Crowned with Guilt (Remember the Reaper Book 1)

by S. K. Rose

  Upon entering, you can’t help but immediately look up, the entire vaulted ceiling is pitch-black and covered in thousands of softly flickering lights. The club is made up of two separate levels. The ground level has twisted metal trees entwined with LED lights that pulse with the music, surrounded by lush green floral arrangements. Behind the bar is a long wall of frosted glass where you can see the silhouettes of giant leaves surrounded by a soft blue light. There’s a secret door that leads directly behind the wall, so occasionally couples will sneak in and you’ll see someone’s backside smashed against the glass, clearly having their own form of R-rated fun.

  The second level reminds me of a giant wraparound porch, only accessible by one of the two spiral staircases. This steel-supported platform wraps around the inside of the warehouse and VIP guests can look down over the metal banisters with a perfect view of the entire first floor.

  The club itself isn’t the only thing that’s unique; almost everyone who works here is dressed up extravagantly in some sort of costume. The male employees wear nothing but loincloths and paint whereas the females’ attire takes on the aspects of a specific creature. As strange as it all sounds for a nightclub theme, it’s exceptionally successful at making the guests feel wild and uninhibited.

  It would be quite a charming place if not for all the illicit acts and seedy people constantly tainting it. Mom would feel right at home.

  The club owner, Ace, makes his way toward me through the throng of people. I’ve always wanted to ask if his mom gave him that cheesy name or if it’s one he bestowed upon himself. Considering the glowering expression he’s currently wearing, I may keep that particular question to myself tonight.

  Ace is in his mid-thirties, fairly young to be the owner of a wildly successful nightclub, but he’s quite a motivated and influential person. His dark hair reaches his shoulders in a disheveled “I just rolled outta bed and still look hot” kind of fashion. He’s wearing his usual white button-up with the sleeves pushed up over his forearms, and an expensive-looking vest over the top. If not for the creep factor, I’d have to admit that he’s actually pretty good looking, but occasionally, when I look into his eyes, it’s as if there’s an animal hiding beneath the cool exterior; a wolf in sheep's clothing.

  “Ruby, where the hell have you been? I haven’t seen you for two weeks. The regulars have been asking after you,” he chides in a deep voice.

  Yeah, like I would give this prick my real name. However, it is the name on my fake ID, Ruby King. He crosses his arms over his chest waiting for me to grovel or whatever it is people usually do when he scolds them.

  “I’ve just been busy with school, chill out. I’m here now, so where do you want me?” I huff back, desperately wanting to throw myself into work.

  “Now, darling, I think you know exactly where I want you,” he purrs with a deadly grin. Leaning in, he brushes the back of his hand across my neck and down to my ass where he gives a firm squeeze. Although I've always been straightforward in rejecting his advances, and I’m positive he knows my ID is a fake, it doesn’t seem to prevent him from shamelessly flirting with me. The flirty shit irritates me, but the fact that he’s never taken it further than some harmless groping makes it tolerable. That, and the fact he pays me under the table helps big with my tolerance.

  I’ve dealt with worse.

  Invading my personal bubble, a sneer steals across his face. “Jesus, Ruby, you reek. Took the city bus again, didn’t you?” He shakes his head in disgust and thankfully takes a step back. “I’ve told you a hundred times to tell me when you need a ride and I’ll come pick you up.”

  Like I would ever get into a car alone with you, creep.

  I flash him a sweet smile. “Aw, Ace, you know I love to get out and experience downtown firsthand. It’s practically therapeutic.”

  It’s a goddamn shit show of a ride, but trumps being alone with him.

  He’s back to looking irritated, but must decide I’m not worth the trouble. “Whatever blows your dress up, babydoll. I’m short in the cage tonight, so shower, change, and head up. It’s gonna be a busy Friday night and we need to make my VIPs happy.”

  I head to the dressing room in the back. Ace’s sleeping quarters are right up above on the second level. I’ve seen it a handful of times in passing, but I keep my distance. He’s offered a few times to let me crash there, which I’ve always turned down with a shudder. Desperate sometimes, but not that desperate.

  After showering and changing, I can’t help but sigh looking at my reflection in the lit mirror. My upper body now looks as if someone wrapped me in strips of tiny black fabric, just enough to barely cover my nipples. My skirt is long and flowy with a high slit that shows off most of my left thigh and leaves very little to the imagination. I trace along the faded scars underneath my chin and the side of my face before slathering on the cover-up. After applying swirls of glow-in-the-dark paint on my arms and legs, I finish off the look with strappy black stilettos and wings fitted to my upper back.

  Yeah, you heard that right, fucking wings, ‘cause I’m a butterfly.

  There’s a reason I chose the butterfly as my disguise of choice, but that knowledge is locked up in a pile of old memories that are quietly gathering dust in the depths of my mind.

  After dabbing on what I like to call “hooker red” lipstick, I head upstairs toward the cage, a barred dancing platform that looks exactly as it sounds—a giant birdcage. Along the exterior, sections are curtained off for different VIP parties that want to watch and interact with the dancers. Inside there are a few poles and smaller platforms for us to dance on.

  This is where Ace’s most esteemed guests will spend their night lounging, socializing, drinking, and groping.

  I don’t always dance. I’m a fast learner and can fill whatever position is needed. Sometimes I waitress or host, which is nice ‘cause I get a break from the obnoxious wings. Other nights I tend the bar, and if I’m really strapped for cash, I head to the cage and wait for an opportunity to do a “private session”. Lap dances aren’t my idea of a good time, but the tips put clothes on my back and food in my stomach—not to mention helps with the medical bills from last year’s pneumonia incident.

  Like any good glorified stripper, I have a rule that I tell the clients upfront: no touchy. You can look all you want, but leave the goods alone. As of yet, my rule was only broken once. The dude broke my rule, so I broke his finger. I felt we were square, but Ace kicked him out anyway, and it hasn't happened since.

  I don’t participate in the drug-pushing that goes on, but I haven’t discouraged it, either. I never have and never will touch the shit. I’ve seen the damage it causes firsthand. Regardless, who am I to stop someone from completely derailing their life? Not for me to decide, or frankly, give a shit about.

  Eddie, one of the bouncers, nods to me as he opens the side door to the cage. I step in and spot Lola, a gorgeous redhead who’s currently glitzed up like a slutty ladybug. She’s up on one of the larger platforms. I join her and we slip into an easy routine of swaying our hips and grinding against one another. It makes the clients crazy and we always end up with more tips when we double up. Girl on girl? More like stacks on stacks. Idiots.

  As I dance, all worry about school or my empty stomach fades away. As I tilt my head back and let the music consume me, I swing my hips in time with the beat and run my fingers through my hair. It’s not long before a handful of cash slithers through the bars toward me. Looking over, I see an older guy in a nice suit, devouring me with his eyes. Licking my lips seductively, I jerk my head to the left and he nods eagerly, my body screaming with disgust. Tugging on his expensive tie, I lead him to a private room.

  I’m not Ruby, nor Tessa. I don’t think or feel.

  I’m a shell of a person as I close the heavy curtain behind us.

  Life is simply a shit show, a piece of knowledge that everyone will come to accept sooner or later.

  ʢ ʢ ʢ

  I wake up the next morning nurs
ing a small hangover and sore as hell from dancing in those ridiculous stilettos all night. Getting lazily on my feet I regard my humble abode. I sleep inside a small office that’s surrounded by large plexiglass windows. When I step outside my ‘bedroom’, I’m greeted by grimy white tiles and row after row of graffitied metal lockers.

  About two or so years ago. the community pitched in for a new football field and indoor gym. They got upgraded lockers with digital passcodes, a huge facility for the coaches, and even a racquetball room—pretty bitchin’, honestly. The decrepit locker room that sits next to the track got chained up and forgotten. Well, forgotten by everyone but me, that is. All the plumbing is still hooked up, I’m able to shower and have an endless supply of drinking water from the sinks and water fountain.

  After recovering from my shit show of a sixteenth birthday, I packed a bag, fled the house, and just started walking. I ended up here, probably because it’s some place familiar and well—I haven't been caught yet. Knock on wood.

  It’s a pretty sweet deal for a homeless girl, and as long as I’m extremely careful about my comings and goings, I should be set ’til graduation. The fetid smell of dirty socks and jockstraps still lingers in the air, but I’ve grown used to it. Now if I could just magic up an endless supply of food, I’d be able to stop working for Ace and hole up here until school was over.

  I take a long cold shower, doing my best to scrub off any remnants of last night. I throw on some faded jeans, a black tank top, a hoodie over that, and then my leather jacket for good measure. It feels like a fucking igloo inside the locker room, so I can assume it rained or snowed a bit overnight, the more layers the better.

  After grabbing some of the cash I made last night and shoving it into my pocket, I head toward the giant double doors that lead outside. Slightly opening one, I check to make sure the coast is clear. Since it’s the weekend, I’m not overly worried about being caught, but I’m cautious, nonetheless. Once it’s safe, I slip out and under the chains and quickly head off campus. Being nothing but skin and bones works to my advantage occasionally; those chains never had a chance of keeping me out.

  On foot, I head to the store to do my grocery shopping for the week. As much as I hate working at Oasis, I can’t deny that the weight of the cash in my back pocket makes me feel damn good. I earned that money and it will keep me fed for a few weeks.

  When I’m inside the grocery store I move quickly and with purpose. I grab some toiletries, more pencils, deodorant, and warmer jammies. Food wise, everything I get is nonperishable and won’t spoil without refrigeration. I’m in the breakfast aisle with an armload of store brand cereal when I catch a glimpse of a familiar face at the end of the aisle.

  Frozen on the spot I stare at his face, those unmistakable green eyes and messy blond hair. I watch in shock as he turns away and disappears. All sane thoughts go flying out of my head as I shove the cart forward and make a beeline toward the ghost.

  I feel like a puppet being jerked around and it’s the devil pulling my strings.

  But I don’t care. I have to see him, to be near him.

  I search frantically up and down each aisle I pass to make sure he can’t somehow pass me. I’m getting weird stares as I barrel through the store with my cart. I stop and look around in disbelief. He’s gone. He’s left me again.

  Then I see him, an attractive guy my age with dirty blond hair and brown eyes.

  Not green, brown.

  I smack my palm forcefully to my forehead and take a couple deep breaths.

  It’s not him, because he’s dead. D-E-A-D, dead.

  I’m fucking losing my mind, officially. My birthday isn’t far off, which always tends to screw with my mind a bit. Never to the point where I was goddamn delusional though. Some vivid nightmares, sure, but not this shit.

  “Miss, are you okay?” One of the cashiers has rushed over and looks at me with concerned eyes. I guess I look as bat shit crazy as I feel.

  “Yeah, yeah—just an asthma attack,” I lie. “Need to go grab my inhaler and I’ll be peachy.” I wheeze, and she nods, her eyes filled with understanding. After one more careful look to make sure I’m not gonna pass out she heads back to her register.

  I finish my shopping and the rest of the weekend is blissfully uneventful. I spend most of my time catching up on homework or reading.

  No more hallucinations. No more glimpses of ghosts.

  That night I dreamt of castles and white butterflies.

  I dreamt of a handsome prince with bright green eyes and a crooked smile.

  Chapter 14

  ─────

  I make my way through the crowded halls, passing a couple of jocks wrestling and a lovely goth couple sucking face against the water fountain. Fuck, this day is never-ending. Even watching a skater fall and eat shit didn’t cheer me up. I duck into Trig and sit in my usual spot by the back window.

  Dark clouds angrily roll through the sky as if they’re plotting the world's demise. There’s an electric charge to the air that’s unnerving, as if at the drop of a hat everything I know could be flipped upside down. To be honest, it feels a little dramatic, and quite irritating. It’s just a regular Monday, nothing is different, nothing will change. I distract myself by contemplating what money I have left after shopping and the best use for the rest of it.

  The sound of a chair scraping across tiles and a loud thump immediately to my left has me cringing. It’s a horrible case of déjà vu.

  What. The. Fuckity. Fuck.

  Miss Cotton Candy is busy organizing her pink shit on the desk next to mine again. This entire year nobody else in their right mind has dared sit next to me after the whole book incident with Scott Kain.

  Okay, well that's not entirely true, Jacob Reeson decided to sit by me last year.

  Just the day before, I overheard him telling his buddies that I was simply a “wild horse that needed to be broken.” Hope that wasn’t a bet he was putting money on, fucking dickshit.

  Focused on the math problems in front of me, Jacob Reeson sauntered over all cocky and sat in the desk right next to me. The slime ball proceeded to lay the charm on real thick. I allowed him to brag a bit, and I even smiled shyly, batting my long eyelashes once or twice, as if I was some smitten little kitten. He asked me for help with a problem that I shyly explained to him, and flirted with him for almost the entire hour. Then, just before the end of class, I leaned over toward him, and in my sultriest voice purred right into his ear:

  “Jacob, you bad boy, before I decide to let you fuck my brains out, I just really have one question.”

  “Yeah? Ask away, hot stuff,” he shot back, looking downright giddy. It was enough to make me gag. Thankfully I didn’t, or it would have ruined everything.

  Quickly, before he could respond, I shot my hand forward and grabbed his face roughly. With a tight grip on his jaw, I forced his mouth open with my other hand. I pretended to sit there and inspect the inside of his mouth. The idiot just sat there with a mixture of confusion and lust brimming in his eyes. Pathetic.

  “Do you floss?” I asked when I finally released my grip. Sitting back quickly in my seat, I forced myself to look embarrassed. I even managed to spit out a little giggle. Maybe I should have taken drama as my elective.

  “Damn, girl, you’re a kinky little thing, aren’t you?” He raised an eyebrow and smiled big as if to impress me with his pearly whites, all the while rubbing his sore jaw. “Yeah, baby, I floss daily, and I'll make sure to nibble right on your—”

  I interrupted him before he could continue with his disgusting visual. “Oh, that’s good,” I said, trying to look relieved. Leaning in until I was mere inches from his face, I used my thumb to lightly trace across my collarbone. His eyes shot toward my chest that was perfectly heaving underneath a Guns N' Roses tee, and I swear I saw a little drool.

  With that same hand, I then hooked a thumb under my collar and popped out a necklace that had been hidden by my shirt.

  He squinted his eyes as if tr
ying to get a better look at it, and then the blood began to drain from his face. His eyes glanced over toward his onlooking buddies and then back to my necklace.

  “Jacob, I just wanted to make sure you would make a good addition to my growing collection.” I shrugged and gave him a big doe-eyed look, all the while holding out a string of human-looking teeth towards him.

  A look of horror crossed his face as his Adam's apple bobbed up and down and he gulped audibly. Words jumbled out of his mouth, but as he spoke, his eyes seemed to look everywhere except into mine.

  “I’m sorry, Tessa, I was just kidding around. Yeah, um okay, thanks for the talk. I uh—” A loud bell rang in the distance. “Oh, jeez, I can’t be late for my next class, sorry again, Tessa. Really.” He gave me a fearful yet apologetic look and hurried away.

  In two seconds flat, he was halfway across the classroom and almost to the door. I dropped my necklace back down into my shirt with an evil grin spreading across my features.

  I knew this realistic prop I snagged from the thrift shop would come in handy.

  Jacob looked back only once, and I utilized that moment to snap my teeth in a biting motion at him. He booked it out the door and I threw my head back and cackled like a crazy person. My classmates stared at me, clearly confused by the strange reaction of the school player, Jacob Reeson.

  I swear I’m in a better mood just thinking about that day, even with Blossom invading my personal bubble. Jacob Dipshit Reeson still looks a little jittery whenever I’m nearby. Sometimes I’ll go out of my way to smile sweetly and wave at him just to see all the color flee from his face.

  I mean it’s truly fucking hilarious.

  I’m grinning my ass off until I notice the pink fluff is not only invading my personal bubble but also looking at me curiously, as if she’s trying to figure out all my innermost thoughts and secrets.

  This bitch.

  Once she sees me looking back at her with an annoyed expression, she shoots me a huge smile. “I admit I was a little lost last week trying to figure out why you were calling me Blossom. I mean, I know who Frenchy and Strawberry Shortcake are, obviously. Then it hit me, you called me sugar and spice and everything nice.” She puffs out her chest proudly. “I mean, it took me a sec, but I figured it out. Powerpuff Girls! I snorted milk out of my nose when I put it together. Very clever, although you missed the chemical X, silly. I’m right, though, aren’t I?” She looks over at me expectantly.