Turning It on (Red Hot Russians) Read Online Free PDF Page B

usually less touchy, but they tipped extremely well. One held out a twenty, and Vlad made sure he was within easy reach. Most were married, and simply wanted to admire his cut, greased form, while the younger girls wanted him to be flirtatious, sexy and sweet at the same time.
    Vlad had become very good at giving all of them what they came for.
    As the song ended, he mounted the stairs once more, playing to the main floor audience, then out of habit, glanced up at the VIP box. His stomach lurched as he met the gaze of the balcony’s sole occupant. Rosalie DiMarco, twice-divorced, twice-widowed sister of a badass local land developer rumored to have mob ties. Her surgically altered face creased in a grotesque smile as she lifted her martini glass. Vlad spun away.
    In the locker room between shows, he counted out his take. Three hundred bucks and that was just for the first set. God, he loved Friday nights. He’d go home tonight with at least six hundred, even after tipping out the DJ and the set up guy. More than what he and his mom used to live on for a week, back in Arkhangelsk. But here, it was expensive to live. He drove a nice car. Lived in a nice place. Went out with women who cared about such things. Some weeks, he barely made enough to get by.
    He stuffed the cash in his wallet, next to Eric Conrad’s card. If he reached the last episode, he could walk away with two hundred and fifty grand. Easy money, luxurious travel and a new life.
    But hadn’t he thought the same thing at eighteen, when he joined the International Review? He’d traveled on a luxurious private jet...as a virtual prisoner. He’d earned lots of money doing things that sickened him. If the experience taught him anything, it was that if something sounded too good to be true, it probably was. Though he’d physically escaped that life, the invisible bonds still held him fast.
    Beside the producer’s card was another, this one buff-colored, with a date and time handwritten on the back. The appointment had come and gone weeks ago. He’d sought the counselor’s help, knowing on some level that changing his future meant reconciling his past. But he’d not been prepared for how painful that would be. After a month, he’d had enough. Though the counselor had finally quit leaving messages on Vlad’s phone, the last one still haunted him. “
I know it’s difficult, but if you stay silent, you’ll never break free from your past. When you’re ready to talk, give me a call.”
    Hard to imagine that he would ever be ready.
    From behind, the music got louder as the door opened and Stella came in, carrying a generous shot of something clear. She eyed the card as he put it away. Vlad tossed his wallet in his locker and took the glass she offered. He caught the astringent odor of cheap vodka. “Drink up,” she said. “You’ve been summoned.”
    He didn’t have to ask where, or by whom. He set the glass down. “Tell her I’m busy. Tell her I don’t work VIP.”
    “I told her. But what Rosalie DiMarco wants, Rosalie DiMarco gets, and right now she wants you.” Stella offered a sympathetic smile and sat down on the bench. “The longer you avoid her, the more determined she gets. Go dance for her, and she’ll move on to someone else.”
    As badly as he wanted to refuse, Stella was right. That had been Rosalie’s pattern with Lamar, Jared and Pedro. A dance or two and Rosalie was satisfied; the dancers a few hundred richer. He would give her what she wanted, and then it would be Xander’s turn. “One dance.” He knocked back the vodka and reached for his costume.
    “Don’t bother with that. She wants you as you are.”
    “
Chyort
.” Vlad swore and glanced down at his black satin thong.
    “Go!” Stella picked up the glass and followed him out. “Oh, and Vlad? Fucking smile for God’s sake!”
    Smile? Was Stella out her mind? He bared his teeth in a grimace and then took the back steps up to the balcony where $100 bought a private dance