My Stepbrother's Dirty Little Secret novel Chapter 1

Gianna

━⊰ ❦ ⊱━

I tugged at the scrap of black lace riding up my hip. This outfit wasn’t clothes, it was a prayer. A tiny, see-through prayer.

I caught my reflection in the cracked dressing room mirror and barely recognized the girl staring back. The silver wig was cold and synthetic against my neck.

"We’re getting that money, Bri. I swear," I said.

Brianna looked at me, her eyes rimmed with red, "Gianna, you don't have to do this. You’ve already done enough for us. You shouldn't have to be in here, looking like this. We'll find another way."

"There is no other way, and you know it," I snapped, then immediately softened. I grabbed her hands. They were ice cold, "I am not letting anything happen to any of us. I'd rather stand out there in front of a thousand strangers than spend one second wondering where Cole Mercer took you. If this is what it takes to keep all of us safe, then I'm doing it. End of story."

The door swung open, Mama D came in with a smile. She looked us up and down, her eyes lingering on the way the black straps dug into my skin. She hated this as much as we did.

"Are you ready, girls. It’s go time," she said, waving a hand dripping in fake gold rings, "We’ve got a private party in the Gold Room. These aren't your usual local creeps. These guys are fancy. Suits that cost more than your lives, clean fingernails, the whole deal. They’ll throw heavy cash if you make them feel like kings. Don't blow it."

I swallowed hard and reached for the black lace mask on the vanity. I tied the silk ribbons behind my head, feeling a tiny bit of relief as the fabric hid my eyes and nose. If I couldn't see them clearly, maybe they couldn't see the real me.

Walking into the private room felt like stepping into a freezer. It was dark, filled the smell of top-shelf bourbon and the kind of cologne that lingers in your throat. Three men sat on the leather U-shaped couch. They were leaning in, talking in low voices.

"It’s a simple wire," one was saying, "We move the first billion through the offshore accounts in Cyprus by morning."

First billion.

The word made my head spin. I was here risking everything for a few grand, and they were talking about money that didn't even sound real.

The music started, I stepped into the center of the rug, moving my hips, not like Bri and Tasha were moving. Instead, I used the only thing I knew: my training.

I rose onto the tips of my toes, my calves flexing, I moved my hips in a slow circle, every muscle in my stomach rippling with a control that only years of the barre could give you.

I arched my back until my silver hair nearly swept the floor, my ribs expanding as I took a shaky breath.

I could feel their eyes on me. The room went dead silent. The talk of billions stopped. I arched my back, sliding my hands down my sides, trying to look like I enjoyed the way their eyes tracked my every move.

The man in the center slowly sat straight. He didn't say a word. He just lifted one hand and curled two fingers, beckoning me closer.

As, I got closer, the details hit me. He was wearing a dark charcoal suit that fit his broad shoulders perfectly, no tie, just a crisp white shirt unbuttoned at the top.

I stood between his knees, my body swaying to the beat. I looked up, and for a second, I forgot to breathe.

He was... beautiful, like, scary beautiful. He had a jawline so sharp that it looked unreal. But it was his eyes that trapped me, a light, piercing brown, like clover honey held up to a flame.

I stepped even closer, my bare thigh brushing against the expensive wool of his suit trousers. I arched my back again, my spine supple as a whip, and let my arms flow upward, before I brought them down to graze my own collarbone.

I was using every bit of my ballet training, the control, the lines, the way I knew exactly how to shift my weight to make my hips sway just right.

Slowly, he reached out. His hand was large, his fingers long and tanned covered in tattoos. He started to reach for my waist, his palm open as if he wanted to pull me onto his lap.

I didn't think. I just reacted.

I caught his wrist with one hand and pushed it back toward his chest. I didn't break eye contact. I just gave a tiny, slow shake of my head.

Look, but don't touch, I'm not that kind of girl. I'm just here for the cash.

I expected him to get angry. I expected him to snap or call Mama D to complain. Men like this weren't used to being told "no," especially not in a room they paid for.

Instead, a slow, lopsided smile spread across his face. It transformed his face from a cold statue into something human, something even more dangerous because of how charming it was.

He didn't try again. He just leaned back into the leather couch, crossing one leg over the other, watching me with a look that said he was suddenly very, very interested in the girl behind the mask.

I slowly turned my back to him, arching my spine until I could see him over my shoulder. I moved my hips in a slow circle, the black lace of my thong barely covering anything.

I heard a soft rustle of fabric.

I turned back around, my silver hair stuck to my glittery skin. He was reaching into the inner pocket of his suit jacket.

He pulled out a thick wad of cash. It was all hundred-dollar bills, crisp and new.

He didn't just throw it at me. He didn't tuck it into the table. Instead, he held the money between two fingers and looked up at me. His light brown eyes were darker than before. He didn't say a word, but the way he tilted his head was a question.

Can I?

My heart was thumping so hard I thought it would burst through my ribs. Slowly, I stepped even closer, until my stomach was inches from his face. I didn't nod, but I didn't move away.

He leaned in. I felt his hot breath on my skin, his hand came forward, and he didn't just tuck the money in. He took his time.

His fingers slid under the strap, grazing the skin of my hip. He let his knuckles drag against me, pressing a little too hard, a little too long. The friction sent a literal shock through my system, an electric spark that started at my hip and shot straight to my core.

I gasped, my back arching instinctively. It was a reaction to the heat of his touch. He knew exactly what he was doing. His thumb traced the edge of the lace, dipping just an inch lower than it needed to, claiming a piece of me that wasn't for sale.

He looked up at me from his seat, that lopsided, beautiful smile growing wider as he saw my chest heaving. He watched my reaction like it was a show created just for him.

"Good girl," he mouthed, though no sound came out.

He finally let go, but the skin where he’d touched me felt like it was on fire.

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