by V. F. Mason
Pleasure.
Shaking my head, I focus on Bella and the night of fun we are going to have tonight. And then everything will go back to normal, because that’s my life.
Perfect, organized, and right.
It has no room for chaos.
Lachlan
Mine.
And I’m fucking done walking around with a constant hard-on that needs to sink balls deep into her so she’ll remember forever not to avoid me.
Or use another man to place distance between us.
Chapter Eight
New York, New York
October 2009
Valencia, 16 years old
Sitting numbly on the chair, I watch as my father is put in the ground while the pastor says a prayer and tears stream down my cheeks.
My mom’s hold on my hand tightens as if giving me her strength, but I slip it out from under hers. “Honey—” That’s the moment the pastor finishes his prayer and we all stand to say our finally goodbye. The thorns on the roses I bought for Dad dig into my palms, drawing blood that slowly drips on my white dress.
Dad hated the color black, so there was no way I’d wear it today. A barely audible sob escapes me as I cover my mouth with my fist, not wanting to show anyone my pain, because they won’t have the words.
It shall pass.
There was nothing we could do.
Just one of those things.
The car crashed.
“Goodbye, Dad,” I whisper, throwing the rose on the casket, and that’s when Jason wraps his arm around my shoulders.
He has been with me since I got the news, waiting by the door and constantly sending messages begging me to talk to him, but I ignored him. The only people who were allowed in my house were the girls, and if any of them tried to give me something from Jason, I told them to get out.
I immediately step back, ignoring the guilt at his pained gasp and focus on the guilt that eats me alive every single day. “It’s my fault,” I say, and he shakes his head, grabbing my chin and lifting it so our eyes can meet.
“Circumstances. Life happened. It’s not us, baby.” He tries to comfort me and circles my waist, but I push his hands back.
“With you, it’s always just life, isn’t it, Jason? You never take responsibility for anything!” I shout at him, and disbelief crosses his face as he takes a deep breath.
“You are grieving, I understand. But don’t give up on us. Valencia, I love you and you love me.”
A tear slides down my cheek because he’s right. We love each other, but it means and changes nothing.
“We are done, Jason. Our relationship died with my father.”
“Baby—”
“Please, stop calling me that. Just… stop, Jason, okay? We are done. Accept it. Don’t bother my friends, forget about me, and build your life away from here. Chase your dreams. But without me.” It’s a wonder I can say all those things, as each one of them is like stabbing a knife into my heart, but I have no choice.
I will live with this burden my whole life, but Jason doesn’t have to.
If only I hadn’t said all those mean words to him… if only he didn’t drive up to rescue me from the party… if only I could hear his voice one last time.
I’m not okay. And I’m afraid I never will be.
Jason waits a moment, but then with a quite curse, he leaves, and I know he won’t come back. He is proud and my rejection stung him; he already tried to talk to me three times.
Some part of me wants to run after him, to beg for forgiveness and find solace in his arms as always, but how can I?
The solace in his arms is why my dad is dead in the first place. Allowing my relationship with Jason to continue would mean betraying my dad once again.
It might be irrational, but then people in pain do all sorts of things to numb it. And besides, a relationship with constant guilt won’t bring anything good anyway.
Mom comes closer to me, offering me her silent support, but I don’t need it. “I want to be left alone.”
“Valencia—” Even her voice grates on my nerves, not to mention her presence.
“Mom, please. You didn’t like his company when he was alive. I don’t quite understand why you are here anyway.” She steps back from my verbal blow, her eyes widening at my cruelty, and I want to take it back, to run into her arms and cry on her chest, to let her comfort me in this moment when the world is crashing around me.
But I can’t.
For the first time in my life, I can’t.
I expect her to insist some more, but she just nods, quickly wiping away the tear at the corner of her eyes, and spins around to walk to the car where she’ll most likely wait for me till I’ve had enough of being here.
I sit on the ground, ignoring the dirt around me, and cover my face with my hands, finally letting myself weep.
My dad is dead.
Because I allowed myself to be reckless, and for once I went after what I wanted, not paying attention to rules.
My dad is gone.
And the only thing I have left of him is his faith.
New York, New York
January 2018
Valencia
Bella jumps out as the cabbie gives me a side eye, clearly exasperated with my friend at this point. I grin subtly, fishing for a twenty in my clutch while shaking my head at Bella who takes a selfie with the club in the background.
She has been acting like a freaking tourist, pressing her nose to the window and squealing anytime we pass monuments or buildings, to the point of the cabbie turning the music up louder, hinting at us to shut up.
Not that it helped or I cared one way or the other. Someone has to have fun in this world.
Plus, I really understand Bella; New York is our hometown. Why shouldn’t she be happy to spend the evening out before going back to Paris?
“Is she always this hyper?” he asks, and I shrug as I get out.
“Most of the time.” I shut the door in his face and have a second to tug on my freakishly short dress before my friend is all up in my face.
She grabs my hands and shakes me while I just grin at her childlike excitement. “We are freaking here!” Yeah, we came to the Dungeon.
Or that’s what this place is called anyway.
People stand in line just to get to peek inside, but they’ll have no luck, as it’s by invitation only, the one that currently hides in my purse.
A bright yellow sign says “The Dungeon of Burlesque” while two huge-as-hell bouncers stand by the gate, scanning everyone with their hawk-like eyes, and they send most of the people away who cry or fight their decision.
“Come on! Let’s get inside! I can’t believe you snagged those invitations!” Bella murmurs into my ear, and I just wink while we move in the direction of the men who focus their attention on us, sweeping their gazes over our attire.
The invitations came by mail the other day, claiming that one of the investors who had something to do with Victor’s company was inviting everyone for the weekly show, which would have all the stars performing to old hits, and it would be a performance we would never forget. I had no idea such a place even existed in New York, and the dancer in me longed to check it out.
However, I knew asking anyone from my group of friends was impossible, as some dancers frowned upon it, claiming it was about sex and not art. My hands always prickled to push their bigheaded egos into the TV so they could see the beauty of it without their judgmental outlook. Max forbade me to even think about it, but thankfully, he is gone too.
God, it feels good for once to do something for myself. Once Bella travels back to Paris, I can go back to my routine life where everyone’s desire means more than mine.
But for a moment in time, I want to be selfish and reckless.
I extend the plastic invitation to the bouncer, and he takes it, but before he can say anything, something makes him stand up straight as he presses his finger to his ear. A second later, he removes the red rope that blocks the entr
ance and motions with his hand for us to go through. “Welcome to the Dungeon,” he greets, and I give him a thumbs-up while Bella drags me inside, our heels clicking loudly on the marble floor.
We pass through a narrow gate, and then a waitress beams at us with a bright smile, holding menus in her hands. “Welcome to the Dungeon,” she repeats the line. Does the owner make them do that or what?
“Thank you. We’d like a table for two please.”
She nods and turns around as we follow her. My eyes drink in all the beauty as I hold back a gasp.
Whoever built this place sure as hell didn’t count his money.
The space is wide and huge with old music blasting through the speakers, giving a type of vibe as if taking you back in time, when the burlesque dance was born. The black marble floor shines brightly under the 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 several tablecloths. Small round tables fill most of the place, with candles and a bottle of wine on each, ready for the taking.
It doesn’t surprise me that almost all the seats are taken as people engage in conversations while giving sideways glances to the stages.
A spacious bar is located at one end where most of the waiters are, and a central stage is on the other. The curtain is down, so it means we came just in time for the show. Near it is a smaller stage, where musicians wearing the same uniform are getting ready, placing their instruments in position.
The guys wear black vests with a bow tie along with black jeans, while girls have knee-length stockings, shorts, tight T-shirts with the logo on it, and navigate gracefully in high pumps. All in all, the place reeks of luxury and high maintenance, but at the same time keeps the sexy vibe of burlesque, almost taking you back in time and drowning you in the energy of the past.
“This is the best place ever,” Bella says as we drop onto our chairs and the waitress gives us menus.
“Do you want to start with some drinks first?” I shake my head since there is wine at the table and she nods. “Just press this button once you are ready to order.” Then she leaves, winking at us while I watch several men trailing their gazes after her behind.
“I will never know how they do that on those shoes,” I mutter.
Bella laughs, sipping from her glass. “And that comes from a ballerina who has to stand on her toes.”
“That’s probably why you almost broke your neck two years ago while trying to run in them.” She throws a nut at me, but I dip so it doesn’t hit me.
“Did you invite Nora and Becky?” Isn’t that a million-dollar question? She reads my face as she chuckles, but it lacks any amusement. “They refused to meet with me? Or let me paraphrase it. Becky refused, as she still holds a grudge over Paris, and Nora supported her since Becky married her brother.” She takes a large sip.
Well, there is nothing to add since she covered everything. Becky was one of the best when it came to dancing, and we all got into Juilliard except Nora, who went into marketing and management. She studied ballet till she turned eighteen and then flipped off anyone who insisted she stay. Becky would have won the part for Paris if it weren’t for the injury she got during the last audition that ultimately destroyed her career forever.
After that came the drinking and several bad choices in men. Nora’s brother was pretty decent. I know most people judge them for being together, but I saw genuine love between them, and in a way, I’m glad she has him and doesn’t drown in self-destruction.
“Bella, it’s none of your business.” She wants to say something but I shake my head. “And Becky shouldn’t hold a grudge. But it’s a beautiful evening, so let’s enjoy it instead of arguing, okay?” Nothing will mend our group of friends, and oddly, I’m okay with that.
We grew up and everyone found their own path. Sometimes, though, paths don’t cross anymore, and that’s all right.
Musicians slowly start to play an old tune I don’t recognize and everyone quiets down, the lights going dim as the stage brightens up. The red curtain rises up, up, up, and then a red-haired woman in a red dress stands on the stage, frozen in position with one hand on her hip.
“Jessica Rabbit is here, I think,” Bella mutters, resting her chin on her palm, and I chuckle. But indeed, with her curvy body and sex appeal, she can easily be that without blinking.
Swaying to the beat of the music, she slowly walks across the stage and plays with her dress, fingering her zipper while turning around to give us a view of her behind. “Well, she is hot,” I comment, popping a nut in my mouth and wondering if it’s possible to look this hot with my thin body that has almost no curves. I can go braless and no one notices.
“Yeah, I’m going to join the catcalls soon, just saying.” She takes a sip of her drink, but the minute the light hits the dancer’s face, she spits the drink back in her glass. “Holy moly! Is that Mia?”
Our glasses-wearing, cute dancer who barely says a word to anyone?
“Are you dru—” I join her shock though, as indeed the sexy goddess on stage is none other than Mia Parker, one of our classmates who currently performs with me.
Mia is one of the best dancers in the group, and she would go places if it weren’t for her younger sister she has to support. For some reason, the teachers never give her a chance, and as much as I’ve tried to get her into a higher position, she always refuses. She is always sort of there by my side with no explanations. The girl is the sweetest.
But what the hell is she doing here? “Olga will have a fit once she knows.”
“Bella, we can’t mention it,” I warn, because I don’t care about her reasons. She will not be kicked out of ballet for this. My stomach growls and I decide to occupy my mouth with something before we can speak with Mia, who notices us too. Her eyes widen as she freezes, but I send her a reassuring smile, and she continues to dance, though her focus is still on us.
I open the menu thinking about ordering something light, when paper falls out of it and onto the napkin in my lap. My heart stills and then beats with power again.
No.
Not here too.
Bella’s brows furrow, as she says, “Valencia? Are you all right? You’ve gone pale all of a sudden.” A beat, and then, “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone about Mia.” As much as I love Mia, she doesn’t occupy my thoughts right now and isn’t the reason for my shock.
With almost shaking hands, I read the paper that has the exact same cryptic language on it, and the words make me question my sanity.
An angel stepped down from her pedestal, joining mortals.
Not expecting the secrets that she might uncover.
The monster chuckled at her shock, anticipating the bigger blow.
What happens when an angel comes into a monster’s dungeon?
“Oh my God,” I whisper, and stand up while Bella’s concerned gaze is still on me. “Everything is fine. I just need to go to the bathroom,” I say, and she nods, although it doesn’t seem she believes me.
I quickly run toward the secluded area and step inside, closing the door firmly behind me, and place my hand on my chest that rises and falls rapidly.
These notes are not funny anymore. Someone is doing it on purpose, trying to keep me off balance, but who? Should I tell someone about them? What kind of person can the man possibly be if he refers to himself as a monster?
I turn on the water, wet a towel, and press it to my neck in hopes of the cold calming me down. My reflection in the mirror resembles a deer caught in headlights. My eyes are exceptionally big in a pale face, especially with my hair pulled back in a high bun. “Just someone’s prank,” I chant, turning off the tap and taking a deep breath. “A prank that most likely is supposed to scare me.”
But how can a prank follow my every move? I need to speak to someone about it.
I might endanger other people close to me if it’s some kind of stal
ker or something. Instantly, my mind goes to Frankie, as she has a brother who is an FBI agent. While this case doesn’t require the feds, he might know someone who could help.
Police can’t really pursue a case without any real evidence, and since the words are printed, they won’t even have a reason to believe it’s addressed specifically to me.
With those thoughts swirling in my head and calming me down, I emerge from the bathroom and dart to my table. I almost bump into a waiter, who sways a little with his tray full of drinks. “Sorry!” I mumble, but he just flashes me a grin.
“No worries, doll.” My brows lift at this rather familiar word, but he just winks, so it’s hard not to join his amusement. He picks up a red drink and gives it to me. “Have this. Should add some color to your cheeks. It’s a crime to look this bad in a place this hot.”
A laugh slips past my lips, because it’s just impossible not to like this guy. “I will graciously accept it.” My hands wrap around the cold substance, and I suck on the straw and moan loudly. “This is heaven.”
“I told you so, doll. Going to go now though before anyone else gets thirsty.” Then he leans closer, and whispers into my ear, “Stay till the end. The guy will give you quite a show on the stage.” With one last wink, he goes to another table while I laugh again.
Some people are awesome by simply being themselves. I can already see myself coming here again in the near future.
The music ends, and I see Mia finishing with one leg in front while she blows a kiss to the audience, leaning forward slightly in lacy panties and heels with her nipples covered with something. She waves and then leaves the stage while the audience whistles and shouts her praises.
Bella is clapping the loudest it seems, giving her a standing ovation. “The girl is on fucking fire! Who knew she could move like that?”
“Certainly not us.” I fist the offensive paper and drop it in the ashtray, sipping more of my drink. This stuff should relax me for sure.