The pounding bass reverberated through the walls of Hell's Angels, the newest, hottest club in Los Angeles. The line outside stretched down the block, a sea of glamorous faces and expensive clothes, all waiting for their chance to get inside. The red neon sign above the entrance flickered against the night sky, casting an ominous, yet enticing glow over the crowd. This was the place to be—the club that had taken the city by storm in just a few short weeks, and the name on everyone's lips wasn't the celebrities or VIPs that frequented its velvet-roped doors.

It was Mae.

She was the headline act, the reason people flocked to Hell's Angels, willing to pay exorbitant prices for a glimpse of her on stage. Mae had been promoted as the star attraction, the face of the club, and it hadn't taken long for her reputation to explode. The allure of her dancing had created a buzz like wildfire, and now, every night, the club was packed with people hoping to experience the magic that had quickly become legend.

Inside the club, the atmosphere was electric. The dark, gothic decor mixed with bright red lighting created a sense of danger, of seduction. Velvet booths lined the edges of the dance floor, and in the center, the stage loomed like a sacred altar, where Mae would perform her nightly show. A DJ spun heavy beats in the background, and the air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume, alcohol, and a hint of something more illicit.

In her dressing room backstage, Mae stared at her reflection in the mirror, her fingers tapping rhythmically on the countertop. The club had gone above and beyond to ensure that everything about her image was larger than life—her makeup was immaculate, her outfit seductive yet elegant, and the spotlight that would shine on her later tonight was nothing short of brilliant.

Her name was in lights now, quite literally.
Hell's Angels featuring Mae, the billboards had read in the weeks leading up to the grand opening. She hadn't fully realized the gravity of her role until she had seen those words emblazoned across the city, plastered on bus stops, on the sides of buildings, and even on taxi cabs. Mae had officially made it. She was the star of LA's hottest club, the reason people were lining up for hours just to get in.

But as she adjusted her outfit, a flicker of doubt crept in, the old feelings she had been trying to leave behind. This was what she had wanted, right? To start fresh, to be seen, to step into a new life where she could fully embrace who she was now. She had thought that leaving New York, leaving her past behind, would bring her the freedom she craved. But there were moments—quiet, fleeting moments—when she wondered if she was still running.

She shook her head, banishing the thoughts as the door to her dressing room opened and her manager, a tall man with a sharp jawline and a constant air of confidence, stepped inside.

"Mae," he said, his voice a smooth purr. "The crowd is already packed. It's going to be a full house tonight."

Mae turned to him, giving a slight nod. "How's it looking out there?"

"Insane," he said, grinning. "They're all here for you, Mae. You're the star, the one they came to see."

Mae smiled, though her mind was still racing. It was a lot to live up to, this new image of herself as the headliner of Hell's Angels. The club had been banking on her, and so far, the gamble had paid off. But as she smoothed out her outfit and checked her makeup one last time, she couldn't help but feel the weight of the expectations resting on her shoulders.

The manager stepped closer, his voice dropping slightly. "You nervous?"

Mae shook her head, though she wasn't sure if it was entirely true. "No. I've got this."

"Good," he said, his eyes gleaming with approval. "Because you're not just another dancer anymore, Mae. You're the reason people come here. Hell's Angels belongs to you."

She nodded, taking in his words. The thought of the club belonging to her, of being the center of attention, still felt surreal. But she had made this choice. This was the life she had wanted, and now, it was time to embrace it fully.

The manager gave her one last approving nod before leaving the dressing room, the door clicking shut behind him. Mae stood there for a moment, taking a deep breath as she mentally prepared herself for the performance ahead. The crowd was waiting, the energy of the night already crackling in the air. She could feel it—the anticipation, the excitement, the hunger for the spectacle she was about to deliver.

A few minutes later, a stagehand knocked on the door, signaling that it was time. Mae stood up, her heart pounding in her chest, but her face remained calm, collected. She was ready.

The music in the club shifted as the DJ's voice boomed over the speakers. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Hell's Angels! The moment you've all been waiting for—please welcome our star, the one and only, Mae!"

The crowd erupted into cheers, and Mae stepped out from the shadows, the lights from the stage catching her in an instant. She could feel the eyes of every person in the room on her, the collective energy of the audience pulling her forward. As she made her way to the center of the stage, the music surged, the beat pulsing in time with her steps.

She was no longer Mae from New York, the girl trying to escape her past. She was Mae, the headline act of Hell's Angels, the dancer who had captured the heart of Los Angeles and was poised to take the city by storm.

As she began her routine, moving with a grace and confidence that came naturally now, the crowd was mesmerized. Haunted by Beyoncé was being played in the background. Every twist, every turn, every sultry glance was met with cheers, with gasps of awe. The spotlight was hers, and she commanded it effortlessly, the stage becoming her domain.

For a moment, Mae lost herself in the rhythm, in the power of the performance. The doubts, the past, the lingering questions—all of it faded away as she danced, replaced by the adrenaline of the night. She was exactly where she was supposed to be, doing exactly what she was meant to do.

And as the night wore on, the cheers of the crowd echoing in her ears, Mae knew that she had made the right choice. Hell's Angels was her new home, her new beginning. The past could stay where it belonged—behind her.

This was her time. This was her city. And Mae was ready to claim it.

-

The roar of the crowd still echoed in Mae's ears as she made her way backstage, the heavy bass of the music fading behind her. Her body buzzed with adrenaline, every step she took feeling lighter, as if she were walking on air. She could still feel the heat of the lights on her skin, the pulse of the music thumping in her veins. The night had been a triumph, another packed house, and another flawless performance.

Mae had felt it the moment she stepped onto the stage—the power, the attention, the adoration of the audience. She had them wrapped around her finger, every movement, every glance, drawing them deeper into her orbit. Hell's Angels was hers tonight, just as her manager had said. She was the reason people came, the star they couldn't look away from.

But as she walked toward her dressing room, the cheers of the crowd fading into the distance, a familiar unease began to creep in. It was something she had been trying to ignore for weeks, something she buried beneath the excitement and the glamour of her new life. It was the same feeling that had followed her from New York to Los Angeles, the same nagging doubt that no matter how much she tried to run, she couldn't escape what she had left behind.

Mae pushed open the door to her dressing room and stepped inside, shutting it behind her. The bright lights around the vanity mirror flickered to life, casting a harsh glow on her reflection. She stared at herself for a moment, her breathing still heavy from the performance. The girl in the mirror looked confident, poised, like she had the world at her feet. But Mae knew better.

The applause from the club outside still lingered, but here, in the quiet of her dressing room, Mae felt the weight of her choices settle around her. The thrill of the night, the rush of the performance—it was fleeting. And when the lights dimmed and the crowd dispersed, she was left alone with her thoughts, the same thoughts that had been haunting her for years.

She collapsed onto the small leather chair in front of the mirror, her fingers trembling slightly as she reached for the water bottle on the table. Her mind was racing, the high of the night already beginning to fade, replaced by the familiar tug of uncertainty. Was this really what she wanted? Was this the life she had fought so hard for, or was it just another escape?

Mae took a long sip of water, trying to clear her head. She had spent years running from her past, from the life she had once known at St. Mary's, from the feelings she had for Father Charlie. And when she had left New York, she had convinced herself that this—Los Angeles, the lights, the fame—would finally be the answer. But now, sitting here in the stillness of her dressing room, Mae realized that no matter how far she ran, the shadows of her past followed her.

She thought of Father Charlie, the memory of him slipping into her mind like an uninvited guest. She hadn't seen him in two years, hadn't spoken to him since she had left the village. But his face, his voice, the way he had looked at her that last day in the chapel—it was all still there, just beneath the surface, waiting for a quiet moment to remind her of everything she had left behind.

Mae rubbed her temples, trying to push the thoughts away. This wasn't the time to dwell on the past. She had made her choice, and Los Angeles was her future now. Hell's Angels was her stage, and she was at the top of her game. But no matter how hard she tried to focus on the success she had built, the doubts lingered, like a shadow that refused to disappear.

Her phone buzzed on the vanity, pulling her from her thoughts. Mae glanced at the screen—it was a message from her manager.

Mae, great show tonight. We've got some high-profile clients asking for you. VIP after-party tomorrow. You're killing it!

She forced a smile as she read the message, though her heart wasn't in it. The after-parties, the VIP clients, the endless praise—it was all part of the job, and she played her role well. But lately, it had started to feel hollow. The more she performed, the more she wondered if this was really what she wanted.

Mae set the phone down, leaning back in the chair as she closed her eyes. The bright lights above her head buzzed faintly, casting a soft hum into the room. She could feel the exhaustion settling into her bones, but it wasn't just physical. It was deeper than that, a tiredness that came from running for too long, from trying to be someone she wasn't sure she wanted to be.

As she sat there, the noise of the club fading into the background, a knock came at the door.

Mae's eyes snapped open, her heart skipping a beat. She wasn't expecting anyone. The knock came again, this time more insistent.

She stood up, smoothing out her dress before crossing the room to open the door. On the other side stood a man she didn't recognize—a tall, broad-shouldered figure dressed in a sharp suit, his face partially hidden in the shadows of the hallway.

"Mae?" the man asked, his voice low and steady.

"Yes?" she replied, eyeing him cautiously. "Can I help you?"

The man stepped forward, his face now fully visible under the fluorescent light. His expression was calm, almost too calm, and there was something unsettling in the way he looked at her, as if he knew something she didn't.

"My employer would like to meet with you," he said, his voice devoid of emotion.

Mae frowned, confusion and unease swirling in her chest. "Your employer?"

The man nodded. "A private meeting. He's an admirer of your work. He saw your performance tonight."

Mae hesitated, her pulse quickening. This wasn't unusual in her line of work—private meetings with wealthy clients, high-profile figures who wanted a moment of her time. But something about this man, about the way he delivered the message, set off alarm bells in her head.

"I don't usually do private meetings," Mae said, trying to keep her voice steady.

The man didn't flinch. "This isn't a request."

Her stomach dropped. The room suddenly felt smaller, the air heavier. Mae took a step back, her hand gripping the doorframe. "I don't—"

"Mae," the man interrupted, his voice firm. "This meeting is important. You'll be well compensated. My employer is very generous."

Mae's mind raced. She had dealt with pushy clients before, but something about this felt different. More dangerous. She needed to get out of here, to put as much distance between herself and this man as possible.

"I'm not interested," she said, her voice stronger now. "Tell your employer I'm not available."

The man's expression darkened, but he didn't argue. Instead, he gave her a slow nod, as if accepting her refusal for now. But there was something in his eyes, something that told Mae this wasn't over.

"Very well," he said, his voice dripping with unspoken threats. "But remember, Mae—everyone has a price."

And with that, he turned and walked away, disappearing into the dimly lit hallway.

Mae slammed the door shut, her heart racing. She leaned against it, her breathing heavy, her mind spinning. What had just happened? Who was this man, and why did it feel like her world was about to get much more complicated?

She didn't have answers, but one thing was clear—Hell's Angels had its own shadows. And Mae had just caught a glimpse of them.