Chapter 6 Bleeding Slowly

• The city bled shadows and silver as the rain poured from a sky too heavy with its secrets. It had started just after sunset, the droplets soft at first, like the gentle tapping of fingertips against a window. Now it fell in sheets, painting the world in hues of obsidian and chrome, blurring the edges of buildings, headlights, and intentions.
• Brandy stepped out from the back entrance of Midnight Maidens, her trench coat wrapped tightly around her frame, the hem already soaked from the puddle-laced alley. Her heels clicked softly against the wet pavement, the rhythm muted by water and weight—the heaviness of a day that hadn’t let her breathe.
• She should’ve gone home. Should’ve grabbed her bag and slipped into the night before the ache in her chest could unravel into something too big to cage. But her feet disobeyed. She needed the rain, the cold, the silence.
• The club pulsed behind her like a heart—neon lights flickering against the slick brick walls, muffled bass thudding like war drums. Inside, she had danced like she was exorcising her own soul, and in many ways, she had been.
• She lit a cigarette. Or tried to. The cheap lighter sparked, then fizzled out. Again. And again.
• “Let me,” came a voice like thunder.
• She flinched. Turned.
• Konstantine Volkova stood just inside the glow of the club’s exit light, the rain slicking back his dark hair, his coat unbuttoned, black shirt clinging to the lines of muscle beneath. He looked like a ghost from a crime noir film—dangerous and out of time.
• She didn’t move as he stepped forward. Didn’t flinch as he struck his lighter, the flame leaping to life with ease.
• She leaned in, allowing her cigarette to touch the flame, eyes meeting his as she inhaled. The spark passed between them. Something invisible. And yet—undeniable.
• “You always smoke after you dance like that?” he asked, his voice lower than usual, the rasp barely audible over the rain.
• She exhaled, watching the smoke curl between them. “Only when I’m trying to forget.”
• “Forget what?”
• She tilted her head. “That I’m still me.”
• A beat passed. Then another.
• “I saw you tonight.”
• “You always see me.”
• “No,” he said. “I saw you.”
• Her chest tightened. She wanted to look away. She didn’t.
• “You dance like it’s the only time you’re free.”
• Brandy said nothing. The rain gathered at her lashes, slicking her chocolate curls to her cheekbones, and still she didn’t move.
• He stepped closer. “Why?”
• “Because it is.”
• Their breath mingled, hot and sharp in the cold. The cigarette trembled in her hand.
• Konstantine reached out, thumb brushing a curl from her face. His touch was surprisingly gentle. Almost reverent. “You don’t have to lie to me.”
• “Who says I’m lying?” she whispered.
• “I can tell.”
• Her heart pounded like war drums against her ribs. And when he stepped closer—too close—her breath hitched.
• The alley disappeared. The rain disappeared. The sound of the club dissolved into a dull roar behind them.
• He moved like he might kiss her. Slowly. Intentionally.
• She froze.
• One hand found her hip. The other skimmed up her arm, his fingers ghosting against her damp skin. Their mouths were inches apart. His eyes searched hers.
• “Don’t,” she whispered.
• “Why not?”
• “Because if you kiss me, I won’t be able to stop.”
• He hesitated. Jaw tense. Eyes dark.
• Then he exhaled and stepped back.
• She blinked, pulse roaring in her ears, and realized her hands were clenched at her sides.
• “Goodnight, Brandy.”
• He turned and walked away, the echo of his boots swallowed by rain.
• She stood there for a long time, cigarette ash crumbling between her fingers, her chest caving in around the truth she refused to name.
• ---
• Inside, the club felt like a different world.
• Warm. Loud. Alive.
• Brandy moved backstage like a shadow, her body still humming with the almost of him. She toweled off and changed into her next outfit—black lace bodysuit, thigh-highs, and gold stilettos. Her stage set loomed only minutes away, and yet her limbs felt too loose, her nerves fraying at the edges.
• “What happened to you?” Chardonnay asked, dabbing shimmer to her collarbones.
• “Nothing,” Brandy lied.
• “You’re flushed.”
• “It’s the rain.”
• Chardonnay gave her a look but didn’t push. Instead, she handed her a compact and tugged Brandy’s neckline straight. “Then dance it off.”
• And so she did.
• The lights dimmed.
• The beat rose—low, pulsing, primal.
• Brandy stepped onto the stage like a woman possessed.
• Everything else fell away.
• The crowd didn’t exist. The noise blurred to a heartbeat. The only thing she focused on was him—sitting dead center, elbows on his knees, eyes tracking her like a predator.
• She danced for him.
• Not for tips. Not for power.
• For release.
• Every twist of her hips was a defiance. Every slide down the golden pole, a silent confession. She dared him to look. Dared herself not to fall.
• She danced like the club was on fire and her body the only thing left unburned.
• And he watched her like she was the only woman in the world.
• When her final pose ended on the floor, knees spread, back arched, and mouth parted, the crowd erupted.
• But it was his stare that made her tremble.
• Not from fear.
• From wanting.
• She left the stage breathless.
• Later, in the VIP lounge, Grigori leaned against the marble bar, drink in hand. “You’re quiet.”
• Konstantine didn’t answer.
• “She’s getting to you.”
• Still nothing.
• Grigori smirked. “Is that why you nearly kissed her in the rain like a teenager with a death wish?”
• Konstantine downed his drink.
• “I haven’t felt like this in years,” he admitted finally.
• “You mean since—”
• “Don’t.”
• Grigori nodded. “Okay.”
• A beat of silence passed.
• “She’s hiding something,” Konstantine said.
• “They all are.”
• “Not like this.”
• Grigori looked across the room, where Brandy now leaned against the bar, laughing softly with Chardonnay. She looked beautiful. Untouchable.
• “You think she’s a threat?”
• “I think she’s already got her knife to my throat,” Konstantine said. “And I’m waiting for her to cut.”
• Grigori raised his glass. “To bleeding slowly, then.”
• Konstantine didn’t smile. But he drank.
• When Brandy collapsed into her dressing room chair hours later, her body ached and her heart wouldn’t slow.
• Rain still fell beyond the windows.
• But inside her chest?
• It was already pouring.