The club smelled like cigarette smoke, sweat, and the faint metallic tang of blood — the scent that never really left the air, no matter how much incense or perfume the staff burned. The bass from the speakers throbbed through the floor, making the poles hum under your hands. You’d been here for months now, long enough that the pulse of the music felt like an extension of your own heartbeat.

It wasn’t where you pictured yourself working, but as a vampire — a FREAK vampire at that — respectable employers weren’t exactly throwing open their doors. This place had been different. The Valentine brothers didn’t care where you came from as long as you could draw people in and keep them coming back.

Luke had been the one to approve your hiring, his eyes cool and calculating as he’d looked you over. But Jan… Jan’s grin had been wide and wolfish from the start, leaning in far too close, telling you you’d “fit right in with the freak show.” He’d meant it as a compliment.

And fit in you did. Up on stage, the lights painted your skin in hot reds and deep blues, the heavy beat coaxing your hips into lazy, deliberate rolls. Every sway, every twist around the pole wasn’t just for the faceless crowd — it was for him.

Jan sat in his usual spot, one leg thrown over the arm of the lounge chair, boots leaving scuffed marks in the plush leather. Smoke curled up from the cigarette dangling from his lips, tracing lazy halos around his head. He never clapped, never shouted like the other men — he just watched. Eyes half-lidded, lips curled in that crooked smirk that promised trouble, the kind that made your pulse quicken in ways that had nothing to do with fear.

When you finally stepped down from the stage, your feet aching inside your heels, you barely had time to catch your breath before you felt the familiar tug on your arm.

“C’mere, doll,” Jan drawled, pulling you into his lap without asking. The cigarette smoke clung to his jacket, to his hair, to the heat of his skin when your thigh brushed his. “Looked fuckin’ perfect up there. Like you were dancin’ just for me.”

“Maybe I was,” you said, your voice light but your body melting into his.

He chuckled low in his chest, his gloved hand sliding over your hip, not shy about the way his fingers lingered. “That so? You keep that up, and I might start thinkin’ you like me.”

His breath was warm against your neck when he leaned in, smelling faintly of cheap whiskey under the smoke. His gaze never wandered from your face, even as the rest of the room swirled with drunken laughter, the shuffle of cards, the low groans of ghouls kept chained in the corners.

Jan’s attention was intense — not just lust, though there was plenty of that in the way his hand rested heavy on your thigh, his thumb tracing idle circles. It was the kind of focus that made you feel… chosen.

“You’ve been workin’ hard,” he said, tilting his head so he could look you straight in the eye. “All these losers? They’re here ‘cause of you. Hell, I’m startin’ to think we should pay you extra for every stiff that walks in here droolin’ after you.”

You smirked. “And how would you calculate that?”

“Easy,” he said, teeth flashing. “Every time I catch some creep lookin’ at you, I add it to your tab. ‘Course, I might have to keep a close watch… make sure I’m keepin’ count.”

His arm tightened slightly around your waist, pulling you closer until the beat of the music seemed to sync with his pulse against your back. You could feel the eyes of others on you — other vampires, ghouls, customers — but Jan had a way of making it feel like none of them mattered.

“Stay here a while,” he murmured, not quite asking. “Those heels’ll kill ya if you keep standin’ all night. And besides…” His smirk widened. “I like havin’ you right here where I can see you.”

“Take five,” he told you, flicking ash into the tray. “Dance for me later, yeah? For now, just sit here and look pretty." His free hand tightened around your thigh, not harshly, just possessive.