be dancing.” I turned back to find him gazing at me with those sharp blue eyes. Something flashed in the depths of them, something I couldn’t read. I followed the line of his arm, and then his finger. He was pointing up at the oversized birdcages. Just as I’d thought. “Is that a problem?”

“Why would it be?” I strode over to him with all of the bravado I didn’t feel. “It’s just a platform for dancing as far as I can tell.”

He shot me a dark smile. “You’d be trapped. If you wanted to leave, you couldn’t. Not until the end of your shift when we lower the cages.”

My stomach flipped. Well, that was more than a little unnerving. Plus, shivers coursed down my spine from the way he’d said it. Like it was a threat. But I knew he was only trying to get a reaction out of me. Probably. And I wouldn’t let him see that he’d gotten one.

“No big deal,” I said as breezily as possible. “What kind of hours are we talking about? Are there any breaks?”

“The dancers work from eleven to three. No breaks while you’re up there. The guests enjoy the dance floor during those hours, and lowering the cages is a logistical nightmare.”

I nodded as if the idea of being trapped inside a cage for four hours was at all reasonable. “Do dancers get any tips?”

The owner motioned at something—or someone—hidden in the dark shadows near the ceiling. Were we being watched? A moment later, chains groaned as the nearest cage lowered to the ground. He opened the door and pointed at a small golden bucket. “If someone seems interested in your dancing, you can lower that with a rope. But be sure to pocket anything you receive. If you lower it with cash still inside, the tricksters in the crowd will happily take it.”

“Tricksters? Sure.” I nodded again. Who uses the word tricksters?

“Are you ready to audition now?”

I swallowed hard. “One last question.”

He raised a brow.

“What’s your name? I don’t think I caught it.”

He flashed me that wicked smile again. “Because I didn’t give it to you.”

I gave him a blank stare. Was he really going to have me audition for his club and not tell me his damn name? “And it is…?”

“Asmodeus.”

I bit back a laugh. What the hell kind of name was that?

Was he joking? Or was he giving me a fake name for some bizarre, unknowable reason? I met his dark gaze. He looked serious enough. There wasn’t even a hint of a smile on his face.

“Nice to meet you, Asmodeus,” I grumbled. Though…was it really? That sense of wrong had only increased since I’d stepped foot inside his club. I didn’t belong here with this fancy man and his fancy famous friends. With a deep breath, I stepped inside the cage.

Immediately, the door slammed shut behind me, and the cage tipped beneath my feet. It inched off the ground, swinging lightly on its heavy chain. I bit back the urge to scream and stood stock still until the cage shuddered to a stop. Gritting my teeth, I peered through the glittering bars at the sleek, marble floor far below me. Asmodeus stared up at me with a grin that could only be described as pure evil.

I was going to have to dance in this thing.

My heart took flight as Asmodeus strode over to the stage, rounded a DJ stand, and punched a few buttons. Music blared through hidden speakers, an upbeat, clubby song that bounced against my skin. I swallowed hard and wiped my sweaty palms against my jeans. I knew ballet and jazz but nothing more modern. How the hell was I going to pull this off?

“Whenever you’re ready,” he called.

Pulling my breath into my lungs, I closed my eyes and listened to the beat. This place, this guy, all of it was unnerving and way out of my comfort zone. But I needed a job, desperately so. I hadn’t asked about wages, but I didn’t need to. The diamonds and the wall of famous faces said it all. I would be paid well if I got this job. Probably well enough to get my own apartment.

All I had to do was put up with a weird asshole of a boss and dance in a cage for a few hours several times a week. That really wasn’t so bad in the grand scheme of things. A lot of people had it way worse than that.

The bass thumped through the club, reverberating through the thick soles of my boots. Slowly, I began to nod, letting the music fill my body. The notes wound into my ears, mixing with my blood. I’d always felt attuned to music, like it was part of me. After a few moments, my body moved. I didn’t overthink it. I lost myself in the sound and let my soul take over.

I’d spent years training my body, and it knew what to do without me asking. My arms twisted in the air as my legs bounced from side to side. I pushed up onto my toes and spun, my fingers skimming the bars, my hair swirling around my shoulders.

The world dropped away as I danced. All my fears were forgotten. My worries and anxieties whispered away. The job didn’t matter. My parents didn’t matter. The trial and the charges and the social media hate I’d endured were momentarily nothing but a shadow in my mind.

The music cut off. Suddenly, it all came rushing back in. The accusing eyes. The headlines. The sirens. The look on my parents’ faces when they shouted at me to get out. Tears flooded my vision, but I quickly blinked them away.

I looked down to find Asmodeus staring up at me with appreciation in his eyes. I swore I even saw the hint of a smile. My chest lifted as hope chased away the fears battling their way back inside my mind. I’d impressed him.

The job was mine. I could see it in his face.

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