Keatyn Unscripted (The Keatyn Chronicles Book 8)

by Jillian Dodd

  He flashes our pass to the guard, who lets us through.

  “I’m still worried about getting you down.”

  “I know.” I lead him to the DJ booth and get Troy’s attention.

  “Damn, girl,” Troy says, giving me a hug. “I’ve missed you. Not the whiner boyfriend, but I’ve missed you.”

  “Brooklyn’s not my boyfriend anymore.”

  “If you weren’t our friend, I would have kicked his ass for all the bitching he did. You had fun though, didn’t you?”

  “I had a blast being on tour.”

  “Damian says you’re going to be in our video.”

  “If you guys still want me, yeah.”

  He looks at me again. “We do. So, keep going down the hall. Second door on the left is where all the girls are. They’ll tell you what to do.”

  “Why don’t you walk down there, Cooper, and check it out. I’ll be right there.”

  As soon as he’s out of earshot, I say to Troy, “Were you able to get it?”

  “Are you sure about all this? Damian gave me an earful before I left. I assume you want this guy to see you but not get close?”

  “Exactly.”

  “That shouldn’t be a problem. Patrons aren’t allowed to touch the cages.”

  “Still.”

  Troy sighs. “Fine. It’s duct taped to the floor. I put a little spot of glow-in-the-dark paint on both ends of the tape. The safety’s on but, Keats, the last thing we need is a shoot-out in a packed club.”

  “I won't use it unless I absolutely have to.”

  He musses my hair. “You looked great dancing out there. Wherever you've been has been good for you.”

  “Thanks. You look like a rock star.”

  “It's pretty exciting, huh? “You and Me” has been getting a ton of airtime. The label thinks we’ll hit the Billboard chart this week.”

  “Seriously? Damian didn't tell me that.”

  “He has some new tail he's after. But I'm not complaining. He's written some seriously amazing shit this week.”

  “He's in love.”

  “Apparently. Okay, so get down there. You only have a few minutes.”

  In the dressing room with the paid dancers, I get a quick makeover by Marla, the woman in charge. She cakes on more makeup and glues on the huge glow-in-the-dark eyelashes the dancers are known for.

  Then she adds glow-in-the-dark paint to strategic locations on my body. Stripes fanning out from my eyes. Four stripes around the clover tattoo on my wrist. A swirly stripe across my left shoulder blade. Filling in numerous diamond shapes in my fishnets.

  She stands back and looks at me with an artist’s eye, trying to decide where else to put the paint, when she spots my tattoo.

  “Oh, I like this,” she says, outlining it. “What’s it mean?”

  “Chaos.”

  “Love that. We should all have those. I’ve always said that if they ever give this place a name, it should be called Utter Chaos.”

  After a few words of advice, I’m being locked in a cage and swung out over the now jam-packed dance floor.

  I look through the neon sunglasses I’m supposed to wear to start the dance and quickly see Vincent standing in his former spot, his calculating eyes searching the dance floor.

  I hang onto the bars of the swinging cage until I’m lowered onto a six-foot-high platform just to Vincent’s left.

  Vincent blinks his eyes, wondering if it’s just his imagination.

  But it’s not.

  It’s her.

  She came back for him.

  When he works his way into the VIP section to retrieve her, she’s gone.

  Did she go back out to dance?

  He goes back to his usual location, where he has the best view of the dance floor.

  The cages, where the paid dancers gyrate, hit the platforms, the music screeches to a halt and a new song plays, causing the Plexi-glass bases of each cage to light up, flashing with the beat.

  The girls start dancing in their cages, but his focus is on the dance floor. She’s got to be out there.

  He notices a little crowd gathering around one of the cages. He looks up and sees her moving her hips. Dancing in a very sexy way. He stands completely still.

  Mesmerized.

  Then she bends over, shakes her ass, and blows a kiss over her shoulder, straight toward him.

  It’s a sign. She’s ready. She wants him to get her out of her symbolic cage. Rescue her.

  Vincent stands up and pushes his way through the crowd while she slides on sunglasses, pretending not to see him as she continues to shimmy.

  Vincent gestures to one of the bouncers surrounding the cage, hands him a large tip, and tells him that he’d very much like to meet the dancer in the VIP section. Right now.

  The bouncer speaks into his headset, as he leads Vincent up the stairs.

  We’re almost there, Lacy.

  A few minutes later, my cage starts moving upward.

  The girls usually dance in the cage for thirty minutes, then rotate to a VIP lounge platform. Which, obviously, I wasn’t planning to do. The dancers, though, love the VIP area, as it’s where they earn the majority of their tips.

  I notice that my cage is the only one moving.

  Were supposed to all come in at the same time.

  I glance at the timer that counts down my shift, and see I should still have twenty-two minutes left.

  That means Vincent requested me.

  I try to imagine what his impromptu plan might be. I'm sure he's planned out what he'd do if he ever saw me here.

  But I doubt his plans included me being in a cage.

  At least I know I’m safe backstage.

  But as I’m being lowered, I see Vincent coming backstage, a bouncer escorting him.

  I look in every direction, searching for Cooper, but not seeing him anywhere.

  My heart starts to race and I tell myself to calm down. It’s not like he’s got a van sitting out back every week. The valet told me he drives a Porsche.

  The bouncer’s job is to protect me. Look, don't touch is what they always tell people.

  I should have thought about this before. If he found me, how would he get me out of the club?

  Then I remember Miami.

  He'd drug me.

  Slip me a roofie.

  Use a needle.

  Help his sick friend to the car. She just had a little too much fun, he’d say.

  Maybe I should go back to the VIP area with him just to see what he’d do.

  But then another possibility pulses through my brain. Vincent hurts, drugs, or kills the bouncer. In his slick suit, it would be easy to underestimate his strength.

  Where the hell is Cooper?

  And why did they let Vincent backstage?

  I bend down, pull the duct tape off the gun, and slip it into the back of my shorts.

  The cage is lowered backstage. Away from the harsh club lighting, he can see the violet in her eyes. The softness of her skin.

  The bouncer stops him from getting closer to the cage.

  She says to the bouncer, “I have twenty minutes left. You're going to get me in trouble with Marla.”

  The bouncer lowers his voice, siding with me, now that he’s a thousand dollars richer. “I know you're new, but the gentleman here is a VIP. Big VIP. And he requested you now. You know the boss man is all about customer service.”

  “Fine. I'll go powder my nose, then I'll head up there.”

  It’s sweet that she wants to look perfect for him, but he shakes his head at the bouncer. No way is she getting out of his sight.

  “I think now would be better.”

  “Um, okay.” The bouncer opens my cage and takes my hand to help me out.

  The second my feet hit the concrete floor, Vincent starts moving quickly toward me.

  My eyes get huge.

  I point and go, “Um . . .”

  The bouncer turns around and says to Vincent, “Go back to the VIP section now. W
e’ll meet you there.”

  “I just want to talk to her. I'm a producer. This could be her big break.”

  “I don't want a break,” I whisper, putting my hand behind my back and gripping the gun.

  Suddenly, Vincent charges toward the bouncer.

  Shit!!

  I move to avoid getting knocked down.

  Vincent rushes toward her. He must have her, and he’s tired of fucking around. She will be his tonight if it’s the last thing he does. He takes the cigar holder out of his pocket. He just needs to get close enough for a little prick of a needle. Then she’ll be out. He’ll play the hero, carrying her out of the club, putting her in his car . . .

  Just as he gets close, the cage swings, ramming into both himself and the bouncer, knocking them to the ground.

  The man she was dancing with, burly guy he’s never seen before, takes her hand and pulls her down the hall. Light floods the room from an exit door opening. Vincent picks himself up, gets the syringe out, and takes off running after her.

  He’ll kill the big guy, and then she will be his.

  Cooper grabs me, pulls me down the hall, and pushes through an exit door.

  The bright streetlights temporarily blind me.

  “Which car is it?” Cooper yells.

  I hand him the gun. “Here, take this.”

  “Where the hell do you get—”

  I don’t answer, just pull him toward a sweet black Ducati.

  “A motorcycle?” Cooper panics. “I’ve never ridden one.”

  I hop on the bike, pull on my helmet, toss one to Cooper, pop the kickstand, turn the key, grab the clutch, and hit the start button, bringing the motor roaring to life.

  “Just hang on!” I yell as both Vincent and the bouncer barrel out of the exit.

  He and the bouncer following him get to the outside just in time to see her speeding off on a motorcycle. One that looks familiar. It’s Matt’s bike. He’s seen them ride it before. Fury overcomes him.

  He punches the bouncer in the face, knocking him to the ground, then takes his money back.

  He runs back through the club, tosses his ticket to the valet, rips the keys out of his hand, and runs to his car. He needs to get to the Malibu Colony and fast.

  He hits the gas, burning rubber out of the parking lot.

  He knows where she’s leading him.

  Back to their beach.

  I pop the bike into first gear with my foot, crack the throttle, and speed off into the night.

  I make numerous turns through the warehouse district, already having memorized the streets, and then shoot out onto the highway near the Santa Monica airport.

  I drive fast, weaving in and out of traffic.

  Once I’m sure we’re not being followed, I head toward the coast, merging onto the PCH, heading toward Malibu.

  I try to stay close to the speed limit now, not wanting to get pulled over and end up a sitting duck on the side of the road.

  Before the Malibu city limit, I make a right turn and pull into an unmarked parking lot. Then I hit the remote on the bike’s keychain to open a big garage door and pull in, dousing the bike’s lights and quickly closing the door behind us.

  “I don’t think we were followed, do you?” I ask Cooper as I turn off the bike, pull off my helmet, and shake out my hair.

  “I don't know how the hell we could’ve been. You were driving like a maniac!”

  I roll my eyes at him. “I was only doing eighty on the highway. Vincent has a Porsche. Those things are fast!”

  Cooper takes his helmet off and sets it on the bike. “Somehow when you said stealth out the back, this was not what I envisioned.”

  “It worked, though. Come on, we’ve had our excitement for tonight. Let's get the hell out of here and back the airport.”

  “What about your wig? Our bags?”

  I point to a Mustang sitting in the bay next to us. “It's all in the car.”

  “What is this? A chop shop? Is this all stolen?”

  “No, it’s the concierge detail shop that does Tommy's car. They pick up his cars from the house every few weeks, detail them, and put them back under their covers all shiny. He dropped the motorcycle off, picked up Tommy's Ferrari, moved our bags to the Mustang, and already has Tommy's car safely back home. He's also going to drive it around town tomorrow. You know, just to be seen.”

  “Did he not think it was an odd request?”

  “Considering his clientele, probably not. Especially with the rumors of Tommy's affair.”

  “Oh,” Cooper says. “That's smart.”

  I find the Mustang’s keys hanging exactly where I was told they would be and replace them with the keys to Brooklyn’s bike.

  Even though B knows nothing about it, there’s something comforting in the fact that his bike helped me tonight.

  Cooper grabs my hand. “You’re shaking.”

  “A little, but I'm fine.”

  “Adrenaline rush,” he states. “It’ll stop soon. In the meantime, I’ll drive.”

  Vincent gets to his destination, sneaks out of his car with a gun in one hand and a syringe in the other.

  Then he waits.

  On the way to the airport, I throw the dress I wore earlier over my club clothes, tuck my hair back under the wig, rub off the paint, and gently remove the eyelashes.

  “I have to admit,” Cooper says, “I’m very surprised you know how to ride a motorcycle.”

  “That wasn’t just any motorcycle. It was Brooklyn’s. The concierge service takes care of B’s and his dad’s cars, too. I knew we were going to have to make a speedy exit, so it seemed like the best option. Honestly, I’m really lucky that he knows me, or I never would’ve been able to pull it off. I didn’t exactly ask B if I could borrow his bike.”

  “What made you even want to learn?”

  “I was fine with just riding on the back. It was fun, felt romantic, you know? But after a couple times of us going somewhere and B needing to take me back home before he was ready to leave, he decided I should learn how to ride it. That way I could take myself home if I needed to.”

  And once I learned how, he knew he could get high or drink and I could drive us both home. Although at the time that sorta pissed me off, I’m now really grateful I know how.

  After we’ve taken off and gotten to cruising altitude, Cooper says, “So what do you think we accomplished? Seems like all it did was piss him off.”

  “We made him think I’m back home.” I smile. “And remember, a pissed off, out-of-control, mistake-making Vincent is exactly what we want.”

  “I was there the whole time. In the shadows. Waiting for the right moment.”

  “I didn't see you.”

  “You didn't look scared.”

  “I had protection. Speaking of which, what did you do with it?”

  “It’s in the bag.”

  The flight attendant interrupts Cooper to ask us if we would like dinner or a snack.

  “Dinner,” Cooper says.

  “I’ll just have some water,” I reply. I might not be shaking as bad on the outside anymore, but my insides are still a wreck.

  “My sister needs to eat,” Cooper tells the attendant. “Bring her a dinner along with her water.”

  She quickly comes back with plates of grilled chicken in a mushroom sauce on a bed of risotto.

  I eat a little and then lean my head against Cooper's shoulder.

  Vincent roams the area, covering both Lacy and Matt’s home and the beach between for the better part of the night. As the sun starts to rise, he puts the gun away, slips the syringe back into its holder, and sits on the beach—remembering.

  He opens the urn and slowly shakes the ashes out.

  He doesn’t look at the ashes falling into the sand; instead he looks into her eyes, sees the gentle caring in them. He’s not sure the exact moment when he fell for her, but if they were to make a movie of their lives, it would be this moment.

  The moment everything changed for him. The
turning point.

  She grabs one of his hands. Her hands are soft and the ocean breeze blows the sweet scent of her into his nostrils.

  She squeezes his hand tightly and begins to pray. “Today we bring Viviane back to where she met the love of her life. Where she was the happiest she had ever been. We pray that she has been reunited with her great love in heaven, and they are now on their own version of this perfect stretch of beach. And we pray that her grandson, Vincent, is able to find that same kind of love someday. Amen.”

  What she says touches his soul. He knows they don’t know each other that well, but her wish tells him all he needs to know. She wants him to find that kind of love.

  With her.

  I throw Grandmother’s urn way out into the ocean, then turn and wrap my arms around her. My great love.

  I can’t help but cry.

  For my grandmother, who I’ll miss greatly. And for myself.

  I wish grandmother could have met her. She would love her.

  She puts her hand on his back and pats it. “Shhhh. It’ll be okay. I promise.”

  He pulls his head up, wipes tears from his face, and says, “Thank you. I didn’t want to do this alone, but I didn’t really have anyone that I wanted to come with me.”

  “I’m glad I could help. I hope you still buy the house. She would love knowing you live here. Now we just need to find you a woman.” She laughs. “For a guy that looks like you that should be easy. Why aren’t you married yet, anyway?”

  He laughs too. “Geez, now you sound just like her. I’ll tell you what I told her: I have high standards.” He pauses. “You looked pissed when you were walking down here earlier. Did you have a bad day? Did I just make it worse?”

  “It doesn’t really matter anymore. It’s just high school drama.”

  “Yeah, but it’s your drama. Tell me about it. It’ll distract me, and I went to high school; maybe I can help.”

  He smiles at her. How could he not. She’s confiding in him. Telling him everything he needs to know about her.