The Devil's Game: A Deadly Bargain

Alison sat in front of the mirror, staring at her reflection with a mixture of horror and disgust. The outfit they had given her clung to her body like a second skin, accentuating every curve. The short, tight-fitting dress left little to the imagination, making her feel exposed and vulnerable. She couldn't shake the feeling of discomfort, her fingers fidgeting with the fabric as if she could somehow stretch it into something less revealing. She slipped into matching red heels, draped a black boa around her neck, and applied a moderate amount of makeup, hoping it would mask the anxiety simmering beneath her calm facade. Her long, jet-black hair fell unstyled past her shoulders, reaching just below her lower back—a stark contrast to her usual shoulder-length cut. She had stopped caring about her appearance after her parents died, and the chaos that ensued swallowed her life whole.

For a final touch, Alison donned a silver mask that covered the upper half of her face, concealing her identity. She was grateful for this small mercy; at least no one would recognize her, even if her lips and part of her nose remained exposed. As she took a deep breath, trying to steel herself for what was to come, the door creaked open. Her heart leapt to her throat as she glanced up, only to see the man who had intruded on her earlier. He was still wearing those infuriating sunglasses, and the same arrogant smirk played on his lips.

He shut the door with a loud thud and approached her, his movements predatory, like a hawk closing in on its prey. "The show is about to begin," he said with a sneer. "I hope you're ready."

Alison recoiled as he stepped closer, reaching out to touch her. She quickly stepped back and pushed him away, her voice shaking with barely contained anger. "Stay away from me, you son of a bitch," she spat, instantly regretting her outburst as his expression twisted from amusement to fury.

Before she could take back her words, he lunged forward and grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking it back with a force that made her cry out in pain. "Listen up, you filthy slut," he hissed, his voice dripping with venom. "This is the last time you speak to me like that. Got it?"

When Alison didn't reply, too shocked and pained to speak, he tightened his grip, making her gasp. "Am I fucking clear?"

"Y-yes, sir," she stammered, her voice barely a whisper.

He released her hair with a satisfied grunt, stepping back as a twisted grin spread across his face. "Your time's up. Get your filthy ass downstairs and please my guests."

Alison nodded weakly, avoiding his gaze as she walked past him, feeling the sting of humiliation burning in her chest.

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Alexander's POV:

I swirled the wine in my glass, watching the stage with a growing sense of anticipation. The announcer's voice echoed through the speakers: "Coming up next, it's Jasmine."

A smirk tugged at the corner of my lips as she appeared from backstage, walking gracefully down the ramp. Even with the silver mask covering her face, I recognized her immediately. The frown lines etched into her forehead were unmistakable. I had to admit, even with her mask, she was captivating—tall, with an hourglass figure that the skimpy outfit did little to conceal. Her long black hair, with that one rebellious streak of red, added to her allure. Her azure-blue eyes, even from a distance, betrayed a storm of emotions she was struggling to suppress.

Around me, I could sense the other men's eyes locked onto her, their gazes dripping with hunger. They were undoubtedly wondering what lay beneath the mask, their minds spinning fantasies that would never come to fruition. I, on the other hand, knew that tonight, she was stepping right into the trap I had laid out for her.

I signalled for the club owner, who hurried over, eager to please. "How may I help you, sir?" he asked, his tone deferential.

"Who's the girl on stage?" I asked, not taking my eyes off her. "I want all the details."

"Oh, her?" he replied, glancing briefly at the stage. "That's Alison Palmier. She's just a one-night hire and seemed desperate for money. She's raking in good cash for us tonight, though."

A smile curled on my lips. "I can guarantee you even more if you do as I say."

The owner looked intrigued, his brows knitting together in curiosity. "What do you have in mind?"

I watched Alison, noting how she tried to keep her composure despite the leering gazes of the audience. "Is she just going to dance and leave?" I asked, my voice dripping with suggestion.

He gave me a puzzled look. "Is there something else you want her to do?"

I leaned back in my chair, savouring the moment. "Of course. This is just the beginning."

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End of Alexander's POV

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Once her performance ended, Alison moved to leave the stage, her heart hammering in her chest. She had just picked up her jacket when Mr. Mayer, the club owner, blocked her path. "I'm done with my performance. You got what you wanted, now let me pass," she said, her voice firm but laced with desperation.

He shook his head, a smug grin spreading across his face. "I don't think so, Miss Palmier."

She blinked, taken aback. "I beg your pardon?"

"According to the deal, you not only perform but also satisfy our guests," he said, his grin widening. "Considering this is a men-only gathering, why don't you serve them some drinks?"

Alison's frown deepened, her anger simmering just beneath the surface. "That's not part of the deal."

"It is now," he countered, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Rage boiled within her, but she bit her tongue, remembering Riley and how little time he had left. She knew she had no choice. She closed her eyes, taking a deep, shaky breath to calm herself. "Fine. I'm in."

Mr. Mayer's grin turned into a satisfied leer. "Good. Now get on with it. Don't keep the guests waiting."

With a heavy heart, Alison turned and headed toward the crowd. The men started calling for her, their voices dripping with anticipation. She steeled herself, blinking back the tears threatening to spill as she hardened her resolve.

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