Escaping The Billionaire's Deadly Surrogate Trap

Blaire pulled her cheap black trench coat tighter around her body. She walked through the graffiti covered alleyway in the industrial edge of Manhattan. She stopped in front of a heavy, unmarked iron door. The small viewing panel on the door slid open with a harsh scrape. A pair of bloodshot eyes stared at her for a few seconds. Heavy chains rattled, and the door swung inward. Blaire took a deep breath and stepped into the dim, narrow hallway. The heavy bass of the club music instantly vibrated through the walls, making her teeth rattle. Vince Kowalski, the floor manager, walked up to her. He chewed on an unlit cigar. He looked her up and down and told her to show him what she had to work with. Blaire swallowed her humiliation. She unbuttoned the trench coat and let it fall open, revealing the tight black leotard underneath. Vince's eyes widened as he took in her perfect proportions. He hired her on the spot. He shoved a liability waiver onto a clipboard and handed her a pen. Blaire signed the name "Jessica" on the dotted line without hesitating. Vince pushed her into the crowded communal dressing room. The air was thick with the suffocating smell of cheap perfume and aerosol hairspray. Several dancers shot her glares full of territorial hostility. Blaire ignored them. She sat down at a vanity mirror and picked up a wild, burgundy red wavy wig. She pulled it over her head, completely hiding her natural dark hair. She applied a thick layer of foundation, covering her innocent features. She painted on heavy, dark smoky eyeshadow and a bright, aggressive red lipstick. The woman staring back at her in the mirror was a complete stranger. She changed into the club's uniform: a black lace bodysuit and thigh high leather boots. She took three deep breaths, locking the weak, frightened Blaire away in a dark corner of her mind. The stage director kicked the door open and yelled for Jessica to get on deck. Blaire stumbled slightly in the unfamiliar heels before finding her balance. She pushed past the heavy velvet curtains. The blinding glare of the stage spotlights hit her face. The massive crowd of men below erupted into deafening whistles and shouts. The visual assault made her want to shrink back, but the fear of the Terrell family pushed her forward. She straightened her spine and began to move her hips to the sultry saxophone beat. She blended her years of classical ballet flexibility into the pole routine. She executed a flawless, inverted split high on the brass pole. The crowd went absolutely insane. At that exact moment, behind the one way glass of the VIP booth on the second floor, Kamryn Lane leaned back against the leather sofa. He swirled the amber whiskey in his crystal glass. He was bored out of his mind by the businessmen kissing his ass. His cold eyes swept over the main stage below, and then, they stopped moving. The dancer in the red wig. Every spin and extension she made dripped with a lethal, natural seduction. It was completely different from the vulgar grinding of the other women. Kamryn narrowed his eyes. His body unconsciously leaned forward. He could not see her face under the heavy makeup, but the curve of her waist and the line of her legs triggered a deep muscle memory. His mouth went dry. He yanked at his silk tie, annoyed. For some reason, the image of the inexperienced, sweet body from the hotel bed yesterday flashed in his mind. On stage, Blaire finished a spin and ran a finger over her red lips. Her dazed eyes swept across the second floor glass. It felt as if she was looking straight into Kamryn's soul. That accidental glance struck a match to Kamryn's suppressed possessiveness. He lifted his glass and downed the burning whiskey in one swallow. The men in the front row started throwing crumpled bills at the stage. A few drunk patrons reached out, trying to grab Blaire's slender ankles. Blaire let out a sharp gasp. She quickly shimmied higher up the pole to avoid their sweaty hands. A flash of genuine panic broke through her sexy facade. Kamryn saw that panic. The interest in his eyes instantly morphed into a dark, violent possessiveness. A primal instinct to protect what was his flared in his chest. He turned his head to look at Mitch Duggan, his head of security standing in the shadows. He gave an order that left no room for debate. Kamryn tapped his long finger against the glass. He told Mitch to bring the redhead to his booth, completely unharmed. Down on the stage, the music faded. Blaire stood panting, bowing to the crowd. She prepared to kneel and collect the cash scattered on the floor. That was her survival money. Before she could bend down, two massive men in black suits stepped out from the edge of the stage. They grabbed her arms in a vice grip. Blaire panicked. She thrashed and screamed for help, but the crowd just cheered louder, assuming it was part of the show. They dragged her off the stage and hauled her down a dark, private corridor leading to the second floor. She was being taken to a VIP booth, and she had no idea what nightmare waited for her inside.