CHAPTER ONE
Club Soda reeked of cigarettes. The haze of smoke dulled the neon lights, making the room a blur of shadows and glimmers. Loud, pounding music throbbed through the walls—loud enough to be heard half a mile away. On stage, strippers curled around chrome poles, bodies glistening under the spotlights.
The men's attention was fixed on one dancer in particular—a white, curvaceous beauty in black lingerie. Her skin was smooth as porcelain, her movements deliberate, hypnotic. The bills rained over her like confetti, the crowd caught in some unspoken spell.
From the stage, Kamila noticed him.
A man in a black suit with white trim. A silver Rolex flashed on his wrist. He wasn't drunk. He wasn't staring at her with hunger like the rest. His gaze was different—sharp, focused, predatory. It felt less like admiration and more like the cold calculation of a man who'd just found his mark.
She looked away.
Twenty minutes later, her set was over. Cheers and whistles erupted. A few men booed when the boss called time. Kamila glanced toward the spot where the man had been—but he was gone. As if he'd vanished into the smoke.
Backstage, Fredrick, the club owner, handed her an envelope.
"Kamila, your weekly pay," he said.
She counted quickly. Ten seconds in, she froze. Her eyes narrowed.
"This ain't complete," she said flatly.
Fredrick smirked. "You're lucky you got that much. The other girls didn't get as much as you did. Business isn't what it used to be."
Kamila stepped closer. "Not my problem. Since I got here, you've been making thousands off me and handing me scraps. Thirty bucks? What the hell am I supposed to do with that?"
A stunned silence filled the room. Fredrick's face hardened.
"I don't give a fuck, bitch. If you don't like it, pack your shit and get out. This is Miami—I don't run out of sexy bitches. I've got girls begging for a chance."
Her chest tightened, but she didn't back down.
"You know what? I quit. Go find yourself another hoe. I'm done with your bullshit."
Gasps came from the other dancers. Fredrick's pride burned under their stares.
"Get back to work unless you wanna follow her," he barked before slamming his office door.
Kamila walked out, her heels clicking hard against the floor.
---
Outside, she lingered at the curb, breathing in the night air. She'd wanted to quit for four years, but Fredrick never let go of a girl who made him money. Tonight, she'd made sure the fight happened in front of witnesses—where his ego would outweigh his greed.
She raised her arm to flag a cab. Then she saw it—a glint of silver. The Rolex.
It was him.
He started walking toward her. Her heart raced. A cab pulled up just in time, and she slid inside.
"Where to?" the driver asked.
"Just drive," she snapped.
As they sped off, she looked back. The man was still watching, eyes locked on her like a hunter watching prey slip away.
"Head to the Miami Metro Police Station," she told the driver. Her voice was tight.
"Your fare just doubled," he said.
She nodded.
Ten minutes later, they pulled up to the station. She almost stepped out—then froze. To report him, she'd have to explain where she'd been. And that meant telling them she was a stripper.
No.
She lingered on the sidewalk, trying to calm her breathing. That's when a tall Asian man approached.
"Miss, is there a problem?"
She forced a small smile. "No—and yes, I have a boyfriend."
His brows furrowed, but before he could say more, she flagged another cab and climbed in.
The man stood there a moment, suspicion narrowing his eyes. Another officer stepped out.
"Detective Grimes, something wrong?"
"Nothing," he said quickly. "Let's go—there's a homicide case waiting."
---
Exhausted, Kamila rested her head against the seat. Her mind drifted—back to Mexico, before Miami. Before the accident.
She'd been twelve when a man started coming to their house at night. He brought big black duffel bags, unloaded into the garage by men who looked military. She'd never asked.
Then, fifteen years ago, her parents died in a car crash. Or so she was told. Their bodies were never found.
Tears pricked her eyes, but she swallowed them back.
Twelve minutes later, the cab dropped her on a littered street where garbage bags overflowed onto the pavement.
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