Boston Avant-Garde 5: Bellicoso

by Kaitlin Maitland

  “You go have fun with your father. I’m going to be doing a little bit of dorm shopping myself.” Selena cast a glance at Lars. “I need to finish my conversation with the headmistress first though, I think.”

  “Oh, Dee isn’t my dad.”

  Demon was as surprised as Selena by this sudden announcement. He and Malachi had drummed the need for discretion into Allie since she’d been old enough to say Daddy.

  Selena quickly regained her equilibrium and gave Allie a smile that conveyed enough warmth to include Demon in its sweetness. “Sometimes the word ‘father’ has nothing to do with blood. You two have a wonderful afternoon, and I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

  Demon gazed at the beautiful woman whose soul burned with a fierce light that called out to him. The indomitable spirit inside him demanded he pull her close and keep her there. His rational brain became aware of the man who’d named himself her cousin. A man who would most definitely take exception to Demon’s claim.

  Lars Aasen wasn’t an uninvolved player. He was too focused on Demon, on the electricity snapping like lightning between he and Selena. Lars had a purpose he hadn’t divulged to his cousin that somehow made him a player in this complex drama they’d all been sucked into.

  I can’t wait to see how this all turns out.

  Demon was reminded of a Lao Tzu quote his grandfather had been fond of saying at the most annoying moments: “Life is a series of natural and spontaneous changes. Don't resist them—that only creates sorrow. Let reality be reality. Let things flow naturally forward in whatever way they like.” Had Demon paid more attention as a small boy, he might not have found himself a pawn in someone else’s game. Stranded illegally in a country that wasn’t his own.

  Allie paced at his side, just far enough away that they wouldn’t touch when their arms swung. As a small child she had sought affection often. Seraph had smothered her, treating her like a live doll until Allie had rebelled at the age of ten and declared she needed her space. Sometimes, he got the feeling she would have welcomed affection. Having none as a child and very little as an adult, Demon didn’t quite know how to offer it.

  “I said too much, didn’t I?” she asked.

  He led the way toward the BMW M3 he’d left parked in the school’s tiny lot. The car was black on black with opaque windows and enough engine to get him out of a tight spot should he need it. When Seraph tooled around town, she did it in a sleek Lincoln, but she didn’t have to find parking.

  The trunk popped open, and she threw her stuff inside. “Are you mad at me?”

  “No.” He gestured to the jacket half stuffed into her tote. “Don’t you need that?”

  She rolled her eyes and dragged it on over her leotard. “I like her a lot. I hope she’s one of my teachers.”

  Demon automatically scanned their surroundings until Allie had shut herself into the car. When they were both safely inside, he started the engine and savored the familiar purr. He didn’t have a license. Hell, he didn’t have a passport. But he loved this car.

  “Dee?” Allie’s tone told him she wasn’t going to let this go. “What did you think of Selena?”

  “I think the two of you are going to be friends.” He pulled out of the parking area and headed toward the Bed, Bath & Beyond in Dorchester. There was no way he was going to turn Allie loose in the middle of Back Bay’s maze of shops. He’d be lucky to drag her out of there by nightfall.

  “Do you think she’s pretty?”

  Demon wished it wasn’t left up to him to navigate the murky waters of the personal relationships in their fucked-up family unit. He always wound up being the one to answer Allie’s awkward questions. “She’s beautiful, and I find her extremely attractive.”

  Allie looked satisfied. “Then you should definitely ask her out.”

  “What about your dad?” He glanced over to try and decipher the meaning behind her sulky expression.

  “He’s stuck with my mother,” she said quietly. “It’s not fair, but we all know Mother would never let him be with anyone else.”

  Demon waited, knowing she had more to say on the subject.

  Allie twisted her index finger into a stray strand of dark hair that had escaped her bun. “You marrying someone like Ms. Aasen is the only chance I have at a normal family.”

  “Normal isn’t always better.”

  “I’d settle for a mother who isn’t a selfish cow.” Allie’s voice was a curious blend of bitter and hopeful.

  “I love your father, munchkin.” Demon whipped the car into a parking space but made no move to get out. “I’m not going to leave him for any woman. Not even one like Ms. Aasen.”

  He could see her working it out, trying to decide exactly how she wanted to phrase her next question. She had a brilliant mind, and he’d steered the conversation to this point on purpose. He wanted to see what she would think about a relationship that was even more nontraditional than the one he already shared with Malachi.

  Allie knew the two of them were a “couple,” as much as that word could be applied to their strange partnership. She’d grown up watching them interact as both friends and something deeper. When her friends had accused her of having a gay father, the three of them had talked about it openly. Allie was probably one of the only thirteen-year-olds who had a firm grasp on the concept of sexual identity being a fluid, dynamic thing governed by choices and not biology or morality.

  “You and my dad aren’t gay.” Her tone was thoughtful as she gazed out the windshield. Snowflakes had begun drifting in lazy circles around the idling car. “You love each other, but you could also—maybe—love a woman like Ms. Aasen.”

  He shook a hank of hair away from his eyes to better see the nuance in her expression.

  She was starting to look more hopeful than disappointed until her visage grew dark. “It might actually take all three of you to fend off my mother. Thank God your kung fu is awesome.”

  The laugh bubbled out before Demon could choke it back. The mental image of him, Malachi, and Selena locking arms around Allie while Seraph reared in the background like a medusa was almost too close to the truth to be funny.

  “I think you guys should go for it,” Allie decided.

  He tweaked her nose. “Let’s leave it for now. I have to have you back at school in a few hours, and it’ll take me at least that long to lug all your purchases to the car.”

  She went from introspective to sassy in five seconds flat. “Nice! I’ll just consider that permission to buy whatever I want.”

  * * * *

  Malachi looked up from the wad of receipts he was preparing. He wasn’t a numbers guy, but things went smoother if he took time to double-check that closing totals from every single register in both the upstairs club and the Underground were banded together. He was the only staff member that had a foot firmly planted in Triptych’s dance club and the exclusive Underground. He’d learned the hard way that the upstairs managers forgot the Underground existed when it came time to tally the night’s take.

  Probably just as well. If they knew half of what goes on down there, they’d quit.

  Relaxing back into his leather executive chair, he laced his fingers behind his head and tried to let the atmosphere in his office soothe him. It existed in a pocket of quiet above the hubbub of the club. Usually it worked. The tiny space occupied what had once been a choir loft. It had been enclosed when the church was repurposed into the club, but the diamond-paned windows remained.

  The pale light from the gray sky outside highlighted the old wood floor. A long row of low shelving housed a collection of books ranging from modern science fiction to Demon’s battered copy of Sun Tzu’s Art of War. A thick Persian rug softened the space, and two overstuffed leather chairs occupied the corner opposite his monstrous desk.

  He sighed. The best days were when Demon had time to sit and read while Malachi worked. It had been hellish to hear that his daughter was actually going to school in Boston. He’d wanted to run out and snatch her up for an af
ternoon of playing hooky. Fortunately Demon had been somewhat cooler-headed, reminding Malachi he wasn’t supposed to know Allie had changed schools. It had taken a direct order from Demon for Malachi to give up his idea to slip out and visit anyway.

  Seraph is as fucked in the head as the people she allows to use this club.

  He was no stranger to the oddities of human fascination. There was a fetish for every weirdo under the sun, and they were entitled to it. That didn’t mean he was comfortable harboring every sicko on the Eastern seaboard at his club.

  If it were really my club, I’d kick half of them to the curb.

  Seraph breezed into his office in a cloud of perfume that made him cough. “What are you brooding about now?”

  She’d squeezed her voluptuous body into a tight black skirt and top that weaponized her cleavage. Fortunately for Malachi, his susceptibility to her charms had ended well over a decade ago. He barely gave a passing glance to her spike heels and tousled dark curls other than to wonder why she was strutting around the club like that at three in the afternoon.

  A thin file hit his desk, a disc slipping out to roll away. He caught it before it could hit the stone floor and require him to chase it down like a dog. “What’s this?”

  “Something new I’ve invested in.” She gave him a coy smile that turned his stomach. “Call it a dating service.”

  “Does it have anything to do with the club?” He put the disc back in the file without looking at it.

  “No, this is extra.”

  “Then it’s not my problem.” He gestured for her to take the file.

  “This is a need-to-know thing.”

  “Fuck that. There’s a have-to-know relationship between you and I, and that’s it.” Malachi couldn’t suppress the sneer that twisted his mouth into a derisive expression guaranteed to piss her off.

  She was practically vibrating with the force of her anger. Her hands clenched, and he waited for her to produce the whip she almost always carried. “I own you.”

  “Wrong. I’m here because you manipulated me into fatherhood.” A voice in the back of his mind wanted to know why he was purposely poking the bear. “The agreement then was that the club would be the only joint venture between the two of us.”

  She sputtered with outrage. Her dark eyes threw sparks, and he fully expected her to belch flames in the next few minutes.

  “The rest of this?” He waved the file in her face. “It’s all on you.”

  “Where’s Demon?” she snapped.

  “Hell if I know.” Malachi turned his attention back to the paperwork on his desk to avoid looking her in the face. “I thought he was running your errands.”

  A leather crop slapped his desk. “Don’t ignore me, you disobedient slave boy.”

  There’s the hell-bitch I know and love. He deliberately ignored her.

  She slid the crop beneath the receipts and flung them off the desk. Anger boiled from a place deep inside him. He examined the raw fury, wondering why it seemed unfettered by the urge to submit that had been both blessing and curse since the day he’d discovered it.

  The memory of Demon’s body sliding into his drifted through Malachi’s mind. It was surrealistic to think the fount of brash confidence surging in his blood was the result of being strapped to a table and forced to yield. He hadn’t experienced restraint in years. Not since Seraph had brutalized him enough that he’d discovered he could live without her. He’d run from his memories of that night. Until now, when the ghost of Selena’s sweetness and the security of Demon’s regard made him feel as if he could take on the world.

  Or just Seraph.

  Malachi stood, letting his big body unfold from his chair until he towered over Seraph. In the fifteen years he’d known her, he could count the number of times he’d met her gaze on one hand. She considered it the most blatant form of disrespect possible. One of his earliest and most brutal beatings had come after he’d challenged her with his eyes.

  “You wouldn’t dare,” she snarled.

  The crop came up, aimed at his face. In that moment he felt every inch of his height, every ounce of his weight. Why had he spent years kowtowing to this woman?

  “You forget your place, Malachi.”

  He caught the whip before it made contact. The nylon shaft stung as it connected with his palm. It would leave a welt, but he didn’t care. There was nothing sexual about this kind of mark.

  “I’m going to ship our daughter to school in England so fast you won’t even have time to say good-bye.” Seraph yanked her whip out of his grasp. “That’ll teach you who’s in charge around here.”

  A sudden thought made him weak-kneed. “No, you won’t.”

  “What?”

  “You can’t.” Even as he said it, he realized it must be true. “If you could’ve sent Allie to school in Britain, you would’ve done it already. You’d have held her visits over my head until she turns eighteen and tells you to fuck off all by herself.”

  “Alisa would never…”

  Why had it taken the promise of an encounter with Demon and a blonde submissive to make him so clearheaded? “You’re nothing but a scheming shrew. Why can’t you just admit that whatever existed between you and me is over?”

  “You don’t get to make that call!” Her lip curled as she got right in his face. “You were a piece of trash living in the gutter when I found you. Remember that, Malachi? Living hand to mouth, selling yourself to whatever Dom had a place for you to crash for a few months.”

  He did remember quite well, mostly because she would never let him forget it. He could also recall something Demon had once told him not long after Malachi stepped away from the D/s bond he had with Seraph.

  At the center of your being, you have the answer; you know who you are and you know what you want.

  Malachi was certain it was an old Chinese proverb. Demon seemed to have one for every situation, but that one had forced Malachi to self-examine for the first time ever. Who was he, and what did he want?

  “You’re nothing but a whore,” Seraph said. “I made you, and I can send you back to the hellhole where I found you.”

  He smiled down at her because he knew it drove her crazy. “Try, Seraph. Try to send me back and see how far it gets you.”

  Her only response was to snatch the file out of his hand and slap it back down on his desk before sweeping out of his office in a huff. He waited until the door slammed shut behind her to give in to his jelly knees.

  In the blessed quiet she left in her wake, Malachi thought about what had just happened. He’d stood his ground against Seraph. The sky hadn’t fallen in. His life hadn’t ended. He hadn’t wound up back in her chambers missing his clothes and his dignity. All because a sassy bit of goods in a red dress had pranced into his life.

  Chapter Ten

  Selena’s hamstrings screamed in pain as she dipped her torso toward her legs. The floor was cool beneath her. She sat on the smooth wood and went through stretches she could do in her sleep. It felt so good. She savored the discomfort as a sign of being alive.

  Her worn slippers still molded to her feet as if they’d been made just for her. She could feel every dip and curve in the leather soles, knowing exactly where the hot spots would be later on. Three years was a long time, long enough for her calluses to have softened, and the main reason she’d opted to leave her pointe shoes in the bag. There was no need to kill herself on the first day back.

  “Are you ready?” Madame Denis entered the classroom and closed the door gently behind her. If the silver hairs mingled with the sable in her bun were any indicator, she was likely in her forties. She wore a sweater over her black leotard and tights. Her jazz shoes were taupe colored and battered as if she had worn them every day of her life. Selena immediately liked the woman with the stern lips and crow’s feet at the corners of her brown eyes.

  Selena could see Lars outside leaning casually against the window as he watched. She could not believe she was actually doing this. It was either
brilliance or insanity. Breathing deeply, she gained her feet. “I’m ready.”

  “Why don’t we begin at the barre? Ms. Warren tells me it has been three years since you’ve danced.” There was a faint European accent coating the woman’s words, probably French.

  The calm tone was reminiscent of the other teachers and mentors she’d had over the years. It soothed her agitation, and Selena found herself slipping into the contented place inside her head, the place where discipline came so easily. “Yes, Madame.”

  Selena lightly rested her fingertips against the worn wood. The indentations from a thousand dancers who’d done the same were a comfort. She shook her shoulders and rotated her neck before lifting her chin and letting her muscles sink into the familiar stance.

  Tinkling piano music from a stereo filled the large room. Madame began as if Selena were a child, going through the basic positions. Not long ago, Selena would have been incensed by the drill, insulted that Madame didn’t think her capable of doing more.

  Not now. Selena let the instructions flow through her arms and legs. Muscle memory placed her feet in the correct positions, drew her leg up light against her knee en passé, to relevé, knees bending, hips turning out, and her left arm moving gracefully to balance her body as Madame began chaining together basic technical skills that had once been her whole world.

  “Take your place on the floor please.” Madame didn’t pause in her instruction, allowing Selena but a moment to move from the barre to a spot in the middle of the room. “Follow me.”

  Madame began counting out the beats as she demonstrated the choreography of a short list of steps that could be linked for a basic corps de ballet program. Selena’s brain began absorbing the movements, making mental notes of proper arm and leg position, the length an arabesque was held, how many pirouettes, and how the rhythm worked with the music playing in the background.

  Madam stepped aside, placing herself against the mirrored wall. “Now you.”

  Selena paused to gain her start position, still counting out the beats in her head. When she began to move, there was no thought or calculation behind it. She felt the music in her limbs, in the fluid movement of her body against the subtle air currents in the room. Arms up, toes out, letting her body weight create a momentum that sent her twirling effortlessly through the final three turns and then into a gentle step, arms relaxing to her sides, chin tipping down as she came to rest.