savage 07 - the dark savage

by Tamara Rose Blodgett

  “You sound like a guy, Kiki.”

  She nods. “I've had those monkeys looking at me for four years. I know what's what. And you being exotic is not a problem. No offense against white chicks, but as a dancer, that might not be where it's at. Faren did okay.” Kiki presses a nail to her lip.

  “Who's Faren again?” I ask. Kiki's a breath of fresh air. There're a lot of things people don't say, and it gets tiresome. Sometimes I want to just know, even if it's not perfect. Just say the words.

  “She's my BFF. That girl—now there's a girl who’s been through some deep shit. Anyway”—Kiki's eyes brighten—“she said she had ‘white girl pancake assʼ.”

  “What?” I laugh.

  Kiki nods as if we're discussing religion. “God's honest.” She crosses her heart. “She told me that if she hadn't had years of ballet, her ass would be part of her thigh. But this?” Kiki grabs my ass, and I bark out a laugh. “This is some prime black booty.” She squeals in delight.

  “I'm only part,” I say, my smile so wide it hurts on my face. I decide I love Kiki. She's so vital.

  Kiki jerks her chin back, and her huge hoops skate across her collarbone. “Listen, it only takes a drop or two to have this.” Kiki turns and does this thing where her ass cheeks jiggle independently of each other.

  Not like Jell-O, like—independent movement.

  “Oh my God!” I clap my hand over my mouth.

  Sometimes I slip up.

  What came out of my mouth was mon dieu!

  Kiki straightens, and turning, she grins. She nods really slowly. “See? Exotic!” She points at me. “Thorn told me you were French!” Kiki gyrates her hips, thrusting them in my direction with one hand piled in her hair. “Ooh, la, la!”

  I cringe at the accent.

  I love Americans, but sometimes they're just so much. They seem to fill up the space and steal the oxygen.

  Kiki laughs, bouncing to standing again. “What?” Her eyes scan my face. She sweeps a dismissive palm my way. “God, you and Thorn... so elitist!”

  I frown.

  “No, don't give me that mug. I don't speak anything but the Queen's English so roll with it.”

  I remember something. “You're a lawyer.”

  Kiki goes up the steps at the back of the runway, very near where I'll go on stage.

  “Kinda—pre-law.”

  “So you've given up the dancing? How will you pay for law school?”

  Her gaze sparkles at me. I see determination, and I'm intrigued.

  “I'm going to suck up some crummy student loans.” She swings her hair over her shoulder and glances at me. “I've done my time at the poles. It paid the bills, got me through pre-law debt-free, and I have a nice little lily pad downtown.”

  I hold my expression. Where I live is only known by Thorn, and I have a feeling he won't say.

  Seedy is anonymous, and I can fly under the radar there. Because I am being hunted.

  They will try to find me.

  Their prize mule gone? Their beautiful, mixed-looking benign quadlingual female? No, they'll come hunting.

  But I won’t make it easy.

  “Hey, girl—you've got the same concentration problem Thorn has.” Kiki frowns.

  “Yes, sorry.”

  “No need,” Kiki says. “Watch.”

  The music is loud but not overbearing. She's at the start of the runway. Puzzle pieces of colored light land on her flesh, and their twirling is a nauseating dance of primary colors that fall like pieces of jagged rain.

  Kiki throws her shoulders back, and like a tiger, she prowls. Her dark hair shines like melted chocolate. Large, curling spirals take off from her head and land between shoulder blades that jut with her strut. Her ass undulates with round muscles that are somehow smooth as she strides on the balls of her feet. Working in tandem, her butt cheeks move separately. I know she does squats or something similar. That level of graceful athleticism isn't achieved without work and practice.

  Like karate.

  Her heels click as she circles the pole, slender fingers wrapped around the metal rod.

  An image of Thorn's cock and my hand collides with the image in front of me. My imagination rolls with that scene. My breaths come hard and fast. I curse him.

  Kiki slings her leg around the pole and spins. That gorgeous hair tips back and grazes the ground at her feet.

  She jerks herself up and drops in a crouch, ass to heels, and slides up, letting her sex barely touch the pole between her hands.

  Kiki hops, her legs apart and thrusts forward, letting the bar split her through the hot pink leotard. I watch the lips of her pussy wrap the pole. She moves backward... and forward.

  I'm dumbstruck.

  She pops her eyes open. “Getting this, Simone?” She humps the bar then slides down.

  She reverses her position, showing me her ass, and slides down the pole, her butt spread wide.

  Then she jiggles it all the way up the pole.

  Kiki takes off the top of her two-piece leotard with a tweak of a tie and spins it away.

  It floats to one of the tables and lands over the unlit jar candle in the center.

  Her naked breasts heave as she spins around the pole in a huge loop and dive. Her head tips back, and her tits move backward toward her neck.

  She pops up, grabbing her breasts. She uses her hands as a pseudo bra and lifts, sculpting them like a push-up.

  “See how it works?” she asks.

  A male voice says from the back, “I do.”

  I turn toward a tall man in a suit I instantly know is hand-tailored for his body.

  And what a body he has.

  Deliberately sloppy dark blond hair dumps over deep golden-brown eyebrows, and his eyes are so light blue they're like glaciers. They pierce the gloom, miss me entirely, and tag on Kiki.

  She looks as though she wants to barf. She's disrobed in front of all kinds of men, so why does this one make her stare like a wounded deer caught in headlights.

  The guy strolls to where her pink top landed a few minutes ago, and he picks it up with two fingers.

  His hand moves to his nose, the pink strings dangling from tapered and elegant fingers. He inhales deeply, a secret smile playing on his lips.

  God.

  I watch it play out in high-def.

  Kiki is covering her breasts, her eyes round. “This isn't funny, Chet.”

  I turn back to the man approaching the stage.

  Cocky.

  My eyes scan him head to toe.

  Rich.

  Italian shoes, hand-engineered cologne. The bouquet sits just out of my memory's reach.

  His button-down shirt appears casual, but the cufflinks easily cost three thousand dollars, platinum with small glittering diamonds.

  Jet black.

  Chet dumps his expensive suit coat over the back of one of the chairs as his thighs press against the lip of the stage.

  My eyes move to Kiki, who resiliently stands her ground.

  “Give me the top, Chet.”

  He shakes his head, and all that gorgeous hair slides around his neck, a cascade of low gold that nearly touches his shoulders.

  He folds his arms, the halter top embedded between heavily muscled arms that stretch the pale lavender shirt.

  “No,” he answers softly. “Come and get it.”

  So far, Chet doesn't notice me.

  “I'm training here, Sinclair,” she says.

  Kiki desperately throws a pass.

  I fumble but receive.

  I turn to look at him, and those eyes nail me like icy bullets.

  A flutter of moments pass while he takes me in. Then he dismisses me, and I instantly feel better, as though a cloud has passed over sun too hot to bear.

  “That's not relevant, Kiki.”

  She stomps a high heel, and Chet smirks.

  “So is this, chump. Why are you here? For Mick? Use the phone, asshole.”

  I cover my mouth as Thorn enters the stage.

 
; The music thumps and the lights continue to pound Kiki with falling slices of color.

  Thorn walks right up to Chet and takes a long look at him. His eyes fall over Chet’s shoulder at me, then move to Kiki. He lingers longest on her, and jealousy that is both instant and vicious sinks into me like smoke through cracks.

  I seethe, hating myself for caring.

  She’s a half-naked woman. It makes sense that Thorn would look at her the longest.

  “What the fuck are you doing here, Chet?” Thorn asks.

  Chet smiles. “Please.” His eyes flick to Kiki. “Call me Sin.”

  Thorn pulls a face. “Fuck that.” Thorn jabs a thumb at the door. “Leave through where you came. You want to watch the girls get their groove on? Come back when it's operational.”

  “Mick said I could come by anytime.”

  I move closer and catch Chet’s eyes flash to Thorn.

  Thorn moves in until their chests are almost touching.

  “Good. News. Then.” Thorn plugs a thumb in Chet’s muscular chest.

  I gulp.

  Testosterone swarms the area like tear gas, and Kiki and I look at each other.

  “Since I'm manager, I'll go ahead and manage, douche.”

  “Here, Kiki, my sweet.” Chet flings the top toward Kiki.

  She catches it, and her beautiful breasts are revealed for that second it takes her to catch it.

  Chet Sinclair loves her body with his eyes, smiling slightly when she slams her bits back into the halter.

  Thorn hesitates and my breath catches as he grabs Chet by the expensive collar.

  NINE

  Thorn

  Chet's pansy cologne fills my lungs, burning my nerves along with insulting me with the cost.

  Fucker.

  He laughs in my face.

  I want to punch his teeth down his throat.

  Not liking the way he's sniffing around Kik. I wouldn't like it even if she dug him, but it doesn't seem like she does.

  “Wrecking my shirt, caveman,” Chet says in a low voice of warning.

  Thing is, I tighten my grip to a stranglehold, he would be tough to put down.

  Chet's put himself through the paces of every kind of body conditioning and martial arts available. He's got the money for it. The time. God knows he probably smokes cigars while chucking bundles of cash in an incinerator at his McMansion somewhere in a neighborhood like Medina.

  I drop my hands and slash my eyes to Kiki briefly.

  She's dressed.

  “Thorn!” a female screams.

  It's like I hit my funny bone. Nails down a chalk board. Sticking my finger in a light socket.

  That voice lights me up from the inside out.

  Simone.

  Her throaty tone has vanished, replaced with a high-pitched keening not of fear but warning.

  I turn back to Chet and meet his fist.

  It's not a glancing blow, and I see stars. I begin to topple like a mighty tree.

  My focus spins.

  Sharpens.

  I've been blurry and disoriented so many times, I absolutely go automatic. I let the primal boy out to play in the sandbox with Chet.

  I slash out blindly, striking hard where the mass of his body is located. I automatically guess where his sternum would be.

  “Holy fucking crow!”

  I don't listen to Kiki. My red veil of rage descends, and I roll with my strike, landing on Chet. He maneuvers in a hip swivel, dislodging me in a classic counter.

  I bounce to my feet, and so does he.

  His perfectly tousled hair looks pretty fucked up.

  Loving it.

  I move my punch from my shoulder, and he blocks it with a forearm. He grunts, and I know I've numbed his arm.

  Chet moves in tight. At six feet two, he's an inch shorter than me and twenty pounds lighter, but he's so fast, he floats.

  Lunging low, he rolls from the hips and grabs me around the waist, tossing me on a table.

  I bring my knee up, aiming for his balls.

  Assuming he's got some.

  He turns, protecting the jewels and I palm his head into the table.

  Boom. The crack of his skull resonates in time to the music.

  He jams the heel of his palm into my chin.

  Something pulls on me, and my instinct is to backhand whatever is on me.

  “Thorn.”

  A soft voice pulls me back as my chin strains against Sinclair's hand.

  “Chet!” Kiki screams.

  His hand releases my chin as he smoothly rolls off the round table by the stage.

  We square off, the table between us.

  Kiki looks like a Barbie dipped in pink. So small and curvy, sitting on the stage glaring at Chet.

  He laughs, wiping his bleeding mouth. His eyes shoot a glance over her shoulder at me. “Have the girls protecting you now, Ty?”

  I hate his rich ass.

  I go to move around Simone when she moves into the line of Chet's body. His eyes widen.

  Then his head rocks back. The sound of slapped flesh eclipses the music.

  Simone doesn't hit like a girl. I know that first hand, Sinclair doesn't.

  Sinclair shakes his head to clear it. His fists clench.

  I move Simone.

  “Don't, Thorn. If he thinks he's man enough, he can bring it,” she says.

  “Oh my God, Simone,” Kiki says, worry lighting up her face. “Don't... Fuck this, don't get between two dudes. Just sayinʼ.”

  “Their gender isn't relevant,” Simone says, her eyes never leaving Chet.

  Chet narrows his gaze on her. Her palm print is an angry mar against his fair skin.

  “I don't strike women.”

  There’s a beat of silence as the music cuts to a new song.

  “I don't need your help, Simone,” I say.

  “I'm aware. I'm stopping the violence,” she says.

  What?

  “We through?” Simone asks.

  Sinclair butchers her with his arrogant stare.

  I want to beat him twice for the way he looks at her.

  She lifts her chin in response. Unflappable.

  Hot as fuck.

  Chet dismisses her and turns to Kiki.

  “Nice performance, Kandace.”

  Kiki looks at me then Simone.

  Finally, she looks at Chet. “Thanks, I guess.”

  It's a rare thing to see Kik flustered—speechless.

  Kiki walks over to stand in front of him. “I—listen, I don't know what this is about...” She glares at me.

  I step back, throwing up my palms. “It's his bullshit. Chet Sinclair can visit the Black Rose anytime as a paying lech. Doesn't need to come at practice time.”

  “It was my understanding Kandace was no longer employed here. Yet, for the sake of being thorough, here I am. And here she is.” He spreads his hands away from his body with an arrogant smirk.

  I hate when he calls Kiki Kandace. Lots of hate for Chet-boy.

  Kiki exhales in a huff. “I don't... but I'm training a new girl.”

  Chet runs his eyes over Kiki, and I want to beat on him again. I must make a move toward him, because Simone puts her hand on my arm.

  I look at her.

  Green pools of water look back. Calm like the sea. Endless.

  She gives a little shake of her head, so I notch my shit down, but it's ugly.

  Kiki fumes. “I can't have you coming here and beating up Thorn.”

  I make a noise. “He was not beating me up.”

  “I'm no pussy, Thorn,” Chet says.

  Why does that word sound so great coming out of the right mouth and so wrong out of his?

  “Well, I have one, and I'm not one either,” Simone says.

  My lips quirk. I cover my smile with my hand, faking a small cough. God damn, does she have one.

  Chet tries not to smile and blows it, laughing. “Clearly.”

  “Fine.” Kiki’s hands going to her hot pink hips. “Does everyone have
the stick out of their asses so we can begin acting like adults?”

  Chet glares at me but gives the chin dip that serves as nodding for the dickhead.

  “Yeah,” I agree, folding my arms.

  “Okay... God, ya pack of infants.” Kiki throws a look at Simone and stalks off. “Come on, doll. Let's kick it into gear.”

  Simone turns, and I snap my eyes to hers. They'd been glued to her ass.

  Again.

  “You two get lost.” She looks at Chet. “You especially.”

  Chet Sinclair just grins, hands in his pockets.

  He's got a torn silk shirt that costs more than a week of my pay, and I make good bank.

  His face is swelling where I love-tapped his jaw.

  But he'll go away and get all doctored and adored because he shits money.

  Unlike my billionaire best bud Mick McKenna, this prick was born with a silver spoon in his mouth.

  I frown.

  Nah, it was gold.

  And he's jonesing after Kiki. That's not my problem even though I'm a little overprotective of that chick. The girl I'm distracted over is getting ready to dry-hump the pole.

  I'm dying to watch.

  I'm not proud of not being able to stay away, but it is what it is.

  I want to slide into her while she writhes underneath me on the stage. I shift my weight, hiding my boner.

  Kiki looks at me as I stare at Simone.

  Simone doesn't see me watching because she's wrapping her sexy ankles in strappy heels.

  Kiki points at the hall that leads to the exit.

  Fuck.

  I stalk off. My injuries where Sinclair hit me throb; my ego is bruised to the core.

  That's the worst pain of all.

  TEN

  Simone

  I breathe a sigh of relief as Chet and Thorn leave.

  “Is that... normal?”

  Kiki crosses her arms, hiking her considerable tits. “Well, Thorn and Chet don't get along that great.”

  I laugh. “Yeah, obviously.”

  I bend over to stretch, warming up for my practice set. Silence around Kiki is so unusual I look up, my fingers wrapped around my toes, my knees locked.

  My ponytail swings into my line of sight, and I toss it behind my shoulder.

  “Thorn has become overprotective since this bullshit happened with my friend last year,” Kiki said.

  “What bullshit?” I press my forehead to my left knee.

  “Some crazy-ass was stalking her, and... he tried to kill her.”