Steel and Seduction

"Dad?" Karina whispered, her voice barely audible. The weight of dread began to bloom in her chest. "I don’t understand. You lost the club?" He grasped her hand, perhaps to steady his own trembling fingers. The bitter scent of cheap alcohol and stale cigarette smoke clung to his breath, as it always did when he returned from Grayson's Gentlemen's Club. Club. A word that once evoked images of noblemen’s private retreats in St James’s, where the elite escaped their wives’ demands and shared a drink over the latest Times. But her father's business was nothing like that. It was a rundown casino-turned-strip club, a haven for the desperate—and the dangerous. His eyes remained fixed on their entwined hands, as though he feared meeting her gaze. "I made a bet," he admitted quietly. Karina's shoulders slumped, a fresh wave of horror washing over her. She yanked her hand away from his. "You promised, Dad! You promised you wouldn’t gamble again." "I know," he nodded, his breath heavy with cider. "I’m sorry, but you should have seen—" Her fury flared, and before his excuses could take root, she snapped. She picked up the massive pile of invoices she had painstakingly organized, thrusting them toward him. "Do you have any idea how much time this took? I had to list every single asset—" Then, it hit her. The house. The house her father had bought under the club’s name to avoid paying taxes, just like his crooked accountant had advised. "Dad, please tell me you didn’t." Her father, the man she had always tried to accept despite his many flaws, couldn’t meet her eyes. He stared down at his hands like a child caught misbehaving. "I’m sorry, Karina." "Don’t 'Karina' me," she hissed, standing abruptly. "I’ve spent the last ten years trying to keep the club from falling apart, working day and night to clean up your mess—consolidating loans, begging companies to give you another chance." All while her school friends had moved on with their lives, marrying, having children, blissfully unburdened. Not that they kept in touch with her anymore, as she had poured all her waking hours into managing her father's finances and doing the club's paperwork. Her only connection to them now was social media, where she scrolled through their perfect lives on a shattered phone screen. Karina shook her head, wrapping her arms around herself. What am I doing with my life? Living in a one-bedroom terrace house with her father. The only sacrifice he'd ever made was giving her the bedroom while he slept on a futon in the living room. The carpet underfoot was worn thin, and the walls were stained a sickly yellow from his constant smoking. "I can’t do this anymore," she said quietly, her voice cracking. I can’t do anything anymore. Finally, he looked up at her. "What does that mean?" "It means I can’t sit here and watch you ruin everything! The club, the house… and now this." She gestured to the photo on the coffee table next to the futon—the only picture her father would allow in the house. "Ever since Vincent died, you’ve been destroying yourself, Dad." Her voice faltered. "And in the process, you’re destroying me." "Do you think I haven’t had enough to deal with?" His tone hardened, a spark of defensiveness emerging at the slightest hint of reproach. "You were supposed to be the adult. No one forced you to get in that car." The disappointment in her expression spoke volumes. No one forced you to let a drunk teenager drive your car. It had been the morning of Vincent’s eighteenth birthday when Karina had been woken by a kind social worker, telling her that her father, brother, and Vincent’s best friend had been in a car accident. Vincent hadn’t survived. For two months, she had been placed into care while her father recovered in the hospital, with no one else left to take care of her. And now, there’s still no one to care for me. The world seemed to crumble beneath her as the harsh truth hit her: she was completely and utterly alone. Her father had used her as nothing more than a tool to keep his failing business alive, gambling away years of her hard work whenever the impulse struck him, while his drug addiction chipped away at everything else. "Don't you dare," her dad snarled, jabbing a yellow-nailed finger in her direction. His face had turned a deep shade of pink, the color that always emerged when he'd drunk too much. They never spoke of Vincent’s death, nor the circumstances surrounding it. Or more precisely, the blame that rested with him. Karina blinked slowly, her anger deflating like air from a balloon. Her dad was failing her just as much as he had failed Vincent—only this time, at a fraction of the pace. "I'm going to bed," she said flatly, making her way to the narrow spiral staircase in the corner. Her father nodded, flicking on the TV and settling on a boxing match. "I think that's for the best. Maybe... maybe things will look better in the morning. We have a few days before the club and its assets are handed over. We'll figure something out." Tears burned in the corners of her eyes, but she managed to force a final smile at him as she climbed the stairs. No, we won't. The layout of the upstairs mirrored the downstairs perfectly—kitchen below, bathroom above. The yellowed walls stretched into this space too, her father's cigarette smoke creeping up through the stairs. Karina glared at it as it infiltrated her sanctuary. What she wouldn’t give for a door. But instead, the curved staircase pierced through the floor of her bedroom, offering no privacy she could hold onto. Quietly, she packed her belongings into an old weekend bag she had bought from a charity shop. The musty smell of neglect made her wrinkle her nose. The fake leather peeled away in flakes, but it would have to do. As she found the one item she kept tucked in the bag, tears threatened to spill, but Karina wiped them away with quick, fierce motions. She ran her thumb over the small heart-shaped locket—the only keepsake she had left of her mother. Clipping it on, she tucked it beneath her collar, jaw clenched tight. Her father didn't deserve it. Not after everything he'd put her through. A commotion outside caught her attention. Dogs barking. Her neighbor's staffies, she guessed. Karina leaned out of the window. Her neighbor—Tony—worked the night shift at a local hotel. To keep his dogs from wrecking his house, Tony usually left them in the garden while he worked, but they were already doing a number on his worn-out fence. They’d gotten loose last week. Again. Karina let out a sigh of relief when she saw that the dogs were still in the garden. And judging by the clouds of weed smoke wafting from beneath the front door’s awning, Tony was home. Good. The last thing she needed tonight was to be a dog wrangler. Once she’d packed her few belongings, Karina sat on the floor of her bedroom. The metal railings of the bedframe dug into her spine, but she stayed where she was. The cold truth of her situation settled in when there was nothing else to do. No task to distract her mind. Karina scrolled through the job listings, the weight in her chest growing heavier with each scroll—not to mention the outrageous price of studio flats. Even the most run-down, tiniest places were nearing a thousand pounds a month. A thousand pounds a month for a flat so small she could touch the kitchen sink from the bed. Her father's business was mostly illegal. Sure, the strip club and casino parts were legal, but the prostitution wasn’t. The drugs changing hands weren’t either. What would her CV even say? Karina Grayson Employment history: After working at Grayson's Gentlemen's Club since leaving school four years ago, my attempts to save my father from his many vices have finally failed. Consequently, I'm looking for a new challenge. Experienced in balancing (probably) dodgy books, general administration, payroll, social media, organising illegal fights, completing tax returns, communicating with bailiffs, and not voicing my many concerns about the way the business is handled. Uncomfortable around people in general, but skilled in Microsoft Excel and catching badly trained dogs. Still annoyed about the last season of Game of Thrones. She let her head fall back against the foot of the bed, eyes closing. At that moment, a heavy thump rattled the front door. Karina heard her father moving slowly toward the porch and scowled. Had he called his dealer? Like he always did whenever something went wrong. It was the same after Vincent died. Spending money they didn’t have on a habit he couldn’t afford. Even when he said he had nothing, what he meant was "nothing for you." A decade after Vincent’s death, the title of "favorite child" still stung. The favorite of two. It would have been easier to bear if she had other siblings to share the burden with, but to play favorites with just two children? All it did was tear them apart. Karina had never had a brother; she'd had a rival. A competitor for their father's love and attention. The title of "favorite" still lingered, even now. Vincent was barely cold before the glorification began. Karina loved her brother, deep down, but she hated how her father turned him into something he wasn’t. Vincent had grown up in Dad’s club and had fallen in with a bad crowd early on. He hadn’t been out of Borstal for long when he died, having been sentenced for theft. She sighed as she heard her father unlock the deadbolts she’d drilled into the front door herself. The photograph of Vincent on the coffee table—a better child than Karina would ever be, at least in their father’s eyes—mocked her. "Talon," her father’s voice drifted upstairs. The false cheer in his tone put Karina on edge. "You all right?" Where Karina had expected Talon to answer, the only response was the quivering thud of the front door slamming against the wall behind it, before closing with a soft click. Only then did Talon respond—or whoever he was. ""Henry," Talon said curtly. "Gents!" Dad's laughter grated through the air, accompanied by the sound of movement. Heavy footsteps reverberated through the floorboards. How many of them were there? "Gents," he repeated, his voice tinged with panic. Karina knew her father too well to miss the desperation in his tone. "Perhaps I can be of assistance." "You're right," a second voice rumbled, deep and gravelly, like a bear’s growl. "Sign this." The sound of paper rustling followed. "No. I have a week before the company needs to be signed over. It's barely been two hours. Tell your employer I need time—" The sickening crunch of a fist meeting flesh made her jump, followed by her father's pained grunt and the sound of shattering glass. "I'll take no orders from you," the bear growled in reply. Karina gasped as the stairs began to creak and rattle—a sure sign that someone was coming up. There was nowhere to hide. Not even a cupboard. A bald head appeared, followed by a pair of angry, glaring eyes. "There's a woman up here," the bear bellowed to the others, raising his voice over the continuing sounds of chaos downstairs. A hairless bear, then. He took the last few steps and loomed over her. "Is this your latest tart?" He scanned her from head to toe with a lingering look that made her skin crawl. "I thought your deal with Vale would have scratched this particular itch for you." Karina raised her hands in surrender, flinching as something shattered downstairs. "I don't want any trouble." The bear snatched her unlocked phone out of her hands. "I'll be having this." He gripped her arm in a punishing hold and began yanking her back toward the stairs. "Get down." An enormous hand pressed into the middle of her back, forcing her down the first few steps until she crashed into the metal railings. They dug painfully into her ribs, but she kept her complaints silent. "I'm going, I'm going." Devastation greeted her as she reached the ground floor. The television lay in pieces on the floor, the neat pile of paperwork for the debt management people scattered across the room. The curtains had been ripped from their poles. A man was tearing the couch cushions apart, flinging white fluff onto the worn carpet. Karina jumped as another man swept the porcelain tableware off the table. Dinner plates and cereal bowls smashed to the ground, splintering into sharp shards. She gasped as the bear grabbed her by the hair, holding her up like a weapon in front of her father. "Talk," he hissed, and Karina scrambled to hold onto him, trying to minimize the pain. Dad’s gaze was fixed on the man ripping apart the couch cushions, blood dripping from his nose. "Please, there's no need for this. Just tell me what you're looking for." The redheaded man emptying the cutlery drawer answered. "Ah," Talon said, his voice smooth as he approached Karina. "I'm impressed, Henry. Or are you paying her?" He was too close. Karina tried to move away, but the bear gripped her hair tighter. Talon’s hands slid up to her hips, nodding appreciatively as she squirmed, trying to break free. "f**k you," she hissed, trying to kick at him. Talon's sneer deepened. "Do you not like it when the shoe is on the other foot?" Her father remained silent, refusing to meet her eyes, just as always. "What are you looking for?" "What makes you think we're looking for anything?" the bear growled from behind her, still holding her hair tightly. "Is that what your employer wants, whoever he is?" Dad spread his arms in exasperation. "Hasn’t he already taken everything? Even the house is his now." Talon shot a hard look at her father, his eyes narrowing with a touch of venom. "And whose fault is that?" he said softly. He bent down to pick up the photograph of Vincent that her father had been standing in front of. "No!" Dad lunged to snatch it back with a violent swipe, but Talon shoved him away. Off-balance, Dad stumbled over the pouffe, crashing onto the floor in a messy heap. "This is your boy, is it?" Talon sneered, his lips curling in disdain as he looked down at her father. "His whole life ahead of him, too. Vincent, wasn’t it?" "Vincent," Dad mumbled, his grief still raw, as vivid now as it had been a decade ago. "Well," Talon made himself comfortable on the leather pouffe, "we have a few questions for you, Grayson. And my friend here," he gestured to the bear still gripping Karina, "is going to take her somewhere safe." He looked back at Karina, a dark smile twisting his lips. "In the meantime, you and I are going to have a little chat." Karina, struggling to keep the fear at bay, managed to speak, her voice laced with tension. "And what exactly are you going to do with me?" A cruel smile curled on Talon's lips. "That's entirely up to Grayson here," he said, nodding towards her father. "But know this: if he fails to comply with our instructions, you'll be the one who suffers." He tossed Vincent's photograph back onto the coffee table, the glass shattering over Vincent's smiling face. Karina's eyes widened in horror, her breath catching in her throat. Dad slowly rose to his feet, his jaw tight with frustration, as the third man finished tearing apart the couch cushions. "What are your questions?" he asked, his voice strained but determined.