Mae sat on the edge of the dressing room chair, her hands gripping the edge of the vanity so tightly her knuckles had turned white. The familiar smell of the club's makeup, the perfume, and the faint scent of alcohol seeped into her senses, but everything felt foreign now. She was back where they wanted her, right where she belonged—according to them.

The mirror in front of her reflected a version of herself she no longer recognized. Dark circles framed her tired eyes, her black hair hung limply around her shoulders, and the forced smile she used to perfect for her performances had long since disappeared.

How did I get here?

The question gnawed at her, as she stared at the face that wasn't quite her own anymore. Hell's Angels had once been her escape, her refuge from the past she had tried to leave behind. But now, it was her prison, and she had walked right back into it.

Good girl. Now stay where you belong.

The message from earlier replayed in her mind, sending a shiver down her spine. She could feel their eyes on her even now, invisible but always there, like the unseen bars of a cage that kept her tethered to this place.

Her mind drifted back to the figures she had seen in the fog—the silent, faceless shadows that had watched her, waited for her to make a move. She hadn't been able to see their faces, but it didn't matter. She knew they were connected to the same force that had been controlling her life for weeks. Layla was gone. Bella had warned her. And now, Mae was left to wonder how much longer she had before they came for her too.

The soft knock on her door snapped her out of her thoughts, her body tensing instantly. Her heart raced as she stared at the door, half-expecting to see one of the faceless shadows from outside step inside.

But it was just one of the other dancers—a girl named Cora. She peeked her head into the room, her expression neutral, though there was a flicker of concern in her eyes. "Hey, Mae. You okay? You've been in here for a while."

Mae forced a smile, though it felt hollow. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just... needed a minute."

Cora nodded slowly, her gaze lingering on Mae for a moment longer than usual. "Alright. Just wanted to check on you. The manager said you're up next."

Mae's stomach twisted at the reminder. Another performance. Another night on display for the people who thought they owned her. She didn't know how much longer she could keep doing this, how much longer she could pretend everything was normal when everything around her was crumbling.

But she didn't have a choice.

"Thanks, Cora," Mae said, her voice tight. "I'll be out in a minute."

Cora hesitated, then nodded and closed the door behind her, leaving Mae alone with her thoughts once more. The silence felt suffocating, pressing in on her from all sides. She glanced down at her phone, half-expecting another message to appear, another reminder that they were watching her every move.

But the screen remained dark.

Mae stood up slowly, forcing herself to take a deep breath. She had to perform. She had to keep playing the part, even though every fiber of her being wanted to scream, to run, to do anything but go back out there.

She moved to the small rack of costumes, her fingers brushing over the familiar fabric. The usual glittery outfits shimmered under the dim light of the dressing room, but tonight, they felt like shackles. With a sigh, Mae pulled one of the costumes from the rack—a sleek, black number that hugged her curves and glittered with sequins. She didn't feel like herself in it, but maybe that was the point. If she could hide behind the costume, maybe she could pretend, just for a little while longer.

As she slipped into the outfit and fastened the last clasp, Mae caught her reflection in the mirror again. The woman staring back at her was someone else entirely—a performer, a dancer, a pawn in someone else's game. But that was what they wanted, wasn't it? For her to blend in, to do as she was told, to stop asking questions.

Stay where you belong.

Her hands tightened into fists at her sides. She was tired of this. Tired of being controlled, of being watched, of living in constant fear. But what could she do? Every time she thought about running, she remembered the figures in the fog, the texts, the endless threats.

She wasn't safe anywhere. Not at Hell's Angels, and not outside of it.

With a final deep breath, Mae straightened her shoulders and opened the door, stepping out into the dimly lit hallway that led to the stage. The familiar pulse of the music reverberated through the walls, the low murmur of the crowd humming in the distance. But tonight, it felt different. Everything felt different.

As she walked down the corridor, Mae could feel eyes on her, even though she was alone. The weight of their gaze was heavier than ever before, pressing down on her like an invisible hand, reminding her of the control they held over her life.

She reached the edge of the stage, the familiar lights blinding her as she stepped into the spotlight. The crowd roared as the music swelled, but Mae barely heard it. Her mind was elsewhere, her thoughts tangled in the web of threats and fear that had consumed her life.

But she moved, her body falling into the rhythm of the music, the steps ingrained in her muscle memory. Her hands gripped the pole, her body spinning effortlessly, but her heart wasn't in it. The cheers, the flashing lights, the adoration of the crowd—it all felt meaningless now.

She wasn't dancing for them. She was dancing for them.

As Mae spun around the pole, her gaze flickered to the dark corners of the club, her heart racing as she searched for the familiar faces she had seen in the fog. Were they here now, watching her from the shadows? Were they waiting for her to make a mistake, to slip up, so they could tighten the noose around her neck?

The thought sent a shiver down her spine, but she kept moving, her body twisting and bending with the music. She had to. She had to keep playing the part, had to keep pretending that everything was fine.

But as she spun around the pole one last time, her eyes caught on a figure at the back of the room. A tall man, seated in the shadows, watching her intently. Mae's heart skipped a beat as recognition washed over her.

Charlie.

He was here.

For a split second, their eyes met, and Mae's breath caught in her throat. She couldn't read his expression from this distance, but she knew what this meant. He was watching her, just like they all were.

You belong to us.

The words echoed in her mind as she spun again, her body moving on autopilot. But her heart wasn't in it anymore. The fear had taken hold, twisting her insides until she felt like she couldn't breathe.

As the music swelled to a crescendo, Mae finished her routine with a final, graceful twist around the pole, her body aching with the effort. The crowd erupted into applause, but Mae barely heard it. Her mind was too focused on the dark figure at the back of the room, the man who held more power over her than anyone else.

Her pulse raced as the reality of the situation sank in. He had been watching her, just like everyone else. But there was something different about the way he had looked at her tonight—something darker, more intense. It was as if he had been studying her, waiting for her to make a move.

She felt a knot of anxiety tighten in her chest as she made her way off the stage, her legs feeling like they could give out at any moment. The roar of the crowd had dulled to background noise, and the bright lights of the club now felt suffocating.

Mae's heart hammered in her chest as the cheers from the audience washed over her. Sweat clung to her skin, her body still thrumming from the exertion of the performance, but her mind was elsewhere—fixated on Charlie. He had been there, sitting in the back, watching her like a hawk, and the weight of his gaze felt heavier than anything else in the room.

The crowd's applause died down, but Mae barely registered it. She took a deep breath and forced a smile, the performer's mask slipping back into place, even though her insides were twisted in knots. She stepped down from the stage, her legs unsteady beneath her, and made her way toward the back of the club, her thoughts racing.

Why was he here?

Charlie rarely showed up on nights like this, at least not that Mae had noticed. He had always been more involved in the background, never mingling too much with the crowd. His presence tonight, at the very moment when Mae felt the weight of the club's control pressing down on her, felt like no coincidence.

She reached the hallway that led back to her dressing room, her mind still reeling from the silent exchange between them. She had seen something in his eyes—something she couldn't quite place. It wasn't just the cold, detached professionalism she had come to expect from him. No, there was something more.

But what?

Mae's pulse quickened as she pushed open the door to her dressing room and stepped inside. The small, cramped space felt suffocating, even more so than usual. She closed the door behind her and leaned against it, her breath shaky as she tried to gather her thoughts.

She couldn't keep doing this. Every night, every performance, felt like it was bringing her closer to some inevitable end, but she didn't know what it was. The threats, the surveillance, the pressure to stay in line—it was all closing in on her, and Charlie's presence tonight only intensified the feeling.

Her phone buzzed, and Mae's heart lurched. She fumbled for it, her fingers trembling as she unlocked the screen.

"Good performance. Don't forget who's watching."

The message sent a chill down her spine. It wasn't just a compliment. It was a reminder. A reminder that no matter what she did, they were always there, always watching. Charlie, the faceless figures in the fog, the unseen forces pulling the strings—they were everywhere.

Mae set the phone down on the vanity and stared at her reflection in the mirror. The woman looking back at her was a stranger, someone who had been worn down by fear and uncertainty. She had fought so hard to maintain control, to hold onto some semblance of power in this twisted game, but it was slipping through her fingers.

The door creaked open, and Mae's heart leaped into her throat. She spun around, her body tensing as Charlie stepped into the room.

"Mae," he said, his voice smooth and low, "we need to talk."

Her stomach twisted as she met his gaze. There was a coldness in his eyes, a detachment that sent a ripple of fear through her. She couldn't tell if he knew, if he was aware of everything that was happening, or if he was just another player in this sick game.

Mae forced herself to remain calm, to keep the mask of indifference firmly in place. "What about?"

Charlie stepped further into the room, closing the door behind him. The small space seemed to shrink, the walls closing in as he loomed over her. His gaze was piercing, like he was dissecting her with every glance.

"You've been asking questions," he said, his tone measured. "Questions you shouldn't be asking."

Mae's throat tightened. So, he did know.

She tried to keep her voice steady, though her pulse was racing. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Charlie's lips curled into a faint, humorless smile. "Don't play games with me, Mae. You've been digging into things that don't concern you. People notice. I notice."

Her heart pounded in her chest, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. "I just want to understand what's happening here. I deserve to know."

Charlie's expression darkened. He took a step closer, his presence overwhelming in the small room. "You don't deserve anything. You're a dancer, Mae. Nothing more. You're here to perform, not to ask questions. Not to dig into things that are beyond your control."

Mae's breath caught in her throat as the truth of his words hit her like a punch to the gut. He wasn't just scolding her—he was laying down the law. Her place in this world was clear, and there was no room for rebellion. No room for escape.

Charlie's eyes softened for a moment, but it was a fleeting shift, gone as quickly as it appeared. "I'm warning you," he continued, his voice low and dangerous. "Stop now, before it's too late. You won't like what happens if you don't."

Mae felt a shiver run down her spine, her body trembling under the weight of his threat. She wanted to scream, to lash out, to demand answers, but fear kept her silent.

Charlie's gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before he turned and left the room, the door clicking shut behind him.

Mae stood there, frozen in place, her heart racing. The air felt heavy, like the weight of the entire club was pressing down on her, suffocating her. She had known for a while that she was in over her head, but this... this was something else entirely.

The game had changed. And now, there was no turning back