by Mason, V. F.
Leaning back, I throw away one more pawn that represents her resistance, and anticipation prickles my skin, awakening dormant feelings inside me.
The time has come to catch my prey and create a web around her so twisted and dark she’ll never be able to escape it.
After all, she is the debt that her family owes me.
A wild orchid that was always meant to be mine.
Giselle
“Thank you.” I give the cabbie a twenty and shut the door as Isla whistles next to me.
“The line is insane.”
I follow her gaze to see around a hundred people trying to get in, all in different attire from elegant to trashy, while bouncers allow them in only if they have an invitation.
I focus on the girl wearing a flawless white dress as she tries to get in, but the bouncer barks, “Get away from here.” Her shoulders sag, and she spins around, rubbing her arms, and my brows furrow.
Complete devastation marks her face, and her lips tremble a little, but she shakes her head, takes a deep breath, and catches a nearby cab.
What the hell could be so freaking important in this club that she looked like the world had ended?
It takes me a moment to register Isla pinching my arm. “Where did you go?”
“That girl.” I point at the passing cab and she nods.
“Yeah, the no seemed rough for her.”
“I think I’ve seen her somewhere.” But where?
“Maybe she’s one of Manhattan’s elite?” Isla supplies, and then hooks her arm with mine, dragging me to the entrance. “Let’s get inside, away from this insanity.”
Indeed, someone starts crying and even arguing over a no. Geez, just find another club.
We go straight to security, and I blink at the bright yellow sign that says The Dungeon of Burlesque. And snort inwardly. The owner wanted to go all in with the bohemian look, it seems.
The bouncer scans our invitations then raises his eyes to us, pales a little, and removes the red rope blocking the entrance. He motions for us to go through. “Welcome to the Dungeon.”
“Thanks!” Isla salutes him, and we pass through a narrow gate where there’s a sort of reception desk, and a waitress who beams at us with a bright smile, holding menus in her hands.
“Welcome, ladies. Table for two?” she asks, glancing behind us, probably checking if we came with company.
“Yes, please.” She nods and turns around as we follow her.
Isla’s jaw drops when the sheer beauty of the place comes into view, and even though I grew up around luxury and money, I’m in awe of it too.
The space is wide and huge with old music blasting through the speakers, giving a vintage type of vibe, as if taking you back to the ’20s, when burlesque was born. Black marble floors shine brightly under golden chandeliers filled with expensive crystals that display the place in a magical light that the gold walls emphasize. Portraits of burlesque legends are scattered on the walls with little quotes about the dance written on the tablecloths. Small, round tables fill most of the place, with candles, and a bottle of wine on each, ready for the taking.
Almost all the seats are taken as people engage in conversations while giving occasional glances to the stage. Some even clap, at the current performer swirling on the stage and raising her leg high.
A spacious bar is located at one end, where most of the waiters are, and a central stage is on the other. Near it is a smaller stage where musicians are getting ready, checking their instruments and sharing a laugh between each other.
They probably play live music during the main performance, which according to the invitation is Blazing Red, the star.
The guys wear black vests with a bow tie along with black jeans, while the girls have knee-length stockings, shorts, tight T-shirts with the logo on it, and they navigate gracefully in high pumps.
The sexy energy of burlesque almost casts magic on the place and creates anticipation in my blood for the show.
Very smart marketing, I’ll give them that.
“I’m so glad we came here,” Isla murmurs, and I nudge her a little, since the girl chuckles next to us.
We take our seats, and the waitress gives us menus. “Do you want to start with some drinks first?”
“Yes, please. Beer.”
She shifts her gaze to me, and I shake my head, because they have wine available on the table along with nuts. “I’m good.”
“Okay. Your beer will be here shortly. When you’re ready to place an order, just press the button here.” She shows it on the menu and with a wink walks away.
“Do you know who the owner is?” Isla pops a nut in her mouth and tugs on her dress, huffing in annoyance. She always wears pants, but this time she borrowed one of my dresses, an emerald-green, strapless one that emphasizes her waist but also shows off her legs. Since she is taller than me, the dress finishes midthigh.
“No clue,” I reply, scanning the menu and wondering what to get. I hope they have something I can eat and not all that fancy stuff, like bull’s brain or other dishes that creeped me out as a child.
A vision in white quickly passes our table, and Isla gasps, “Mia!” I blink as the girl stops, her face completely free of makeup, while her red hair is pinned high. She is wearing jeans and a shirt, but by the heavy bag on her shoulder, I know she is about to go backstage. “Is that you?”
“Isla?” she asks in disbelief but quickly plasters on a smile. “How are you?”
“I’m good. I didn’t know you work here.” I pour myself some wine, because this could take a while, since Isla loves grilling people for information.
I pause when Mia says, “I’m Blazing Red.” Her cheeks heat up, and she glances down as if in shame.
“Shut up!” Isla exclaims, and I join her excitement.
“That’s awesome!”
“Yeah.” Mia looks upstairs where there are balcony seats and nods, before announcing, “Sorry, ladies, but I have to go. My show is in fifteen minutes. I’ll talk to you after it.”
“Sure, babe!”
That’s when I feel the hair on my neck rise then a shiver rush through me, and anticipation surrounds me. I place my elbows on the table, rest my chin on my locked palms in front of me, and subtly glance over my shoulder. However, I see no one but busy staff and customers laughing while talking with each other.
“I think he’ll show up soon.”
“I’m not waiting for anyone,” I reply, sipping my wine, and she snorts, popping another nut.
“Right.”
“How do you know Mia?” I decide to change the subject, rather than dwell on when Callum will come to our table.
He is here. I can feel it with my every breath, because he’s watching me. I should run in a different direction, considering his stalker tendencies, but I’m still drawn to him like a moth to the flame. Where is the fear, concern… anything but the desire to explore whatever he offers?
“…so that’s how we met,” Isla finishes, clapping her hands when the waiter places her beer in front of her and rushes away.
I blink, clear my throat, and ask, “Could you repeat that please?” Isla throws a peanut at me, but I duck in time to avoid it. “Hey!”
“Your head is in the clouds, woman. I won’t explain again.”
“Come on!”
“Yeah, I won’t, because—” She halts, her eyes widening, and she swallows hard. My brows rise at this, because I don’t think I’ve ever in my life seen this expression on her face.
I follow her stare as she gapes at someone and see a tall, brooding man in the shadows by the bar. I can’t make out his features though except the fact that he is tall.
My gaze shifts back to Isla who still gapes at him, but then closes her eyes, exhales, and takes a large sip of her beer. A few seconds pass as we sit in prolonged silence, and I finally can’t take it anymore. “Who is the guy?”
“No one.”
“Yeah, right,” I reply, and trail the rim of my glass. “An ex?”
I’m not sure she has one, because she never dated anyone, at least not that I know of. Her private life has always been off-limits in our friendship, and I never pushed for more information anyway.
But then, I highly doubt she is a twenty-five-year-old virgin.
“No, he’s—” She exhales heavily, puffing her hair. “He’s a witness in our latest case.” I blink in surprise, because that’s the last thing I expected to hear. “It’s classified, so I’m not gonna explain.”
“Oh, okay.” I’m not sure what else to say in this situation, but she continues.
“He’s from Chicago. I’m just surprised to see him; that’s all.”
Right, because that explains her gaping at him.
“Okay,” I repeat again, and hectically rack my mind for an appropriate new subject, because this evening is not going in the direction I was hoping for.
I expected to have fun and then see Callum if I’m honest. Instead, ten minutes in and we’ve seen two people who are somehow connected to Isla, and that’s never happened before.
Or the blush on her cheeks—that’s odd too.
That’s when a lady wearing a long, silky red dress comes on stage and taps on the microphone, bringing everyone’s attention to her. “Hello, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to Dungeon of Burlesque!” she shouts, raising her arms up and wide.
Cheers and applause erupt, and we join them while she clears her throat, the sound echoing through the space. “Very soon, Blazing Red will come on stage.” This time, catcalls and whistles erupt and she laughs. “Yes, our star. But before that happens… let’s dance, everybody!” Around ten people hop on stage, male and female dancers in similar uniforms as the waiters.
Catchy music starts rocking off the walls as the dancers get down and grab random people from the tables, twirling them to loud cheers, and my body slowly buzzes to the sound.
A shadow looms above us, and shortly a young guy is next to us, extending both his hands to us. “Ladies, may I?” he asks, and Isla shakes her head. “Nope, can’t do it. But she loves to dance!” She points at me and I almost choke on my drink.
What a traitor!
The guy nods, snags my hand before I can say anything, and pulls me up, pressing me flush against his chest. He places his hat on my head and winks. “Gives a certain appeal.”
Before he has the chance to twirl me though, I see brooding brown eyes drilling their stare into me from the bar, and my breath hitches when he scans us from head to toe, nothing but fury flashing in his eyes.
Oh, God.
It’s about to go down.
Callum
The blood in my veins boils when I see my wild orchid in the arms of another man who swirls her on the dance floor, picking her up and swaying while she smiles. I can practically feel her pulse beating rapidly from here.
Oh, she’s noticed me all right.
Her dark locks cascade down her spine in messy, heavy tendrils that my hands just itch to fist while I drive myself inside her with full force, each thrust marking her as mine.
Her silky, black dress hugs her body in all the right places, showing fucking everyone what belongs to me. Although it finishes above her knees, the slit on her right leg reaches almost to midthigh, flashing her long legs.
The only things that save her are the lacy gloves she keeps firmly on the guy’s shoulder and the distance she puts between their bodies, despite the more than provocative dance.
“Your woman is a good dancer,” Octavius muses next to me, clicking his fingers at the barman who nods and grabs the whiskey bottle. “Gorgeous too.”
He chuckles under my harsh stare as I tear my gaze away from the beauty on the dance floor, and growl, “Don’t look.”
“Ah, you are no fun at all, Callum.” Although he says all his regular shit that gets a rise out of me, I notice how his tone stays dead and how his eyes dart here and there in a weird manner.
Octavius is usually the calmest fucker in the room, finding everything—and I do mean everything—hilarious.
Even when someone screams in agony, begging for their life, he only adds to their misery, and he can watch his victims suffering for hours or days before he kills them. He once mentioned that killing is like a sport; you gotta do your best before letting go.
Whatever the fuck that meant.
“Tell me what you want and let’s get it over with,” I announce, hating that a meeting with him takes me away from my woman, even for a moment. I planned this evening down to the last detail, but then one of the horsemen decided to remind me about my debt.
They want something, and whenever they do… you gotta give it them right away. I’m not afraid of them, because please…. But a vow is a vow, and my word is legendary.
If I promise something, I keep it. “Where are the rest of the guys?” Whenever they come to collect, they’re always together.
“They’re back in Chicago. This doesn’t concern them.” My brows rise at this, because fucking what? Since when do debts not concern them? “We came to a decision that you owe me.”
“Interesting.” By the weird notes lacing his tone, I know there is more to it than he wants to admit, but I don’t care. “So what do you want?”
“Access to surveillance cameras you installed in Giselle’s house.” I freeze, spinning toward him, ready to reach for his throat for even suggesting that. Is he fucking insane? What kind of game is he playing?
If he thinks I’m into sharing, so help me God….
I pause when I notice his gaze on Giselle’s table where Isla sits, popping nuts into her mouth like crazy while nervously shifting, looking at us, but then casting her eyes down.
All while blushing for everyone to see.
Oh, now that’s really interesting.
“Hey, Ben,” I address the barman, who currently moves a silver shaker wildly. “Could you please grab me some orange juice.” I would have preferred whiskey, but it doesn’t suit my plans tonight.
“Coming right up.”
Octavius finally unglues his stare from Isla long enough to ask, “So? Do we have a deal?”
“Yeah, no.”
His face transforms from indifferent to furious within a second, his green eyes blazing fire in my direction as he slams the bar top with his fist, snapping. “Why the fuck not?”
No wonder Remi is the one to handle all conversations during regional meetings. Octavius loses his shit pretty fast, and it’s so fucking hilarious I can’t resist poking. “Because cameras are installed in Isla’s guest room and living room. So I don’t creep on Isla herself. That’s what you need, right?”
He steps back, momentarily surprised I guessed his intentions.
Drumming my fingers impatiently on the counter, I smirk when Octavius gives me the death glare. “Shut it, Callum.”
“Let me think about it,” I mutter, rubbing my chin and then shake my head. “Yeah, no.” He snatches the glass of scotch sliding to him from the left corner and gulps it, wincing a little. “If you say a word to anyone—”
Oh, so it’s like that. And he wants me to shut it? “I wonder how the rest of the four dark horsemen would react if they knew you have a thing for a police officer.”
His jaw clenches and fury flashes in his eyes when he spins around to face me, ready for blood, but I raise my brow, knowing he won’t do shit.
Not in Lachlan’s club and city, because there are rules we all follow religiously to survive among each other. Not creating a mess on someone’s territory being one of them. “Simmer down, Octavius.”
“What do you want?” he snaps, clicking for another drink, and shifts his attention back to Isla, who sighs and rests her chin on her hand.
Although Giselle gave her a dress, the cop is still plain. I’m shocked Octavius went for her, considering the women he usually hangs around.
Harsh but true.
Honestly, I couldn’t give a fuck about Octavius and his little fascination with the cop here, but Giselle cares about her. Which means I have to too, b
ecause I don’t want my woman upset over anyone but me.
That’s how much I need to own her attention. “Ask for something else.” He frowns, so I elaborate, “That’s my request for keeping my mouth shut. Ask for something else. I won’t give you access to Isla.”
“The debt is the debt. You don’t set conditions.” His tone turns deadly, but it does nothing for me.
“Well tough for you. I’m sure Remi will be fucking thrilled to know about this.”
His jaw tics, and his fingers absently twist the ring on his finger that emphasizes his position as a leader among horsemen. They are all mean motherfuckers who do everything together, an unbreakable unit that destroys everything in its wake that doesn’t suit their desire.
But knowing Remi, Octavius’s obsession with the cop might be one thing that can break the unit, and truth be told, I’m fucking curious how it will play out.
They are not typical serial killers per se, finding it boring, but I’m not sure what they call the gore they inflict on all those people that sometimes disgusts even me.
“Very well.” Then I see how the dancer twirls Giselle and leans her down as the music reaches the high point and then freeze in the position, with him slowly dragging her up while she laughs, her face flushed.
All thoughts of everyone else’s “situations” fly away, and I concentrate on the monster within me that roars at witnessing another man’s touch on my woman.
Throwing the glass on the counter where it clatters loudly, I tell Octavius, “See you around.” And stride in the direction of Giselle.
Who’s about to become mine.
Giselle
Breathing heavily, I remove the strands of my hair from my face and grin at the dancer who once again winks at me. “Did you like it?”
“It passed as a blur, so I didn’t even have time to enjoy it,” I reply, stepping back from his arms while tugging on my dress and fanning myself, because the AC blasting around us is not enough to cool my skin.
Vic, that’s his name, spun us across the dance floor, mostly carrying me with twirls and hops, and swaying back and forth. The steps weren’t hard to follow, but with my lack of stamina, I could barely catch a breath. Thankfully though, everyone had a similar problem, and it was mostly for having fun.