“Someone got into the dressing room,” he says, finally.

Oh shit. The dressing room? The back room where the girls changed is the inner sanctum. No customers are allowed back there. Hell, even most of the bouncers aren’t allowed.

I swallow around a knot in my throat. “And did what?”

It’s the question I ask instead of the real one. Did he hurt anyone?

Blue understands, shaking his head. No. “He left a message. The cleaning staff almost wiped it away, but West—he was letting them in when he did his morning rounds. He noticed it and thought to send me a picture, just to check.”

A message for who? What did it say?

But I can no longer stand here and wait, tossing out questions. I need answers. And most of all, I need to be sure that Candy is okay. There was that flicker in Blue’s eyes…

Tears already stinging my eyes, I push past him. He lets me.

It seems like every one of Blue’s guys is in the club, studying schematics or pointing up at the ceiling. Oscar is there, and West. Some kind of security upgrade is happening, but I can’t think about that.

Candy is sitting at her padded bench in the dressing room. Her face is white as a sheet, and completely clear of makeup. She stares straight ahead at her mirror—which is scrawled across with a powder pink lipstick I recognize as hers.

John 10:16

Ivan stands behind her, looming, a dark thundercloud over a mysterious, smooth-surfaced sea. His eyes are bloodshot, his suit rumpled. I’ve only ever seen him crisp and in control. He seems wilder now, almost feral.

“Who the fuck is John?” he asks, and I know this isn’t the first time he’s said it.

He isn’t even asking anyone in particular. He’s asking Candy, or me, or Blue who’s followed me inside. He’s asking the very walls, as if pissed that the Grand itself didn’t defend us.

He turns on Blue. “This is your fucking fault.”

Blue’s eyes narrow. “Maybe if you would have taken my advice and installed cameras in the back rooms, like I told you to.”

Ivan glares but doesn’t reply. He’d been too worried about what they might catch on tape, I suppose. And now we won’t know who broke in. The Grand is heavily guarded while it’s open, when it’s dark outside. There are only a few hours, just after dawn, when no one is here.

“Install them,” Ivan says, voice low and growling. “And I want this place guarded around the clock.”

I’m shaking, shivering. Afraid because Candy hasn’t said a word, hasn’t even blinked.

“Candy?” I ask softly.

No answer. She’s like a statue. A doll.

“Who the fuck is John?” Ivan says again, snarling.

Blue studies the pink scrawl. “Maybe the numbers are a time of day. We can check the tapes from the floor, find out who came in. Especially anyone who interacted with…”

He trails off, and all of our attention goes to Candy.

Maybe the numbers are a time of day. Or hell, maybe they’re the ramblings of a crazy person, meaningless to anyone outside its vortex. The bouncers have always been strict here, but assholes still get in.

After all, they have to get caught to get thrown out.

I’m thinking the note means something else, though. Mrs. Owens would read every evening, silently, before bed. There was only one book in her house. And when she couldn’t see anymore, I read to her aloud. “The bible,” I murmur.

“What?” Ivan snaps.

“Oh fuck,” Blue breathes, staring at the note with new eyes. “It could be a passage from the bible. John 10:16. We can look it up.”

Candy jolts, as if someone slapped her. She scrambles back, off the stool, away from the offending mirror. It’s littered with her makeup, her glitter. Her space, violated. Defiled.

“Don’t bother,” she whispers.

My heart is breaking to see her this way, my strong, irreverent friend turned into a trembling little girl. That’s how she looks right now. Little. The lace and glitter that had made her look pretend-innocent now just look real.

“Never mind,” Ivan says, so low and tender I don’t even recognize him. He takes her into his arms, almost cradling her. There are two strangers in front of me—one giving comfort, one receiving it. “It doesn’t matter. You’ll never see this again. We’ll burn it. And whoever left this, he’ll never touch you.”

Candy’s wide eyes flash to mine, and I know the truth she cannot say. Whoever left this, she knows him. Whoever left this, he’s already touched her.

“And I have other sheep that are not of this fold,” she says, reciting. “I must bring them also, and they will listen to my voice. So there will be one flock, one shepherd.”

One shepherd. I shiver.

Ivan lets out a low curse. He’s determined to wipe this away, and any other time, I’d believe he could. He’s the puppet master around here. All the girls dance while he pulls the strings.

Except for Candy.

There are other strings holding her. And other masters.

Thank you for reading the Stripped series. I’m pleased to present an extended, exclusive excerpt from Pretty When You Cry, the next novel in the series—the story of Ivan and Candy…

I feel every crack in the pavement, every jagged rock. Every rounded hump as the sidewalk turns to cobblestone and then back again. My shoes are made of white canvas and a thin bamboo sole, already fraying and black from the grime of the city.

This morning I woke up on my floor mat in Harmony Hills. Everything was white and clean and pure. A long hike and bus ride later, I made it to the outside. To Tanglewood, a random stop in a long line of them. So far it’s exactly how Leader Allen said it would be. Gutted buildings. Dark alleys. A nest of sin.

That’s not the worst part.

There’s someone following me. Maybe more than one person. I try to listen for the footsteps, but it’s hard to hear over the pounding in my ears, the thud of my heart against my chest. Panic is a tangible force in my head, a vortex that threatens to bring me down. I could end up on my knees before this night is over. But I don’t think I’ll be doing my evening prayers.

Men are standing outside a gate that hangs open on its hinges. They fall silent as I walk close. I tighten my arms where they are folded over my chest and look down. If I can’t see them, they can’t see me. It wasn’t true when I was little, and it’s not true now.

One of them steps in front of me.

My breath catches, and I stop walking. My whole body is trembling by the time I meet his eyes, bloodshot white in a shadowed face. “What’s your name?” he asks in a gravelly voice.

I jerk my head. No.

“Now that’s not very polite, is it?” Another one steps closer, and then I smell him. They couldn’t have showered in the past day or even week. Cleanliness is a virtue.

Being quiet and obedient and small is a virtue. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I just want to—”

I don’t know what comes next. I want to run. I want to hide. I want to pretend the past seventeen years as a disciple of Harmony Hills never happened. None of that is possible when I’m surrounded by men. I take a step back and bump into another man. Hands close around my arms.

A sound escapes me—fear and protest. It’s more than I would have done this morning, that sound.

I’m turned to face the man behind me. He smiles a broken-toothed smile. “Doesn’t matter what you want, darling.”

My mouth opens, but I can’t scream. I can’t scream because I’ve been taught not to. Because I know no one will come. Because the consequences of crying are worse than what will happen next.

Then the man’s eyes widen in something like fear. It’s a foreign expression on his face. It doesn’t belong. I wouldn’t even believe it, except he takes a step back.

My chest squeezes tight. What’s behind me? Who is behind me that could have inspired that kind of fear? The men surrounding me are monsters, but they’re backing off now, stepping away—hands up in surrender. No harm done, that’s what they’re saying without words.